Маленькая принцесса
Becky
Andthisone—inherrose-coloreddancingafternoonsplendor—waslookingatherasifshewerenotaculpritatall—asifshehadarighttobetired—eventofallasleep!Thetouchofthesoft,slimlittlepawonhershoulderwasthemostamazingthingshehadeverknown.
"Ain’t—ain’tyerangry,miss?"shegasped."Ain’tyergoin’totellthemissus?"
"No,"criedoutSara."OfcourseI’mnot."
Thewoefulfrightinthecoal-smuttedfacemadehersuddenlysosorrythatshecouldscarcelybearit.Oneofherqueerthoughtsrushedintohermind.SheputherhandagainstBecky’scheek.
"Why,"shesaid,"wearejustthesame—Iamonlyalittlegirllikeyou.It’sjustanaccidentthatIamnotyou,andyouarenotme!"
Beckydidnotunderstandintheleast.Hermindcouldnotgraspsuchamazingthoughts,and"anaccident"meanttoheracalamityinwhichsomeonewasrunoverorfelloffaladderandwascarriedto"the’orspital."
"A’accident,miss,"sheflutteredrespectfully."Isit?"
"Yes,"Saraanswered,andshelookedatherdreamilyforamoment.Butthenextshespokeinadifferenttone.SherealizedthatBeckydidnotknowwhatshemeant.
"Haveyoudoneyourwork?"sheasked."Dareyoustayhereafewminutes?"
Beckylostherbreathagain.
"Here,miss?Me?"
Sararantothedoor,openedit,andlookedoutandlistened.
