Chapter 6 Chapter 6 Diamond Mine

Shortly thereafter, a very exciting thing happened.Not just Sarah, but the whole school thought so, making it a major topic of conversation for weeks after the incident.Captain Crewe relates a very interesting incident in one of his letters.In India, a schoolmate of his when he was a child visited him unexpectedly.This friend owns a large piece of land where diamonds have been found, and he is working on developing the mine.If all had gone as surely as predicted, he would have been the owner of a fortune so vast that it was dizzying to think about it.Because he likes his friends from his student days, he was given a good opportunity to be a business partner and share this huge wealth in the future.That was at least what Sarah knew from her father's letters.Seriously, any other corporate plan, no matter how grand, wouldn't have much appeal to her or to the class, but "Diamond Mine" sounds like "Fantasy," and no one Can be indifferent.Sarah thought of it charmingly, and vividly described to Ermengarde and Lottie the vision of labyrinthine passages in the guts of the earth, where gleaming gems strewn walls, roofs, and ceilings, and strange dark-skinned people Ermengarde listened with delight, and Lottie insisted on repeating it to her every evening.Lavinia was disgusted by this.Tell Jesse she doesn't believe there's such a thing as diamond mines.

"My mother has a diamond ring worth forty pounds," said Lavinia. "That's not very big. It's ridiculous how rich people should be if there were mines full of diamonds." "Maybe Sara would be that rich, and she'd be ridiculous," Jessie giggled. "She's ridiculous even if she's not rich," Lavinia sniffed. "I believe you hate her," Jessie said. "No, I don't hate her," snapped Lavinia, "but I don't believe in mines full of diamonds." "But people gotta get it somewhere," Jessie said. "What do you think of what Gertrude said, Lavinia?" Again giggling

"I don't know, I really don't know, but I don't care if it's a new thing about that old Sarah that people talk about." "Yes, that's right, one of her tricks of pretense is to think she's a princess. She puts on a show all the time--even at school. She says it helps her learn better. She's going to make Emmanuel Gard is also a princess, but Ermengard says she is too fat." "She's really fat," Lavinia said. "And Sarah is too skinny." Naturally, Jesse giggled again. "She said it has nothing to do with what you look like, or what you have. It's only about what you think and what you do."

"I see she thinks she can be a princess even if she is a beggar," Rajunya said. "Let us begin addressing her His Royal Highness." The day's lessons were over and they were enjoying their favorite moments sitting in front of the classroom fire.This was the hour of tea for Miss Minchin and Miss Amelia in their sacrosanct drawing-room.During this hour the students converse extensively, exchanging a great deal of anecdotes, and it is better if the younger pupils are well behaved and do not make noise and run about, as they usually do. of.When they growl, older girls often reprimand them, or stop them with fists.They wanted the little ones to keep order, for if they did not there was the danger of Miss Minchin or Miss Amelia appearing to end the merry hour.While Lavinia was speaking, the door opened, and Sara walked in, leading Lottie, who was in the habit of trotting around after Sara like a puppy.

"Here she comes, with that nasty child!" Lavinia yelled into Jessie's ear. "If she likes Lottie so much, why doesn't she keep her in her room? Lottie's going to be howling for something in five minutes." It turned out that Lottie had suddenly fancied herself to play in the classroom, and had begged her adoptive mother to come with her.She joins a group of little ones playing in a corner of the classroom.Sarah sat down on the window seat, curled up, and opened a book to read.It was a book about the French Revolution, and she was quickly drawn to a passage describing the harrowing conditions of the prisoners in the Bastille—people who had spent so many years in the dungeon, and when they were dragged out by their rescuers, the long With gray hair and beards almost covering their faces, they have forgotten that there is an outside world, and they are like ghosts in a dream.

