A Little Princess

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

Summary: Sara Crewe is a student at Miss Minchin's school in London. When her father dies, she is left very poor. Later, a mysterious helper rescues her.

Contents

1. Sara
2. A French Lesson
3. Ermengarde
4. Lottie
5. Becky
6. The Diamond Mines
7. The Diamond Mines Again
8. In the Attic
9. Melchisedec
10. The Indian Gentleman
11. Ram Dass
12. The Other Side of the Wall
13. One of the Populace
14. What Melchisedec Heard and Saw
15. The Magic
16. The Visitor
17. "It Is the Child"
18. "I Tried Not to Be"
19. Anne

Chapter 1: Sara

One dark winter day, thick yellow fog filled the streets of London. It was so heavy that the lamps had to be lit and the shop windows glowed with gaslight, just like at night. Through the busy streets, a cab rolled slowly along, carrying an odd-looking little girl and her father.

She sat with her feet tucked under her, leaning against her father, who held her close. She stared out the window at the people passing by. Her big eyes had a strange, thoughtful look—the kind you might expect on an older child's face. It would have looked old even on a twelve-year-old. But Sara Crewe was only seven.

The truth was, Sara was always dreaming and thinking unusual thoughts. She couldn't remember a time when she hadn't wondered about grown-ups and their world. She felt as if she had lived a very long time already.

Right now, she was thinking about the long trip she and her father, Captain Crewe, had just taken from Bombay, a city in India. She remembered the huge ship, the Indian sailors called Lascars walking quietly back and forth, the children playing on the hot deck, and the young officers' wives who used to try to get her to talk, laughing at the funny things she said.

Mostly, she was puzzling over something strange: how could a person be in India under the blazing sun one day, then in the middle of the ocean, and now riding through unfamiliar streets where daytime looked as dark as night? This puzzle made her scoot closer to her father.

"Papa," she whispered softly, almost too quiet to hear. "Papa."

"What is it, darling?" Captain Crewe answered, pulling her closer and looking into her face. "What is Sara thinking about?"

"Is this the place?" Sara whispered, snuggling nearer. "Is it, papa?"

"Yes, little Sara, it is. We've finally arrived." Even though she was only seven, Sara could tell he felt sad saying this.

It felt like years since he had started preparing her for "the place," as she always called it. Sara's mother had died when Sara was born, so she never knew her and never missed her. Her young, handsome, rich father seemed to be her only family in the whole world. They had always played together and loved each other dearly. She knew he was rich because she'd overheard people say so, thinking she wasn't listening. She'd also heard that she would be rich too when she grew up. She didn't fully understand what being rich meant. She had always lived in a beautiful house called a bungalow, with many servants who bowed to her and called her "Missee Sahib." She got whatever she wanted. She'd had toys, pets, and a nurse called an ayah who adored her. Slowly she had learned that rich people had these kinds of things. But that was all she really understood about being rich.

Only one thing had ever worried Sara in her short life: this place she would someday be sent to. The weather in India wasn't good for children's health, so as soon as they were old enough, children were sent away—usually to England, to go to school. Sara had watched other children leave, and heard their parents talk about the letters they got back. She knew she would have to go too. Sometimes her father's stories about the voyage and the new country sounded exciting, but she always felt troubled knowing he couldn't stay with her.

"Couldn't you come to that place with me, papa?" she had asked when she was five. "Couldn't you go to school too? I could help you with your lessons."

"But you won't have to stay very long, little Sara," he always told her. "You'll go to a nice house full of little girls to play with. I'll send you lots of books, and you'll grow up so quickly that it will feel like barely a year before you're big and smart enough to come home and take care of papa."

She liked imagining that. Taking care of the house for her father, riding with him, sitting at the head of his table during dinner parties, talking with him and reading his books—that's what she wanted most in the world. If going away to "the place" in England was the way to get there, she would make herself go. She didn't care much for other children, but as long as she had plenty of books, she could comfort herself. She loved books more than anything else, and she was always making up stories about beautiful things and telling them to herself. Sometimes she told these stories to her father, and he enjoyed them just as much as she did.

"Well, papa," she said softly, "if we're here, I suppose we must make the best of it."

He laughed at her old-fashioned way of talking and kissed her. Truthfully, he wasn't ready to accept it himself, though he kept that feeling hidden. His curious little Sara had been wonderful company for him, and he knew he would feel very lonely returning to his empty house in India, no longer expecting to see her small figure in a white dress running to greet him. So he held her tightly as the cab rolled into the large, gloomy square where their destination stood.

It was a big, plain brick house, looking exactly like all the other houses on the street—except that a brass plate on the front door was engraved with black letters that read:

MISS MINCHIN,
Select Seminary for Young Ladies.

