alone in the world, and have no one to do anything for you, unless I
choose to keep you here."

The truth was, Miss Minchin was in her worst mood. To be suddenly
deprived of a large sum of money yearly and a show pupil, and to find
herself with a little beggar on her hands, was more than she could bear
with any degree of calmness.

"Now listen to me," she went on, "and remember what I say. If you work
hard and prepare to make yourself useful in a few years, I shall let you
stay here. You are only a child, but you are a sharp child, and you pick
up things almost without being taught. You speak French very well, and
in a year or so you can begin to help with the younger pupils. By the
time you are fifteen you ought to be able to do that much at least."

"I can speak French better than you, now," said Sara; "I always spoke it
with my papa in India." Which was not at all polite, but was painfully
true; because Miss Minchin could not speak French at all, and, indeed,
was not in the least a clever person. But she was a hard, grasping
business woman; and, after the first shock of disappointment, had seen
that at very little expense to herself she might prepare this clever,
determined child to be very useful to her and save her the necessity of
paying large salaries to teachers of languages.

"Don't be impudent, or you will be punished," she said. "You will have
to improve your manners if you expect to earn your bread. You are not a
parlor boarder now. Remember that if you don't please me, and I send you
away, you have no home but the street. You can go now."

Sara turned away.