Маленькая принцесса

           Ah,indeed,MademoiselleSaramightwellask.Shewasaforlornlittlethingwhohadjusttakentheplaceofscullerymaid—though,astobeingscullerymaid,shewaseverythingelsebesides.Sheblackedbootsandgrates,andcarriedheavycoal-scuttlesupanddownstairs,andscrubbedfloorsandcleanedwindows,andwasorderedaboutbyeverybody.Shewasfourteenyearsold,butwassostuntedingrowththatshelookedabouttwelve.Intruth,Mariettewassorryforher.Shewassotimidthatifonechancedtospeaktoheritappearedasifherpoor,frightenedeyeswouldjumpoutofherhead.

           "Whatishername?"askedSara,whohadsatbythetable,withherchinonherhands,asshelistenedabsorbedlytotherecital.

           HernamewasBecky.Marietteheardeveryonebelow-stairscalling,"Becky,dothis,"and"Becky,dothat,"everyfiveminutesintheday.

           Sarasatandlookedintothefire,reflectingonBeckyforsometimeafterMariettelefther.ShemadeupastoryofwhichBeckywastheill-usedheroine.Shethoughtshelookedasifshehadneverhadquiteenoughtoeat.Herveryeyeswerehungry.Shehopedsheshouldseeheragain,butthoughshecaughtsightofhercarryingthingsupordownstairsonseveraloccasions,shealwaysseemedinsuchahurryandsoafraidofbeingseenthatitwasimpossibletospeaktoher.

           Butafewweekslater,onanotherfoggyafternoon,whensheenteredhersittingroomshefoundherselfconfrontingaratherpatheticpicture.Inherownspecialandpeteasy-chairbeforethebrightfire,Becky—withacoalsmudgeonhernoseandseveralonherapron,withherpoorlittlecaphanginghalfoffherhead,andanemptycoalboxonthefloornearher—satfastasleep,tiredoutbeyondeventheenduranceofherhard-workingyoungbody.