thinner and odder than ever, and her eyes were fixed on Miss Minchin
with a queer steadiness as she slowly advanced into the parlor,
clutching her doll.

"Put your doll down!" said Miss Minchin.

"No," said the child, "I won't put her down; I want her with me. She is
all I have. She has stayed with me all the time since my papa died."

She had never been an obedient child. She had had her own way ever since
she was born, and there was about her an air of silent determination
under which Miss Minchin had always felt secretly uncomfortable. And
that lady felt even now that perhaps it would be as well not to insist
on her point. So she looked at her as severely as possible.

"You will have no time for dolls in future," she said; "you will have to
work and improve yourself, and make yourself useful."

Sara kept the big odd eyes fixed on her teacher and said nothing.

"Everything will be very different now," Miss Minchin went on. "I sent
for you to talk to you and make you understand. Your father is dead. You
have no friends. You have no money. You have no home and no one to take
care of you."

The little pale olive face twitched nervously, but the green-gray eyes
did not move from Miss Minchin's, and still Sara said nothing.

"What are you staring at?" demanded Miss Minchin sharply. "Are you so
stupid you don't understand what I mean? I tell you that you are quite