Chapter 13 Chapter Thirteen An Ordinary People

It was an unlucky winter.There are days when Sara runs errands in the snow, and there are worse days when the snow melts and forms a cold slush with the mud; That afternoon a few years ago, when the carriage drove down the street, Sarah curled up in the seat, leaning on her father's shoulder.On such a day the windows of the Great House always looked cheerful, comfortable, and inviting, and the study in which the Indian gentleman sat glowed with bright warm colours.But the attic was indescribably gloomy.There was no more sunset or sunrise to be seen from there, and hardly even the stars, Sara thought.The clouds hung low outside the skylight, either gray or muddy, or it was raining heavily.At four o'clock in the afternoon, even if there is no particularly thick fog, the sky is dark.If it was necessary to go to the attic to get something at this time, Sarah had to light a candle.The maids in the kitchen were depressed, which made them even more ill-tempered than usual.Becky was driven like a little slave.

"If it hadn't been for you, Mademoiselle," she said hoarsely to Sara one night, when she had sneaked into the attic, "if it hadn't been for you and the Bastille, and me as a prisoner in the next cell, I would have died. It all seems real now, doesn't it? The mistress is looking more and more like a warden. I can almost see those big keys you told her about her. Please tell me more, miss. —tell me about the tunnel we dug under the wall." "I'm going to tell you something heartwarming," Sara said shudderingly. "Get your bedspread to wrap around you, and I'll get mine, and we'll be huddled together in bed, and I'll tell you the story of the tropical forest where the Indian gentleman's monkey used to live When I see it sitting on the table in front of the window, looking sadly at the street, I always feel that it must be missing the tropical forest, where he often swings with his tail hanging from the coconut tree. I don’t know Who caught him, did he leave behind a family who depended on him picking coconuts for a living."

"It's heart-warming, madam," said Becky gratefully, "but somehow even the Bastille heats up a little when you get on with it." "That's because it reminds you of something else," said Sara, pulling the coverlet around herself, leaving only a small black face looking out. "I've noticed that. When your body is in distress, what the mind has to do is think of something else." "Miss, can you do it?" said Becky hesitantly, looking at her admiringly. Sarah frowned for a moment. "Sometimes you can, sometimes you can't," she said flatly. "But when I can do it, I'm fine. And I believe we can always do it - as long as we practice enough. I've been practicing a lot lately and it's starting to feel easier than it used to be. When the situation When it's bad - when it's really bad - I think like I used to be I'm a princess. I say to myself, 'I'm a princess, a fairy princess, and because I'm a fairy nothing can hurt I may make me miserable.' You don't know how doing that can make you forget your misfortune." She laughed.

There were plenty of opportunities for her to focus on other things, to test herself whether she was a princess or not.But one of the greatest trials she ever had was on a dreadful day which she thought of so often afterwards, which never quite faded from her memory, even in later years. It had been raining for days, and the streets were cold and muddy, filled with a dreary cold mist, and there was mud everywhere—sticky London mud—and a drizzle and fog hung over everything.Of course, there were a few laborious errands to be done--as they always do on such days--Sarah was sent out again and again until her rags were soaked.The ridiculous old feathers on the battered hat are even more filthy and ridiculous after being soaked in water, and the shoes with the knocked-off heels are so wet that they can't be wet.On top of that, she was not allowed to have supper, because Miss Minchin was determined to punish her.She was cold, hungry, and tired, and her face began to look shriveled.From time to time, some well-meaning people walked by her side on the street, and would suddenly glance at her with sympathy.But she didn't know it, and hurried on, trying to get her mind to think of something else.This is indeed very necessary.The way she does this is to "pretend" and "assume" with all her strength.But this time it is indeed more difficult than before.Once or twice, she felt that doing so almost made her hunger undiminished.But she persisted tenaciously, the muddy water creaked in her broken shoes, and the wind seemed to sweep away the thin coat from her body. She was talking to herself as she walked, although she didn't say it out loud, and she didn't even move her lips. .

"Suppose I'm wearing dry clothes," she thought. "Suppose I have a good pair of shoes and a long, thick coat, merino wool stockings and a good umbrella, and suppose—suppose—that just as I approach a bakery that sells hot buns When I was in the shop, I found a sixpence piece—it belonged to no one. Assuming I found it, I was going to go in and buy six of the hottest buns, and eat them all in one sitting." In this world, sometimes strange things happen. What happened to Sarah was indeed a strange thing.As she said these words to herself, she had to cross the street.The mud was horrible—she almost had to lie down in it.She picked her way as carefully as she could, and it didn't help her, but when she walked she had to look down at her feet and at the mud, and when she looked down—just as she stepped onto the pavement —she saw something glowing in the gutter.A silver coin indeed--a small silver coin that has been trodden down by many feet, but still has enough spirit left to shine a little.It wasn't a sixpence, but a notch below it—a silver fourpence.

