Маленькая принцесса

           Yes,thiswasanotherworld.Theroomhadaslantingroofandwaswhitewashed.Thewhitewashwasdingyandhadfallenoffinplaces.Therewasarustygrate,anoldironbedstead,andahardbedcoveredwithafadedcoverlet.Somepiecesoffurnituretoomuchworntobeuseddownstairshadbeensentup.Undertheskylightintheroof,whichshowednothingbutanoblongpieceofdullgraysky,therestoodanoldbatteredredfootstool.Sarawenttoitandsatdown.Sheseldomcried.Shedidnotcrynow.ShelaidEmilyacrossherkneesandputherfacedownuponherandherarmsaroundher,andsatthere,herlittleblackheadrestingontheblackdraperies,notsayingoneword,notmakingonesound.

           Andasshesatinthissilencetherecamealowtapatthedoor—suchalow,humbleonethatshedidnotatfirsthearit,and,indeed,wasnotrouseduntilthedoorwastimidlypushedopenandapoortear-smearedfaceappearedpeepingroundit.ItwasBecky’sface,andBeckyhadbeencryingfurtivelyforhoursandrubbinghereyeswithherkitchenapronuntilshelookedstrangeindeed.

           "Oh,miss,"shesaidunderherbreath."MightI—wouldyouallowme—jesttocomein?"

           Saraliftedherheadandlookedather.Shetriedtobeginasmile,andsomehowshecouldnot.Suddenly—anditwasallthroughthelovingmournfulnessofBecky’sstreamingeyes—herfacelookedmorelikeachild’snotsomuchtoooldforheryears.Sheheldoutherhandandgavealittlesob.

           "Oh,Becky,"shesaid."Itoldyouwewerejustthesame—onlytwolittlegirls—justtwolittlegirls.Youseehowtrueitis.There’snodifferencenow.I’mnotaprincessanymore."