A little Princess / Being the whole story of Sara Crewe now told for the first time

7
The Diamond Mines Again

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When Sara entered the holly-hung schoolroom in the afternoon, she did so as
the head of a sort of procession. Miss Minchin, in her grandest silk dress, led her
by the hand. A manservant followed, carrying the box containing the Last Doll, a
housemaid carried a second box, and Becky brought up the rear, carrying a third
and wearing a clean apron and a new cap. Sara would have much preferred to
enter in the usual way, but Miss Minchin had sent for her, and, after an interview
in her private sitting room, had expressed her wishes.
"This is not an ordinary occasion," she said. "I do not desire that it should be
treated as one."
So Sara was led grandly in and felt shy when, on her entry, the big girls stared
at her and touched each other's elbows, and the little ones began to squirm
joyously in their seats.
"Silence, young ladies!" said Miss Minchin, at the murmur which arose.
"James, place the box on the table and remove the lid. Emma, put yours upon a
chair. Becky!" suddenly and severely.
Becky had quite forgotten herself in her excitement, and was grinning at
Lottie, who was wriggling with rapturous expectation. She almost dropped her
box, the disapproving voice so startled her, and her frightened, bobbing curtsy of
apology was so funny that Lavinia and Jessie tittered.
"It is not your place to look at the young ladies," said Miss Minchin. "You
forget yourself. Put your box down."
Becky obeyed with alarmed haste and hastily backed toward the door.
"You may leave us," Miss Minchin announced to the servants with a wave of
her hand.
Becky stepped aside respectfully to allow the superior servants to pass out
first. She could not help casting a longing glance at the box on the table.
Something made of blue satin was peeping from between the folds of tissue
paper.
"If you please, Miss Minchin," said Sara, suddenly, "mayn't Becky stay?"
It was a bold thing to do. Miss Minchin was betrayed into something like a

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slight jump. Then she put her eyeglass up, and gazed at her show pupil
disturbedly.
"Becky!" she exclaimed. "My dearest Sara!"
Sara advanced a step toward her.
"I want her because I know she will like to see the presents," she explained.
"She is a little girl, too, you know."
Miss Minchin was scandalized. She glanced from one figure to the other.
"My dear Sara," she said, "Becky is the scullery maid. Scullery maids—er—
are not little girls."
It really had not occurred to her to think of them in that light. Scullery maids
were machines who carried coal scuttles and made fires.
"But Becky is," said Sara. "And I know she would enjoy herself. Please let
her stay—because it is my birthday."
Miss Minchin replied with much dignity:
"As you ask it as a birthday favor—she may stay. Rebecca, thank Miss Sara
for her great kindness."
Becky had been backing into the corner, twisting the hem of her apron in
delighted suspense. She came forward, bobbing curtsies, but between Sara's eyes
and her own there passed a gleam of friendly understanding, while her words
tumbled over each other.
"Oh, if you please, miss! I'm that grateful, miss! I did want to see the doll,
miss, that I did. Thank you, miss. And thank you, ma'am,"—turning and making
an alarmed bob to Miss Minchin—"for letting me take the liberty."
Miss Minchin waved her hand again—this time it was in the direction of the
corner near the door.
"Go and stand there," she commanded. "Not too near the young ladies."

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Becky went to her place, grinning. She did not care where she was sent, so
that she might have the luck of being inside the room, instead of being
downstairs in the scullery, while these delights were going on. She did not even
mind when Miss Minchin cleared her throat ominously and spoke again.
"Now, young ladies, I have a few words to say to you," she announced.
"She's going to make a speech," whispered one of the girls. "I wish it was
over."
Sara felt rather uncomfortable. As this was her party, it was probable that the
speech was about her. It is not agreeable to stand in a schoolroom and have a
speech made about you.
"You are aware, young ladies," the speech began—for it was a speech—"that
dear Sara is eleven years old today."
"DEAR Sara!" murmured Lavinia.
"Several of you here have also been eleven years old, but Sara's birthdays are
rather different from other little girls' birthdays. When she is older she will be
heiress to a large fortune, which it will be her duty to spend in a meritorious
manner."
"The diamond mines," giggled Jessie, in a whisper.
Sara did not hear her; but as she stood with her green-gray eyes fixed steadily
on Miss Minchin, she felt herself growing rather hot. When Miss Minchin talked
about money, she felt somehow that she always hated her—and, of course, it was
disrespectful to hate grown-up people.
"When her dear papa, Captain Crewe, brought her from India and gave her
into my care," the speech proceeded, "he said to me, in a jesting way, 'I am afraid
she will be very rich, Miss Minchin.' My reply was, 'Her education at my
seminary, Captain Crewe, shall be such as will adorn the largest fortune.' Sara
has become my most accomplished pupil. Her French and her dancing are a
credit to the seminary. Her manners—which have caused you to call her Princess
Sara—are perfect. Her amiability she exhibits by giving you this afternoon's