In an instant, it reached her little hand, which was red and purple from the cold. "Ah," she gasped, "it's true! It's true!" Then, don't know if you believe me or not, she looked straight at the store directly across from her.It was a bakery, and a beaming, motherly woman, strong and ruddy, was putting in the window a tray of delicious, hot, freshly baked rolls, fresh from the oven, the size of a head. , plump, shiny, with raisins inside. It almost made Sarah feel dizzy for a moment--caused by the rush of emotion, the sight of the bread, and the smell of hot bread wafting up through the bakery cellar window.

She knew she could use this little silver coin without hesitation.It had evidently been in the mud for some time, and the owner had long since disappeared in the hustle and bustle of passing people all day long. "But I'm going to ask the baker girl if something's missing," she said to herself, feeling a little dizzy again.So she crossed the sidewalk and put a wet foot up the steps.Just then, she saw something that stopped her. It was a little man, even more wretched than she herself--a little man who looked little better than a rag of rags, with muddy, cold, bare feet sticking out because The rags were not long enough to cover those little feet no matter how much their owner pulled them.Above the rags peeped a disheveled head with matted hair, and large, sunken eyes with hunger in a dirty face.

Sara knew it was a pair of hungry eyes at a glance, and sympathy arose spontaneously. "The child," she said to herself, with a soft sigh, "is one of the lower classes—she's hungrier than I am." The kid—this "one of the lower classes"—gazing up at Sara, moved a little aside to let Sara pass.She's used to making way for everyone.She knew that if the police happened to see her, they would tell her to "go away." Sarah held the little silver fourpenny tightly, hesitated for a few seconds, and then spoke to her. "Are you hungry?" she asked.

The child moved his body, which was wrapped in rags, a little further. "I'm not hungry?" she said hoarsely, "Aren't I hungry7" "Haven't you had lunch?" Sarah said. "Haven't had lunch,"—the voice became more hoarse, and moved a few more steps. "Haven't had breakfast either—nor supper at all. Nothing." "Since when?" Sarah asked. "Don't know. Didn't get anything today—nowhere. I asked for it again and again." Just looking at her made Sarah feel hungrier and dizzier.But those strange little thoughts were going on in her head, and she was talking to herself, sick as she was.

"If I were a princess," she said--"if I were a princess--when they were impoverished and driven out of the royal family--if they met a poorer and hungrier commoner--they would always Shared with him. They always shared. The bun was a penny a piece. If it was a sixpence I could have eaten six. It wasn't enough for one of us. But it was better than nothing. " "Wait a minute," she said to the beggar child. She goes into the bakery.It was warm inside and smelled delicious.The woman was about to put some more warm rolls in the window. "Excuse me," said Sarah, "did you ever drop a fourpence—a silver fourpence?" She held out the little discarded silver piece before her.

