Chapter 5 Chapter 5 Becky

Of course, Sarah's greatest charm was her storytelling charm, her ability to make everything in the conversation seem like a story, whether it was a story or not.This charm wins more followers than her fine clothes and status of "student to show off"; it is also the charm that makes Lavinia and some other little girls the most jealous, and at the same time makes them most involuntary Fascinated. Anyone who has ever been in a school with a storyteller knows what that miraculous phenomenon is--the storyteller, how she or he is followed, whispered and begged to tell Legend has it how crowds of people gathered around the fringes of this beloved story-telling session, hoping to allow them to attend the lectures.

Not only does Sarah know how to tell stories, but she loves to tell them.When she sat or stood in the middle of a small circle of people and began to make up a good plot, her green eyes grew big and bright, her cheeks flushed, she would unconsciously begin to act out, with cadenced voices. Her slender, pitch-swaying figure and dramatic gestures make what she says both beautiful and thrilling.Forgetting that she was telling stories to children, she saw and lived with the mythical beings, or kings, queens, and beautiful ladies, of the adventures she told.Sometimes, when she had finished her story, out of breath with excitement, she would put her hand on her small, heaving chest, half-smiling as though mocking herself.

"When I tell a story," Sara would say, "it doesn't seem like just a made-up story. It seems more real than you -- more real than a school classroom. I feel as if I'm part of the story Characters -- one after the other. It's weird." Sarah had been at Ms Minchin's school for about two years.One winter afternoon, when the fog was thick, she got out of her carriage, wrapped comfortably in her warmest velvets and furs, looking more regal than she had imagined.As she crossed the sidewalk, she caught a glimpse of a scruffy little figure standing on the steps of the lighted patio in front of the kitchen, wide-eyed and stretching his neck so that he could peer at her through the railing.There was something in the eagerness and timidity of the little stained face that made Sara look at her.Sarah looked at her with a smile, because that was her way of smiling at people.

But the owner of the smudged face and wide-eyed eyes clearly feared that he should not be caught spying on the privileged student.She hid herself like one of those toy dolls in a box, hurried back into the kitchen, and disappeared so abruptly that Sarah would not have been able to help laughing if she had not been such a lonely little thing.In the evening of the same day, in a corner of the classroom, Sarah was sitting among a group of listeners telling a story. Next, add coal to the fire and remove the ashes. She was cleaner than when she had been peeping from behind the patio railing, but she still looked terrified.She obviously didn't dare to look these children in the eyes, nor did she dare to appear to be listening.She added the coal piece by piece carefully with her fingers so as not to make a disturbing noise, and was gentle when cleaning the stove.In less than two minutes Sarah could see that she was deeply interested in what was happening before her, and was working slowly, hoping to catch some of the words.Realizing this, Sara raised her voice and spoke more clearly.

"The mermaids swim softly in the crystal green water, trailing behind them a net of deep-sea pearls," she said, "and the princess sits on a white rock and watches them." It was a wonderful story about a princess who fell in love with a mermaid prince and went to live with him in a cave full of jewels under the sea.The little servant swept the floor by the hearth again and again.After scanning twice, she scanned a third time, when the voice of the story told her so temptingly to listen, so captivated that she forgot literally that she had no right to hear the story at all, and forgot everything else.She knelt on the hearth rug and sat on her heels, the brush dangling from her fingers.The storyteller's voice continued, leading her back to the tortuous sea cave, with her chin resting on her hands, listening intently to Mariette's story.Her name is Becky.Mariette had heard everyone downstairs yelling "Becky, do this," "Becky, do that," every five minutes all day long.