Her heart was far away from the classroom, and it was not a pleasant thing to be suddenly dragged back to reality by Lottie's howling.Nothing was more difficult than holding back her temper when she was suddenly interrupted while she was engrossed in her book.Avid readers can understand the overwhelming exasperation at such moments.The urge to scold someone unreasonably is hard to restrain. "It made me feel as though someone had hit me," Sara once confided privately to Ermengarde, "and I felt like I was going to fight back. I had to think of something else right away to avoid some angry words." . . . " As she put the book she was reading on the window seat and hopped away from that cozy corner, she had to think of something else right away.

Lottie let out a yelp, which annoyed Lavinia and Jessie, and then slid across the classroom floor, falling and hurting her fat knee.So she yells and jumps up and down among a group of friends and enemies, alternating cajoling from friends with scolding from enemies. "Stop it now, you crybaby! Stop it now!" Lavinia snapped. "I'm not a crybaby--I'm not!" wailed Lottie. "Sarah, Sarah!" "If she doesn't stop, Ms. Minchin is going to hear it," Jessie cried. "Lottie darling, I'll give you a penny!" "I don't want your money," whimpered Lottie, looking down at her fat knee, seeing a drop of blood on it, and crying again.Sarah flew across the classroom, knelt down, and put her arms around her. "There, Lottie," said Sarah. "Well, Lottie, you promised Sarah."

"She said I was a crybaby," Lottie cried.Sarah patted her lightly, and spoke with that firm tone that Lottie had known. "But if you cry, you'll be a crybaby, Lottie darling. You promised." Lottie remembered that she had promised, but still raised her voice. "I don't have any mother," she declared, "I don't have—not at all—a mother." "No, you have a mother," Sarah said happily. "Did you forget? You didn't know Sarah was your mother? Didn't you want Sarah to be your mother?" Lottie curled up against Sarah, snorting in relief. "Come, sit with me on the window seat," Sara went on, "and I will whisper a story to you."

"Really?" said Lottie, sobbing. "Will you--tell me--the story of the diamond mine?" "Diamond mines?" Lavinia interrupted suddenly. "Nasty spoiled little thing. I want to slap her!" Sarah stood up suddenly.The reader will recall that she had just been engrossed in the book about the Bastille, and that when she realized that she had to take care of the "adopted daughter," she had to quickly think of something else.She's no angel, she doesn't like Lavinia. "Why," said Sara, a little irritated, "I should have slapped you—but I didn't want to!" She checked herself. "At least I wanted to hit you—and should have—but I didn't want to. We're not street bums. We're both old enough to be sensible."

Here's Lavinia's chance. "Why, yes, Your Majesty," she said. "We're princesses, I'm sure. At least one of us is a princess. This school should be very fashionable, since Ms. Minchin has a princess as a student." Sarah rushed towards each other, looking like It's like wanting to slap each other across the face.Maybe she really wanted to fight.The "pretend" tricks she plays are the joy of her life.She never told a girl she didn't like.This new trick of "pretending" to be a princess was what she valued most, and she was shy and sensitive about it.She was keeping it a secret, and this time Lavinia was laughing at her in front of almost the whole school.She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks, the roaring in her ears, and she could hardly bear it.If you're a princess, she thought, you can't get angry.So her hands dropped, and she stood motionless for a moment.When she spoke, it was in a calm, determined voice; she held her head up, and everyone was listening.