The woman looked at the silver and then at her--at her nervous little face and her damp, once-beautiful dress. "God bless us! No," replied the woman. "Did you pick it up?" "Yes," Sarah said. "In the gutter." "Then you may keep it," said the woman. "Maybe it's been there for a week, God knows who lost it. You'll never find the owner." "I know that," Sarah said, "but I want to ask you." "No one will ask," the woman said, looking puzzled and interested and kind at the same time. "Would you like to buy something?" she said again, seeing Sarah glance at the round face. "Four buns, please," said Sarah. "Those penny ones." The woman went to the window and put some in a paper bag. Sarah noticed that she had put in six. "Sorry, I said four," she explained. "I've only got fourpence." "I'll add two to fill it up," said the woman kindly. "I bet you could eat them all sooner or later. Aren't you very hungry?" Sarah's eyes welled up with tears. "Yes," she answered, "I am very hungry, and I am very grateful for your kindness, and,"—she was about to add—"there is a child out there who is hungrier than I am." But just then Two or three customers came in at once, each of them seemed in a hurry, so Sarah thanked the woman again and went out. The beggar girl was still huddled in a corner of the steps.She looked forbidding in her wet and dirty rags.She was staring straight ahead with pained, glazed eyes, and Sarah seemed surprised to see her suddenly wipe with the rough back of her hand the tears from her eyes, which burst from under her eyelids.She was muttering to herself. Sarah opened the paper bag and took out a warm bun that had warmed her own cold hands a little. "See," she said, putting the bread in the girl's tattered dress pocket, "it's hot and delicious. Eat it and you won't be so hungry." Startled, the child looked up at her, as if almost terrified by such sudden and startling good fortune, and she snatched up the bread, stuffed it into her mouth, and devoured it. "Ah! Aah!" Sara heard her say hoarsely in ecstasy, "Ah!" Sarah took out three more loaves and put them on her lap. That husky, gobbling voice was terrifying. "She's hungrier than I am," Sara said to herself. "She's starving." But when she put down the fourth loaf, her hands shook. "I'm not starving," she said—and dropped the fifth. The gluttonous little London savage was still grabbing the bread and swallowing it when she turned away.She was too hungry to say thank you, even if she had been educated in manners - which she hadn't.She's just a poor little beast. "Goodbye," Sarah said. She walked across the street and looked back.The girl took a loaf in each hand, took a half bite, and stopped to look at Sarah.Sara gave her a slight nod, and the child took another look--the strange look lasted a moment--and jerked his shaggy head in reply, not taking another bite until Sara was out of sight. Bread, finish the bread you started. Meanwhile the baker was looking out from behind the window. "Why, that's incredible!" she exclaimed. "The little one gave her bread to the beggar! It wasn't because she didn't want bread herself. Well, well, she looks hungry. I'd love to know why she did it." She stood behind the window for a moment, lost in thought.Then her curiosity got the better of her.She went to the door and spoke to the beggar child. "Who gave you that bread?" she asked. The child nodded to Sara's disappearing figure. "What did she say?" asked the woman. "Ask me if I'm hungry," the hoarse voice answered. "Then what do you say?" "Say I'm hungry." "And then she came in, and took the bread, and gave them to you, didn't she?" The child nods. "How much did you give?" "Five." The woman thought carefully. "Just keep one for myself," she whispered, "and she'll eat all six—I can see it in her eyes." Looking at the little figure slowly going away, her heart, which has always been comfortable, has never felt so uneasy for a long time. "I hope she doesn't go away so soon," she said. "Damn me for not letting her get a dozen." Then she turned to the beggar. "Are you still hungry?" she said. "I'm always hungry," was the answer, "but not as much as I used to be." "Come in," said the woman, opening the shop door. The child stood up and shuffled in.It seemed incredible to be invited into such a warm place full of bread.She didn't know what was going to happen and didn't even care. "Warm yourself up," said the woman, pointing to the fire in the small back room. "Listen, when you're short of bread, you can come into this store and ask for it. I'll be damned if I give you bread for no reason." Sarah took some comfort from one of her remaining loaves.Either way, it's still hot, which is better than nothing.As she walked, she broke the bread into small pieces and ate them slowly so that they would stay in her mouth longer. "Assuming it's a magic bun," she said, "one bite and it's a meal. If I keep eating like this, I'll overeat!" By the time she came to the yard where the advanced training institute was located, it was already dark.The lights in those houses were on.There was one room where the shutters had not been drawn, and she could almost always see the "extended family" from the window.Often at this time she could see the gentleman she called Mr. Montmorency sitting in a large chair, surrounded by a group of little fellows talking and laughing, some sitting on the arms of his chair, Some sat on his lap, others snuggled up to him.That evening, the little ones still surrounded him, but he did not sit down.On the contrary, there are some exciting things going on.Evidently preparing for a trip, and it was M. de Montmorency who was going out.A four-wheeled carriage was parked in front of the door, and a large traveling suitcase had been strapped to it.The children danced and danced and babbled about their father.The pretty ruddy mother was standing beside him talking, as if asking some final questions.Sarah stood for a moment watching him pick up the younger ones for kisses, and bend down to kiss the older ones. "I don't know if he's going to be away for a long time," she thought. "That's a pretty big suitcase. God, how they'll miss him! I'll miss him myself—even though he doesn't know there's me yet." When the gate opened, she walked away—remembering the six-year-old silver coin—the older children lingered as soon as she saw the outman come out and stand against the backdrop of the warm and bright hall. at his side. "Will Moscow be covered with snow?" said the little girl Janet. "Will there be ice everywhere?" "Can you ride in a Russian carriage?" cried another. "Are you going to see the Tsar?" "I'll write to tell you all about it," he replied, laughing, "and I'll send you pictures of Russian peasants, etc. Get back inside, it's a nasty wet night. I'd rather be with you I don't want to go to Moscow either. Good-bye! Good-bye, my dear children! God bless you!" Then he ran down the steps and jumped into the carriage. "If you find the little girl, say hi to her for us," cried Guy Clarence, jumping up and down on the doormat. Then they went into the house and closed the door. "Did you see that?" Janet said to Nora, back in the room, "that 'not a beggar girl' just passed here. She looked cold and wet, and I saw her turn to look at us Mama said her clothes always looked like they were given to her by someone very rich-someone who only gave them to her because they were too worn out. The people in the school were always day and night in the worst weather sent her out to work." Sarah crossed the yard to the steps of Miss Minchin's little patio, feeling dazed and unsteady. "I wonder who that little girl is," she thought—"the little girl he's looking for." She went down the steps of the small patio, dragging the basket, which she felt was too heavy, while the father of the "big family" was driving straight to the railway station to catch the Moscow train, where he would try his best. Go all out to find Captain Crewe's missing little daughter.