After Mariette left, Sara sat looking at the fire, thinking carefully about Becky for a while.She made up a story in which Becky was the abused heroine.Sarah thought she looked as if she never had enough to eat.There was a look of hunger in her eyes.Sarah wished to see her again, but although she had been caught a few times carrying things up and down the stairs, she always looked so hurried and afraid of being seen that it was impossible to speak to her. But a few weeks later, on another foggy afternoon, Sarah found herself before a rather pathetic scene when she entered the living room.In front of the bright fire, Becky sat sound asleep in Sarah's favorite easy chair for her own use, with a soot stain on her nose, several spots on her apron, and her battered little hat half-slung over her head, There was an empty coal box on the floor nearby—she was more tired than her tired little frame could bear.She was sent upstairs to tidy up the bedrooms for the evening.There are many rooms, and she has been running around all day.She saved Sarah's room for last.These rooms are not as plain and empty as the others.The average student should only be satisfied with the minimum necessities of life.Sarah's cozy sitting-room was to the kitchen-girl the sort of sumptuous boudoir, though it was really no more than a dainty, well-lit little room.But there were pictures and books in the room, and curiosities from India; there was a sofa and a lowly upholstered chair.Emily sat in her own chair with the air of a goddess in charge, and the fireplace was always polished and glowing red, a room Becky reserved for the last of the afternoon's work, because it was She always wished she could catch a few minutes to sit down in a soft chair, look around, and think about how lucky she was to have a child in such surroundings, and to wear a beautiful hat when she went out in the cold. And coat, make you want to take a look through the railing in front of the small patio with light.

This afternoon, Becky sat down, her short aching legs relaxed, feeling so light and happy that her whole body seemed to be soothed, and the warmth and comfort of the fire spread over her like magic, and she looked at the Red coals, a tired smile quietly climbed onto the stained face, her head unconsciously lowered forward, and her eyelids were pulled down, so she fell asleep.In fact she only came in about ten minutes before Sarah, but she slept deeply, like Sleeping Beauty for a hundred years.And yet she--poor Becky! -- doesn't look like Sleeping Beauty at all.She was nothing more than an ugly, stunted, exhausted kitchen slave.

Sara seemed so different from herself, as if Sara was a figure from another world. On this afternoon, Sara had dance lessons, and the afternoon when the dance teacher showed up was a grand festival in the training institute, although it happened once a week.When the time came for the students to put on their best dresses, Sara was pushed to the front, as she danced so well, and Mariette was asked beforehand to dress her as lightly and beautifully as possible. Today, Sarah is wearing a rose-colored dress, and Mariette has bought some budding flowers and made her a wreath to wear in her hack hair.She had just begun to learn a new, cheerful dance in which she would fly swiftly about the room like a great rosy butterfly;She came into her room just as she did in the butterfly dance -- Becky was sitting there, dozing off with her hat slanted on her head. "Ah!" cried Sara softly, seeing her, "the poor little fellow!"

Sara was not offended to find her favorite seat taken by the ragged little figure, and, truth be told, she was glad to see her sitting there.When the abused heroine of her story wakes up, she'll be able to talk to her.Sarah moved closer to her quietly and stood watching her.Becky snored softly. "I hope she wakes up by herself," Sara said. "I hate to wake her. But Miss Minchin will lose her temper if she finds out. I'll wait a few minutes for her." She sat down on the edge of the table, swinging her thin rose-coloured legs, wondering what to do.Miss Amelia would come in at any minute, and Becky would be sure to be scolded if she did.

"But she is so tired," thought Sarah, "so tired indeed!" A flaming coal ended Sarah's confusion in an instant.It exploded from a hunk of coal and fell onto the fencing of the furnace.Becky woke up with a start, and opened her eyes with a gasp of terror.She didn't know she was asleep.She simply wanted to sit for a moment and feel the beauty of the fire--and now she found herself looking in disbelief at the great student who loomed over her like a rosy fairy, With concerned eyes. Becky jumped up and grabbed her hat.She noticed that the hat was hanging over her ears, and hurriedly set about putting it on.Well, she's in big trouble now.How recklessly fell asleep on such a young lady's seat!She would be kicked out of the gate and not paid.

