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"
He
always
says
,
'
Tom
,
old
man
--
Tom
--
where
is
the
Little
Missus
?
'
"
He
caught
at
Carmichael
's
hand
and
clung
to
it
.
"
I
must
be
able
to
answer
him
--
I
must
!
"
he
said
.
"
Help
me
to
find
her
.
Help
me
.
"
On
the
other
side
of
the
wall
Sara
was
sitting
in
her
garret
talking
to
Melchisedec
,
who
had
come
out
for
his
evening
meal
.
"
It
has
been
hard
to
be
a
princess
today
,
Melchisedec
,
"
she
said
.
"
It
has
been
harder
than
usual
.
It
gets
harder
as
the
weather
grows
colder
and
the
streets
get
more
sloppy
.
When
Lavinia
laughed
at
my
muddy
skirt
as
I
passed
her
in
the
hall
,
I
thought
of
something
to
say
all
in
a
flash
--
and
I
only
just
stopped
myself
in
time
.
You
ca
n't
sneer
back
at
people
like
that
--
if
you
are
a
princess
.
But
you
have
to
bite
your
tongue
to
hold
yourself
in
.
I
bit
mine
.
It
was
a
cold
afternoon
,
Melchisedec
.
And
it
's
a
cold
night
.
"
Quite
suddenly
she
put
her
black
head
down
in
her
arms
,
as
she
often
did
when
she
was
alone
.
"
Oh
,
papa
,
"
she
whispered
,
"
what
a
long
time
it
seems
since
I
was
your
'
Little
Missus
'
!
"
This
was
what
happened
that
day
on
both
sides
of
the
wall
.
The
winter
was
a
wretched
one
.
There
were
days
on
which
Sara
tramped
through
snow
when
she
went
on
her
errands
;
there
were
worse
days
when
the
snow
melted
and
combined
itself
with
mud
to
form
slush
;
there
were
others
when
the
fog
was
so
thick
that
the
lamps
in
the
street
were
lighted
all
day
and
London
looked
as
it
had
looked
the
afternoon
,
several
years
ago
,
when
the
cab
had
driven
through
the
thoroughfares
with
Sara
tucked
up
on
its
seat
,
leaning
against
her
father
's
shoulder
.
On
such
days
the
windows
of
the
house
of
the
Large
Family
always
looked
delightfully
cozy
and
alluring
,
and
the
study
in
which
the
Indian
gentleman
sat
glowed
with
warmth
and
rich
color
.
But
the
attic
was
dismal
beyond
words
.
There
were
no
longer
sunsets
or
sunrises
to
look
at
,
and
scarcely
ever
any
stars
,
it
seemed
to
Sara
.
The
clouds
hung
low
over
the
skylight
and
were
either
gray
or
mud-color
,
or
dropping
heavy
rain
.
At
four
o'clock
in
the
afternoon
,
even
when
there
was
no
special
fog
,
the
daylight
was
at
an
end
.
If
it
was
necessary
to
go
to
her
attic
for
anything
,
Sara
was
obliged
to
light
a
candle
.
The
women
in
the
kitchen
were
depressed
,
and
that
made
them
more
ill-tempered
than
ever
.
Becky
was
driven
like
a
little
slave
.
"
'
Twar
n't
for
you
,
miss
,
"
she
said
hoarsely
to
Sara
one
night
when
she
had
crept
into
the
attic
--
"
'
twar
n't
for
you
,
an
'
the
Bastille
,
an
'
bein
'
the
prisoner
in
the
next
cell
,
I
should
die
.
That
there
does
seem
real
now
,
does
n't
it
?
The
missus
is
more
like
the
head
jailer
every
day
she
lives
.
I
can
jest
see
them
big
keys
you
say
she
carries
.
The
cook
she
's
like
one
of
the
under-jailers
.
Tell
me
some
more
,
please
,
miss
--
tell
me
about
the
subt
'
ranean
passage
we
've
dug
under
the
walls
.
"
"
I
'll
tell
you
something
warmer
,
"
shivered
Sara
.
"
Get
your
coverlet
and
wrap
it
round
you
,
and
I
'll
get
mine
,
and
we
will
huddle
close
together
on
the
bed
,
and
I
'll
tell
you
about
the
tropical
forest
where
the
Indian
gentleman
's
monkey
used
to
live
.
When
I
see
him
sitting
on
the
table
near
the
window
and
looking
out
into
the
street
with
that
mournful
expression
,
I
always
feel
sure
he
is
thinking
about
the
tropical
forest
where
he
used
to
swing
by
his
tail
from
coconut
trees
.
I
wonder
who
caught
him
,
and
if
he
left
a
family
behind
who
had
depended
on
him
for
coconuts
.
"
