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A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett CHAPTER 1.
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Sara
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Once on a dark winter's day, when the yellow fog hung so thick and heavy in the
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streets of London that the lamps were lighted and the shop windows blazed with
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gas as they do at night, an odd-looking
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little girl sat in a cab with her father and was driven rather slowly through the
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big thoroughfares.
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She sat with her feet tucked under her, and leaned against her father, who held her in
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his arm, as she stared out of the window at the passing people with a queer old-
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fashioned thoughtfulness in her big eyes.
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She was such a little girl that one did not expect to see such a look on her small
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face. It would have been an old look for a child
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of twelve, and Sara Crewe was only seven.
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The fact was, however, that she was always dreaming and thinking odd things and could
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not herself remember any time when she had not been thinking things about grown-up
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people and the world they belonged to.
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She felt as if she had lived a long, long time.
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At this moment she was remembering the voyage she had just made from Bombay with
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her father, Captain Crewe.
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She was thinking of the big ship, of the Lascars passing silently to and fro on it,
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of the children playing about on the hot deck, and of some young officers' wives who
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used to try to make her talk to them and laugh at the things she said.
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Principally, she was thinking of what a queer thing it was that at one time one was
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in India in the blazing sun, and then in the middle of the ocean, and then driving
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in a strange vehicle through strange
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streets where the day was as dark as the night.
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She found this so puzzling that she moved closer to her father.
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"Papa," she said in a low, mysterious little voice which was almost a whisper,
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"papa." "What is it, darling?"
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Captain Crewe answered, holding her closer and looking down into her face.
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"What is Sara thinking of?" "Is this the place?"
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Sara whispered, cuddling still closer to him.
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"Is it, papa?" "Yes, little Sara, it is.
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We have reached it at last."
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And though she was only seven years old, she knew that he felt sad when he said it.
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It seemed to her many years since he had begun to prepare her mind for "the place,"
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as she always called it.
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Her mother had died when she was born, so she had never known or missed her.
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Her young, handsome, rich, petting father seemed to be the only relation she had in
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the world.
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They had always played together and been fond of each other.
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She only knew he was rich because she had heard people say so when they thought she
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was not listening, and she had also heard them say that when she grew up she would be
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rich, too.
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She did not know all that being rich meant.
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She had always lived in a beautiful bungalow, and had been used to seeing many
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servants who made salaams to her and called her "Missee Sahib," and gave her her own
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way in everything.
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She had had toys and pets and an ayah who worshipped her, and she had gradually
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learned that people who were rich had these things.
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That, however, was all she knew about it.
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During her short life only one thing had troubled her, and that thing was "the
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place" she was to be taken to some day.
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The climate of India was very bad for children, and as soon as possible they were
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sent away from it--generally to England and to school.
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She had seen other children go away, and had heard their fathers and mothers talk
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about the letters they received from them.
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She had known that she would be obliged to go also, and though sometimes her father's
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stories of the voyage and the new country had attracted her, she had been troubled by
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the thought that he could not stay with her.
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"Couldn't you go to that place with me, papa?" she had asked when she was five
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years old.
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"Couldn't you go to school, too? I would help you with your lessons."
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"But you will not have to stay for a very long time, little Sara," he had always
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said.
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"You will go to a nice house where there will be a lot of little girls, and you will
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play together, and I will send you plenty of books, and you will grow so fast that it
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will seem scarcely a year before you are
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big enough and clever enough to come back and take care of papa."
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She had liked to think of that.
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To keep the house for her father; to ride with him, and sit at the head of his table
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when he had dinner parties; to talk to him and read his books--that would be what she
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would like most in the world, and if one
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must go away to "the place" in England to attain it, she must make up her mind to go.
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She did not care very much for other little girls, but if she had plenty of books she
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could console herself.
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She liked books more than anything else, and was, in fact, always inventing stories
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of beautiful things and telling them to herself.
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Sometimes she had told them to her father, and he had liked them as much as she did.
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"Well, papa," she said softly, "if we are here I suppose we must be resigned."
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He laughed at her old-fashioned speech and kissed her.
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He was really not at all resigned himself, though he knew he must keep that a secret.
