A Little Princess

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

Summary: Sara Crewe is a student at Miss Minchin's London school. When her father dies, she is left in poverty—but later a mysterious benefactor (someone who secretly helps her) comes to her rescue.

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

A Little Princess

1. Sara

One dark winter day, a thick yellow fog hung so heavily over the streets of London that the lamps had to be lit and the shop windows glowed with gaslight, just as they would at night. Through this gloom, an odd-looking little girl rode slowly through the busy streets in a horse-drawn cab with her father.

She sat with her feet tucked underneath her, leaning against her father, who held her close in one arm. As she stared out the window at the people passing by, her big eyes held a strange, thoughtful look—the kind you wouldn't expect on such a small face.

That serious expression would have seemed grown-up even on a twelve-year-old, but Sara Crewe was only seven. Still, she was always dreaming and turning odd ideas over in her mind. She couldn't remember a time when she hadn't thought deeply about grown-ups and the world they lived in. In fact, she often felt as though she had already lived a long, long time.

Right now, she was thinking back on the voyage she had just taken with her father, Captain Crewe, all the way from Bombay, India. She remembered the huge ship, the Indian sailors (called Lascars) moving quietly back and forth across the deck, the children playing in the blazing heat, and the young officers' wives who used to try to get her talking, laughing at the funny things she said.

But mostly, she was puzzling over something strange: how could a person be standing under India's blazing sun one moment, sailing across the middle of the ocean the next, and then suddenly be riding through unfamiliar streets where daytime looked as dark as night? This confused her so much that she pressed closer to her father.

"Papa," she said, her voice low and almost a whisper, "papa."

"What is it, darling?" Captain Crewe answered, pulling her closer and looking down 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 seemed to Sara that it had been years since her father first began preparing her for "the place," as she always called it. Her mother had died when Sara was born, so she had never known her and never missed her. Her father—young, handsome, wealthy, and endlessly affectionate—seemed to be her only family in the whole world. They had always played together and loved each other deeply. Sara knew he was rich only because she had overheard people say so, thinking she wasn't listening, and she had also heard them say that she herself would be rich when she grew up. She didn't fully understand what being rich meant. She had always lived in a beautiful Indian house called a bungalow, surrounded by servants who bowed to her and called her "Missee Sahib," giving her whatever she wanted. She had toys, pets, and a nurse (called an ayah) who adored her. Slowly she had come to understand that this was simply what happened to people who were rich. That was as much as she knew.

Throughout her short life, only one thing had ever troubled her: this mysterious "place" she would someday be sent to. India's climate was considered unhealthy for children, so as soon as possible, they were shipped off—usually to England, to boarding school. Sara had watched other children leave, had heard their parents talk about the letters that arrived afterward. She knew she, too, would eventually have to go. Sometimes her father's stories about the voyage and the new country excited her, but she always felt troubled knowing he couldn't stay there with her.

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

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

She liked imagining that future—keeping house for her father, riding beside him, sitting at the head of his table during dinner parties, talking with him, reading his books. That was what she wanted most in the world, and if going away to school in England was the price for it, she was willing to pay it. She didn't care much for other children, but she figured that with enough books, she could manage just fine. Books were her favorite thing in the world, and she was always inventing stories about beautiful, wonderful things and telling them to herself. Sometimes she told these stories to her father, and he enjoyed them every bit as much as she did.

"Well, papa," she said softly, "if we're here, I suppose we must be resigned"—meaning she would accept it, even if unwillingly.

He laughed at her old-fashioned way of speaking and kissed her. In truth, he wasn't resigned to it at all, though he kept that feeling hidden. His quirky little Sara had been wonderful company for him, and he knew he'd feel terribly lonely returning to his empty bungalow in India, no longer able to expect her small figure in a white dress running out to greet him. So he held her tightly in his arms as the cab rolled into the large, gloomy square where their destination stood.

It was a big, dull brick house—identical to every other house on the row—except that a brass plate on the front door was engraved with black letters reading:

MISS MINCHIN,
Select Seminary for Young Ladies.

"Here we are, Sara," said Captain Crewe, forcing his voice to sound cheerful. Then he lifted her down from the cab, and together they climbed the steps and rang the bell. Sara later thought the house was somehow exactly like Miss Minchin herself—proper and well-furnished, but ugly in every detail. Even the armchairs seemed to have hard bones inside them. In the entrance hall, everything gleamed with a stiff, polished shine—even the round red-cheeked face on the tall clock in the corner looked stern beneath its varnish. The drawing room they were led into had a carpet with a square pattern, square-shaped chairs, and a heavy marble clock resting on a heavy marble mantel.

As she sat down in one of the stiff mahogany 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 going into battle."

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

"Oh, little Sara," he said. "Whatever will I do with no one around to say such 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 entertaining when you say them," he replied, laughing even harder. Then, all at once, he swept her into his arms and hugged her tightly, his laughter fading, his eyes suddenly looking almost tearful.

It was at that exact moment that Miss Minchin walked into the room. Sara thought she looked just 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 already heard many appealing things about the young army officer from the woman who had recommended her school to him—including the fact that he was a wealthy father, willing to spend generously on his daughter.

"It will be a great privilege to have charge of such a beautiful and promising child, Captain Crewe," she said, taking Sara's hand and stroking it. "Lady Meredith has told me all about her unusual cleverness. A clever child is a true treasure in a school like mine."

Sara stood quietly, staring up at Miss Minchin's face, already thinking something strange, as she so often did.

Why does she call me 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, my eyes are green, and I'm a thin, plain child. I'm one of the plainest children I've ever seen. She's starting off with a lie.

But Sara was wrong to think herself ugly. She looked nothing like Isobel Grange, who had been considered the prettiest child in her father's regiment, but Sara had her own unusual charm. She was slim and graceful, tall for her age, with an intense, striking little face. Her hair was thick and truly black, curling only at the very ends; her eyes were a greenish-gray—true—but they were large and remarkable, framed by long black lashes, and though Sara herself disliked their color, plenty of other people found them lovely. Still, she remained completely convinced she was a plain little girl, and Miss Minchin's flattering words 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, once she knew Miss Minchin better, Sara understood exactly why she'd said it. She discovered that Miss Minchin said the very same thing to every mother and father who brought a child to her school.

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

"I'm not the least bit worried about her education," Captain Crewe said with his usual cheerful laugh, patting Sara's hand. "The real challenge will be stopping her from learning too much, too fast. She's always got her nose buried in a book. She doesn't just read books, Miss Minchin—she devours them, like a little wolf instead of a little girl. She's constantly hungry for new books to gobble up, and she wants grown-up books, too—big, thick ones, in French and German as well as English—history, biographies, poetry, anything she can get her hands on. You'll need to drag her away from her books when she reads too much. Make her ride her pony in the park, or take her out to buy a new doll. She really ought to play with dolls more."

"Papa," Sara said, "if I bought a new doll every few days, I'd end up with more than I could ever truly love. Dolls should be close friends, not just toys. Emily is going to be my closest friend."

Captain Crewe glanced at Miss Minchin, and Miss Minchin glanced back at Captain Crewe.

"Who is Emily?" she asked.

"Go ahead and tell her, Sara," Captain Crewe said, smiling.

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

"She's a doll I don't have yet," she explained. "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—"