whether she was really a princess or not. It was a dreadful afternoon.
For several days it had rained continuously, the streets were chilly and
sloppy; there was mud everywhere--sticky London mud--and over everything
a pall of fog and drizzle. Of course there were several long and
tiresome errands to be done,--there always were on days like this,--and
Sara was sent out again and again, until her shabby clothes were damp
through. The absurd old feathers on her forlorn hat were more draggled
and absurd than ever, and her down-trodden shoes were so wet they could
not hold any more water. Added to this, she had been deprived of her
dinner, because Miss Minchin wished to punish her. She was very hungry.
She was so cold and hungry and tired that her little face had a pinched
look, and now and then some kind-hearted person passing her in the
crowded street glanced at her with sympathy. But she did not know that.
She hurried on, trying to comfort herself in that queer way of hers by
pretending and "supposing,"--but really this time it was harder than she
had ever found it, and once or twice she thought it almost made her
more cold and hungry instead of less so. But she persevered obstinately.
"Suppose I had dry clothes on," she thought. "Suppose I had good shoes
and a long, thick coat and merino stockings and a whole umbrella. And
suppose--suppose, just when I was near a baker's where they sold hot
buns, I should find sixpence--which belonged to nobody. Suppose, if
I did, I should go into the shop and buy six of the hottest buns, and
should eat them all without stopping."

Some very odd things happen in this world sometimes. It certainly was
an odd thing which happened to Sara. She had to cross the street just as
she was saying this to herself--the mud was dreadful--she almost had to
wade. She picked her way as carefully as she could, but she could not
save herself much, only, in picking her way she had to look down at
her feet and the mud, and in looking down--just as she reached the