"That's right," she said. "Sometimes I do pretend I'm a princess. I pretend to be a princess so I can try to act like a princess." Lavinia could not think of the exact words to say.There were a few times when she found herself unable to think of a satisfactory answer to Sarah.The reason for this was that the rest always seemed to be secretly sympathizing with her opponent somehow.Now she saw that they were all listening with interest.The truth is that they both loved the princess and wanted to hear something more definite about the princess, so they drew closer to Sara. Lavinia could only think of one sentence, but it fell flat. "Ah!" she said, "I hope you won't forget us when you come to the throne." "I won't," Sara said, standing still without another word, just staring calmly at Lavinia as she took Jessie's arm and turned away. From then on those girls who were jealous of Sarah and wanted to despise her often called her "Princess Sarah", and among those who loved her, this title was used as a nickname.No one called her "Princess" instead of "Sara", but admirers liked this unique and lofty title, and Ms. Minchin heard this title and mentioned it more than once to visiting parents of students, thinking that It has quite the impression of a royal boarding school. To Becky, it seemed like the most fitting thing in the world.Sara's acquaintance from that foggy afternoon, when she was startled from sleep in her comfortable chair, had now matured into a friendship, but it must be said that Miss Minchin and Miss Amelia Almost nothing is known about it.They only knew that Sara was "kind" to the kitchen girl, but they didn't know that Becky risked a few moments of fun.By then the upstairs rooms had been put into order with lightning speed, and she went to Sarah's sitting room, put down the heavy coal box, and breathed a sigh of relief.Moments like this were used to tell the story in installments, and something substantial was either taken out and eaten, or hastily stuffed into Becky's pocket to be taken to her attic for the night's enjoyment when she went upstairs to bed. . "But I must eat very carefully, miss," said Becky once, "for if I drop a crumb, the mice will come out and eat." "Rats!" Sara exclaimed. "Do you have mice there?" "A lot, miss," answered Becky honestly. "There are usually big mice and little mice in the attic. You get used to the noise they make when they scurry around. I'm used to it and don't care about them, as long as they don't run on my pillow." "Oh!" said Sarah. "You get used to anything after a while," says Becky. "Miss, if you're born to be a kitchen girl, you're bound to be. I'd rather have mice than cockroaches." "Me too," said Sara, "I think you can be friends with mice someday, but I don't think I'd like to be friends with cockroaches." Sometimes Becky did not dare to stay in the bright and warm room for a few more minutes. In this case, she could only exchange a few words, and then stuffed a small gift she bought into the old-fashioned pocket that Becky carried under her skirt. , which is tied around the waist with a belt.So the quest for something to eat and pack into a packet added a new concern to Sara's life.When she was out in the car or on foot, she often looked eagerly into the shop windows.When she first thought of bringing home two or three mince pies, she thought it would be a great discovery.Becky's eyes lit up when she showed it to Becky. "Oh, miss!" murmured Becky. "These are really good fillings. Filling is the most important thing. Sponge cake is a wonderful thing, but it melts like-- you probably understand, miss. These things stay in your stomach ." "But," Sara hesitated, "I don't think it's good if they stay in the stomach all the time, but I'm sure they'll keep you hungry." They'll satisfy your hunger -- so will a beef sandwich, which you get from a tavern -- and so will the rolls and bologna.Becky gradually began to feel less hunger and fatigue, and the coal-box became less unbearably heavy. No matter how heavy it was, how bad the cook's temper was, and how hard the work was on her shoulders, she always had a good chance of that afternoon to look forward to -- and that was that Miss Sara would stay in her sitting room. inside.In fact, even without the mince pies, just seeing Sarah would be enough.If there is only time for a few words, it will always be something intimate and exciting; if there is more time, then follow up with a story from the last time, or do some other thing that will never be forgotten, Sometimes lying awake in bed in the attic thinking about it. Sara--she was only doing something she loved most without knowing it, and the Creator had intended her to be a giver--had no sense of what she meant to poor Becky herself. , and didn't realize what an unusual protector she was.If the Creator made you a giver, then your hands were born to give, and your heart is also open; although sometimes your hands are empty, your heart is always full, and you can take out what you want to give-- Something warm, something kind, something sweet -- helping, comforting, laughing -- and sometimes a happy, loving laugh is the best help. Becky had hardly known laughter in her poor, enslaved little life.It was Sara who made her laugh, and laughed with her, though neither of them quite understood that laughter filled a void as mince pies fill a hunger. A few weeks before her eleventh birthday, Sarah received a letter from her father, which was not as childish and cheerful as usual.He was not in very good health, evidently because the business of the diamond mines had overburdened him. "You know, little Sara," he wrote, "your father is no businessman at all, figures and papers bore him. He doesn't really understand them, and the business seems too much. Maybe if I don't So anxious and irritable, I will not toss and turn in the middle of the night and have nightmares in the second half of the night. If my little housewife is here, I dare say she will give me some serious advice. You It will, will it not, my little housewife?" Calling Sarah his "little housewife" was one of his many jokes, because she had an air of teenage maturity. He had made wonderful preparations for Sarah's birthday.Among the things to be prepared were a doll newly ordered from Paris, and the doll's seasonal costumes were, of course, strangely perfect.He asked her in the letter whether the doll would be a good gift, and Sarah gave a strange answer. "I've grown so big," she wrote, "you know, I can't keep having you give me dolls like this anymore. This is going to be my last doll. It's kind of a big deal. If I could write poetry, I'm sure it would be nice to write a poem about the last doll. But I can't write poetry. I tried and it made me laugh. It doesn't sound like the poet Watts, As good as Coleridge or Shakespeare. No one can take Emily's place, but I will have great respect for that last doll, and I am sure the whole school will love it. They all love dolls, although some of them are older children --the ones approaching fifteen--professed to have grown too big for their liking." Captain Crewe was reading this in his bungalow with a verandah in India when he had a splitting headache.The table before him was piled with papers and letters, and they alarmed him, filled him with worry and fear, but Sarah's letter made him smile, as he hadn't done in weeks. "Oh," he said, "she's getting more and more interesting every year. God bless the business to pick up on its own, so I can go back home and see her. I don't want anything but her little arms around me right now." on my neck! I don't want anything!" Sarah's birthday was a big celebration, with classroom decorations and a banquet.The boxes of presents were to be opened with solemnity, and there was to be a colorful feast in Miss Minchin's hallowed room.When that day comes, the whole house will be swept up in a whirlpool of excitement.Nobody quite knew how that morning went, because there was so much preparation to be done.The classrooms were decorated with holly wreaths, the desks had been removed, and red covers had been put on the benches, which were arranged in a circle against the walls. In the morning Sarah went into her sitting room to find a bulging packet on the table, wrapped in a piece of brown paper.She knew it was a gift, and she thought she could guess who it was from.She opened it very gently.It turned out to be a square pin-pin, made of dirty red flannel, into which some black pins were carefully inserted, forming a line: "HAPPY BIRTHDAY." "Ah!" Sara exclaimed warmly in her heart. "What pains she has put into it! I like it, it--it makes me ashamed." But in an instant she was bewildered.A business card was taped to the underside of the pin-holder, with some neat words on it: "Miss Amelia Minchin." Sarah turned it over and over again. "Miss Amelia!" she said to herself. "How is that possible!" At this moment, she heard the door being pushed open carefully, and saw Becky visiting at the door. With an adoring, happy smile on Becky's face, she moved her feet forward and stopped, pulling her fingers nervously. "Do you like it, Miss Sarah?" she said. "Like it?" "Like it?" cried Sara. "My dear Becky, you made it all yourself." Becky let out a snort that was almost hysterical but joyful, and her eyes filled with tears of joy. "It's nothing but flannel, and that flannel isn't new, but I wanted to give you something, and I made it all night. I know you can imagine it's satin , with some diamond pins in it. I tried to think that way when I made it. That business card, ma'am," said a little hesitantly, "I picked it out of the trash, it's not my Miss Amelia threw it away. I don't have my own business card and I knew it wouldn't be a proper gift without one attached- so I attached Amelia Miss Ya's." Sara ran over, hugged Becky tightly, and couldn't explain to herself or anyone why there seemed to be something stuck in her throat. "Oh, Becky!" she cried, with an unusual little smile. "I love you, Becky - really, really!" "Oh, miss!" whispered Becky. "Thank you, miss, thank you very much! That's not good as a gift. That--that flannel isn't new."