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His quaint little Sara had been a great companion to him, and he felt he should be
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a lonely fellow when, on his return to India, he went into his bungalow knowing he
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need not expect to see the small figure in its white frock come forward to meet him.
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So he held her very closely in his arms as the cab rolled into the big, dull square in
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which stood the house which was their destination.
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It was a big, dull, brick house, exactly like all the others in its row, but that on
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the front door there shone a brass plate on which was engraved in black letters:
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MISS MINCHIN, Select Seminary for Young Ladies.
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"Here we are, Sara," said Captain Crewe, making his voice sound as cheerful as
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possible. Then he lifted her out of the cab and they
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mounted the steps and rang the bell.
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Sara often thought afterward that the house was somehow exactly like Miss Minchin.
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It was respectable and well furnished, but everything in it was ugly; and the very
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armchairs seemed to have hard bones in them.
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In the hall everything was hard and polished--even the red cheeks of the moon
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face on the tall clock in the corner had a severe varnished look.
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The drawing room into which they were ushered was covered by a carpet with a
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square pattern upon it, the chairs were square, and a heavy marble timepiece stood
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upon the heavy marble mantel.
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As she sat down in one of the stiff mahogany chairs, Sara cast one of her quick
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looks about her. "I don't like it, papa," she said.
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"But then I dare say soldiers--even brave ones--don't really LIKE going into battle."
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Captain Crewe laughed outright at this. He was young and full of fun, and he never
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tired of hearing Sara's queer speeches.
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"Oh, little Sara," he said. "What shall I do when I have no one to say
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solemn things to me? No one else is as solemn as you are."
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"But why do solemn things make you laugh so?" inquired Sara.
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"Because you are such fun when you say them," he answered, laughing still more.
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And then suddenly he swept her into his arms and kissed her very hard, stopping
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laughing all at once and looking almost as if tears had come into his eyes.
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It was just then that Miss Minchin entered the room.
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She was very like her house, Sara felt: tall and dull, and respectable and ugly.
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She had large, cold, fishy eyes, and a large, cold, fishy smile.
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It spread itself into a very large smile when she saw Sara and Captain Crewe.
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She had heard a great many desirable things of the young soldier from the lady who had
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recommended her school to him.
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Among other things, she had heard that he was a rich father who was willing to spend
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a great deal of money on his little daughter.
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"It will be a great privilege to have charge of such a beautiful and promising
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child, Captain Crewe," she said, taking Sara's hand and stroking it.
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"Lady Meredith has told me of her unusual cleverness.
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A clever child is a great treasure in an establishment like mine."
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Sara stood quietly, with her eyes fixed upon Miss Minchin's face.
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She was thinking something odd, as usual. "Why does she say I am a beautiful child?"
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she was thinking.
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"I am not beautiful at all. Colonel Grange's little girl, Isobel, is
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beautiful. She has dimples and rose-colored cheeks,
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and long hair the color of gold.
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I have short black hair and green eyes; besides which, I am a thin child and not
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fair in the least. I am one of the ugliest children I ever
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saw.
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She is beginning by telling a story." She was mistaken, however, in thinking she
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was an ugly child.
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She was not in the least like Isobel Grange, who had been the beauty of the
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regiment, but she had an odd charm of her own.
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She was a slim, supple creature, rather tall for her age, and had an intense,
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attractive little face.
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Her hair was heavy and quite black and only curled at the tips; her eyes were greenish
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gray, it is true, but they were big, wonderful eyes with long, black lashes, and
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though she herself did not like the color of them, many other people did.
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Still she was very firm in her belief that she was an ugly little girl, and she was
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not at all elated by Miss Minchin's flattery.
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"I should be telling a story if I said she was beautiful," she thought; "and I should
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know I was telling a story. I believe I am as ugly as she is--in my
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way.
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What did she say that for?" After she had known Miss Minchin longer she
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learned why she had said it.
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She discovered that she said the same thing to each papa and mamma who brought a child
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to her school. Sara stood near her father and listened
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while he and Miss Minchin talked.
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She had been brought to the seminary because Lady Meredith's two little girls
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had been educated there, and Captain Crewe had a great respect for Lady Meredith's
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experience.
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Sara was to be what was known as "a parlor boarder," and she was to enjoy even greater
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privileges than parlor boarders usually did.
