"Don't put on grand airs,"she said."The time for that sort of thing is past.You are not a princess any longer.Your carriage and your pony will be sent away--your maid will be dismissed.
You will wear your oldest and plainest clothes--your extravagant ones are no longer suited to your station.You are like Becky--you must work for your living."
To her surprise,a faint gleam of light came into the child's eyes--a shade of relief.
"Can I work?"she said."If I can work it will not matter so much.
What can I do?"
"You can do anything you are told,"was the answer."You are a sharp child,and pick up things readily.If you make yourself useful I may let you stay here.You speak French well,and you can help with the younger children."
"May I?"exclaimed Sara."Oh,please let me!I know I can teach them.
I like them,and they like me."
"Don't talk nonsense about people liking you,"said Miss Minchin.
"You will have to do more than teach the little ones.You will run errands and help in the kitchen as well as in the schoolroom.
If you don't please me,you will be sent away.Remember that.
Now go."
Sara stood still just a moment,looking at her.In her young soul,she was thinking deep and strange things.Then she turned to leave the room.
"Stop!"said Miss Minchin."Don't you intend to thank me?"
Sara paused,and all the deep,strange thoughts surged up in her breast.
"What for?"she said.
"For my kindness to you,"replied Miss Minchin."For my kindness in giving you a home."
Sara made two or three steps toward her.Her thin little chest heaved up and down,and she spoke in a strange un-childishly fierce way.
"You are not kind,"she said."You are NOT kind,and it is NOT a home."And she had turned and run out of the room before Miss Minchin could stop her or do anything but stare after her with stony anger.