She swallowed hard as if she couldn't breathe. "Oh, miss! Oh, miss!" she stammered, "I beg your pardon, miss! Oh, I beg you, miss!" Sara jumped off the edge of the table and pressed close to Becky. "Don't be afraid," she said, as if addressing a little girl like herself. "It doesn't matter at all." "It wasn't my intention, miss," protested Becky. "It's all that warm fire--and I'm so tired. This--no offense!" Sarah couldn't help a friendly chuckle and put her hand on Becky's shoulder. "You're tired," Sara said. "You couldn't help it. You're not quite awake yet." How pitifully Becky stared at her!In truth, Becky had never heard such a sweet and friendly voice in anyone's voice. She was used to being ordered, reprimanded, and slapped.And this young lady - in her rose-coloured splendor for the afternoon dance - was looking at her as if she hadn't committed a crime at all - she seemed entitled to fatigue - even to sleep!The touch of that soft and slender hand on her shoulder was the most beautiful and strange feeling she had ever experienced. "Aren't you - aren't you mad, miss?" she gasped. "Aren't you going to tell the mistress?" "No," Sarah said loudly. "Of course not." The pained and terrified expression on the smudged face made Sarah feel suddenly unbearably sad.A strange idea suddenly popped into my mind.She reached out and stroked Becky's cheek. "Yes," said Sarah, "we're exactly the same—I'm just a little girl like you. And it's just an accident that I'm not you and you're not me!" Becky didn't understand at all.Her mind couldn't comprehend such outlandish ideas, and an "accident" meant to her something like someone being run over by a car or falling off a ladder and needing to be taken to the hospital. "An accident, miss," she said reverently, her heart pounding. "Is it?" "Yes," replied Sara, looking at Becky for a moment with a sort of fascination, and then speaking in a quite different tone.She realized that Becky didn't understand her. "Have you finished your work?" she asked. "Do you dare to stay here for a few more minutes?" Becky was breathless again. "Here, miss? Me?" Sarah ran to the door, opened it, looked out and listened. "There's no one else around," she explained. "If you get your bedroom all packed, you might be able to stay for a while. I thought—maybe—you might like a piece of cake." The next ten minutes seemed to Becky a kind of euphoric dream.Sarah opened the cupboard and handed her a thick slice of cake.Sarah looked delighted as she wolfed down the cake.Sara laughed and questioned her until Becky's fear had practically begun to wear off on its own, and once or twice Becky found the nerve to ask a question, feeling daring to herself. Is that—" asked Becky, looking enviously at the rose-colored dress, in a low whisper, "that's your best ? "This is one of the dresses I dance with," Sara replied, "I like this one. Do you like it?" The admiration made Becky almost speechless for a moment.awed accent says: "I saw a princess once. I was standing in the street with the crowd outside the Opera House in Covent Park watching smartly dressed people go in. One of them, everyone was clamoring to see. Tell that's a princess. She's a full grown young lady, all pink -- gown, cape, flowers and everything. I thought of her the moment I saw you sitting on the table, miss. You look like she." ① Located in the center of London. "I've often thought," Sarah said in her brooding tone, "that I should love being a princess; I don't know what it's like to be a princess. I think I'm going to start pretending I am a princess." Becky stared at her appreciatively, not understanding her at all, as before.She watched her with adoring eyes.Sara quickly broke from her musings and asked Becky a new question. "Becky," she said, "didn't you hear the story that time?" "Yes, ma'am," admitted Becky, a little alarmed again. "I know I shouldn't be listening, but it's such a beautiful story that I—I can't help but want to hear it." "I like having you listen," Sarah said. "If you tell a story, there's nothing more satisfying than telling it to those who want to hear it. I don't know why. Would you like to hear the rest of that story?" Becky was breathless with excitement again. "Let me listen?" she exclaimed. "Just pretend I'm a student too, miss! It's all about that prince--and those little white mermaids swimming around laughing and having stars in their hair, aren't they?" Sarah nodded. "I'm afraid you don't have time to listen now," she said, and told me when to come and tidy up my room, and I'll stay here as long as I can, and tell you a little bit about it every day until it's over.It's a lovely long story -- and I'm always adding a little more. " "In that case," said Becky earnestly, after a breath, "I don't care how much the coal-box weighs,--or what the cook does to me, if--if I can hope." "You can have it," Sarah said. "I'm going to tell you the whole story." When Becky went downstairs, she was no longer the same Becky who had been bent over by the weight of the coal box and went up the stairs without knowing it.She had another piece of cake in her pocket, and her belly was full and her body warm, not just from the cake and the fire.There was something else that filled and warmed her, and that was Sarah. When Becky was gone, Sarah took her favorite place at the end of the table.She had her feet on the chair, her elbows on her knees, and her chin in her hands. "If I was a princess—a real princess," she murmured, "I could give bounties to the people. But even if I was just a pretend princess, I could think of little things to do for the people. .It’s like this. It’s like a bounty, and the princess will be just as happy. I’m going to pretend that doing what people like is giving bounties. I’ve given bounties.”