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She was to have a pretty bedroom and sitting room of her own; she was to have a
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pony and a carriage, and a maid to take the place of the ayah who had been her nurse in
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India.
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"I am not in the least anxious about her education," Captain Crewe said, with his
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gay laugh, as he held Sara's hand and patted it.
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"The difficulty will be to keep her from learning too fast and too much.
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She is always sitting with her little nose burrowing into books.
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She doesn't read them, Miss Minchin; she gobbles them up as if she were a little
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wolf instead of a little girl.
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She is always starving for new books to gobble, and she wants grown-up books--
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great, big, fat ones--French and German as well as English--history and biography and
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poets, and all sorts of things.
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Drag her away from her books when she reads too much.
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Make her ride her pony in the Row or go out and buy a new doll.
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She ought to play more with dolls."
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"Papa," said Sara, "you see, if I went out and bought a new doll every few days I
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should have more than I could be fond of. Dolls ought to be intimate friends.
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Emily is going to be my intimate friend."
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Captain Crewe looked at Miss Minchin and Miss Minchin looked at Captain Crewe.
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"Who is Emily?" she inquired. "Tell her, Sara," Captain Crewe said,
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smiling.
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Sara's green-gray eyes looked very solemn and quite soft as she answered.
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"She is a doll I haven't got yet," she said.
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"She is a doll papa is going to buy for me.
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We are going out together to find her. I have called her Emily.
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She is going to be my friend when papa is gone.
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I want her to talk to about him."
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Miss Minchin's large, fishy smile became very flattering indeed.
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"What an original child!" she said. "What a darling little creature!"
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"Yes," said Captain Crewe, drawing Sara close.
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"She is a darling little creature. Take great care of her for me, Miss
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Minchin."
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Sara stayed with her father at his hotel for several days; in fact, she remained
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with him until he sailed away again to India.
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They went out and visited many big shops together, and bought a great many things.
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They bought, indeed, a great many more things than Sara needed; but Captain Crewe
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was a rash, innocent young man and wanted his little girl to have everything she
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admired and everything he admired himself,
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so between them they collected a wardrobe much too grand for a child of seven.
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There were velvet dresses trimmed with costly furs, and lace dresses, and
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embroidered ones, and hats with great, soft ostrich feathers, and ermine coats and
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muffs, and boxes of tiny gloves and
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handkerchiefs and silk stockings in such abundant supplies that the polite young
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women behind the counters whispered to each other that the odd little girl with the
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big, solemn eyes must be at least some
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foreign princess--perhaps the little daughter of an Indian rajah.
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And at last they found Emily, but they went to a number of toy shops and looked at a
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great many dolls before they discovered her.
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"I want her to look as if she wasn't a doll really," Sara said.
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"I want her to look as if she LISTENS when I talk to her.
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The trouble with dolls, papa"--and she put her head on one side and reflected as she
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said it--"the trouble with dolls is that they never seem to HEAR."
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So they looked at big ones and little ones- -at dolls with black eyes and dolls with
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blue--at dolls with brown curls and dolls with golden braids, dolls dressed and dolls
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undressed.
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"You see," Sara said when they were examining one who had no clothes.
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"If, when I find her, she has no frocks, we can take her to a dressmaker and have her
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things made to fit.
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They will fit better if they are tried on." After a number of disappointments they
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decided to walk and look in at the shop windows and let the cab follow them.
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They had passed two or three places without even going in, when, as they were
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approaching a shop which was really not a very large one, Sara suddenly started and
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clutched her father's arm.
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"Oh, papa!" she cried. "There is Emily!"
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A flush had risen to her face and there was an expression in her green-gray eyes as if
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she had just recognized someone she was intimate with and fond of.
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"She is actually waiting there for us!" she said.
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"Let us go in to her."
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"Dear me," said Captain Crewe, "I feel as if we ought to have someone to introduce
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us." "You must introduce me and I will introduce
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you," said Sara.
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"But I knew her the minute I saw her--so perhaps she knew me, too."
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Perhaps she had known her.
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She had certainly a very intelligent expression in her eyes when Sara took her
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in her arms.
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She was a large doll, but not too large to carry about easily; she had naturally
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curling golden-brown hair, which hung