Sara could not even imagine a being charming enough to fill her grand
ideal of her mysterious benefactor. If she tried to make in her mind
a picture of him or her, it ended by being something glittering and
strange--not at all like a real person, but bearing resemblance to a
sort of Eastern magician, with long robes and a wand. And when she fell
asleep, beneath the soft white blanket, she dreamed all night of this
magnificent personage, and talked to him in Hindustani, and made salaams
to him.

Upon one thing she was determined. She would not speak to any one of
her good fortune--it should be her own secret; in fact, she was
rather inclined to think that if Miss Minchin knew, she would take her
treasures from her or in some way spoil her pleasure. So, when she went
down the next morning, she shut her door very tight and did her best to
look as if nothing unusual had occurred. And yet this was rather hard,
because she could not help remembering, every now and then, with a sort
of start, and her heart would beat quickly every time she repeated to
herself, "I have a friend!"

It was a friend who evidently meant to continue to be kind, for when she
went to her garret the next night--and she opened the door, it must be
confessed, with rather an excited feeling--she found that the same hands
had been again at work, and had done even more than before. The fire and
the supper were again there, and beside them a number of other things
which so altered the look of the garret that Sara quite lost her breath.
A piece of bright, strange, heavy cloth covered the battered mantel, and
on it some ornaments had been placed. All the bare, ugly things which
could be covered with draperies had been concealed and made to look
quite pretty. Some odd materials in rich colors had been fastened
against the walls with sharp, fine tacks--so sharp that they could be