"Here we are, Sara," said Captain Crewe, trying to sound cheerful. Then he lifted her out of the cab, and they walked up the steps and rang the bell. Later, Sara often thought the house was somehow exactly like Miss Minchin herself. It looked proper and well-furnished, but everything about it seemed unpleasant—even the armchairs seemed stiff and uncomfortable, as if they had hard bones inside them. In the entry hall, everything looked hard and shiny—even the round, red-cheeked face on the tall clock in the corner looked stern and polished. The sitting room they were led into had a carpet with square patterns, square chairs, and a heavy marble clock sitting on a heavy marble fireplace mantel.

As she sat down in one of the stiff wooden chairs, Sara glanced quickly around the room.

"I don't like it, papa," she said. "But I suppose even brave soldiers don't really like marching into battle."

Captain Crewe burst out laughing. He was young and full of fun, and he never got tired of Sara's odd little sayings.

"Oh, little Sara," he said. "What will I do without you to say serious things to me? No one else is as serious as you are."

"But why do serious things make you laugh so much?" Sara asked.

"Because you're so funny when you say them," he answered, laughing even harder. Then he suddenly scooped her into his arms and hugged her tightly, stopping his laughter all at once, looking almost like he might cry.

Just then, Miss Minchin walked into the room. Sara thought she looked very much like her house: tall, dull, proper, and unattractive. She had large, cold eyes that reminded Sara of a fish, and a large, cold smile to match. That smile grew even wider when she saw Sara and Captain Crewe. She had heard many good things about the young soldier from the lady who had recommended her school to him. Among other things, she'd heard that he was a wealthy father, willing to spend plenty of money on his little daughter.

"It will be such an honor to care for such a beautiful and promising child, Captain Crewe," she said, taking Sara's hand and stroking it. "Lady Meredith told me how unusually clever she is. A clever child is a real treasure in a school like mine."

Sara stood quietly, staring at Miss Minchin's face, thinking her usual odd thoughts.

Why does she say I'm beautiful? she wondered. I'm not beautiful at all. Colonel Grange's daughter, Isobel, is beautiful. She has dimples, rosy cheeks, and long golden hair. My hair is short and black, and my eyes are green. Plus, I'm thin and not fair-skinned at all. I might be one of the ugliest children ever. She's just making things up.

But Sara was wrong to think she was ugly. She didn't look like Isobel Grange, who had been the prettiest girl in her father's army regiment, but Sara had her own special charm. She was slim and graceful, tall for her age, with an intense, interesting little face. Her hair was thick and black, curling only at the very ends. Her eyes were greenish-gray—not her favorite color, but many people found them beautiful, with big, striking eyes framed by long black lashes. Still, Sara firmly believed she was a plain little girl, and Miss Minchin's flattery didn't impress her one bit.

I'd be lying if I said she was beautiful, Sara thought, and I'd know I was lying. I think I'm just as plain as she is—in my own way. Why would she say that?

Later, after getting to know Miss Minchin better, Sara understood why she'd said it. She discovered that Miss Minchin said the exact same thing to every parent who brought a child to her school.

Sara stood beside her father, listening as he talked with Miss Minchin. She had been brought to this school because Lady Meredith's two daughters had been students there, and Captain Crewe trusted Lady Meredith's judgment completely. Sara would be what was called a "parlor boarder"—a special kind of student who got extra privileges beyond what regular boarding students received. She would have her own pretty bedroom and sitting room, her own pony and carriage, and a personal maid to replace the ayah who had cared for her in India.

"I'm not worried at all about her education," Captain Crewe said with his cheerful laugh, holding Sara's hand and patting it. "The real challenge will be stopping her from learning too much, too fast. She's always got her little nose buried in books. She doesn't just read them, Miss Minchin—she devours them, like a hungry little wolf instead of a little girl. She's always hungry for new books to gobble up, and she wants grown-up books too—big, thick ones—French and German as well as English—history, biographies, poetry, all sorts of things. You'll need to pull her away from her books when she reads too much. Get her to ride her pony in the park, or buy a new doll. She should play with dolls more."

"Papa," said Sara, "if I got a new doll every few days, I'd have more dolls than I could really love. Dolls should be close friends. Emily is going to be my close friend."

Captain Crewe looked at Miss Minchin, and Miss Minchin looked at Captain Crewe.

"Who is Emily?" she asked.

"Tell her, Sara," said Captain Crewe, smiling.

Sara's green-gray eyes turned very serious and soft as she answered.

"She's a doll I don't have yet," she said. "Papa is going to buy her for me. We're going out together to find her. I've already named her Emily. She is g—"