fully bad luck for several days. He had left the children crying
bitterly, and felt he would risk a good deal for a few crumbs, so he
cautiously dropped upon his feet.

"Come on," said Sara; "I'm not a trap. You can have them, poor thing!
Prisoners in the Bastille used to make friends with rats. Suppose I
make friends with you."

How it is that animals understand things I do not know, but it is
certain that they do understand. Perhaps there is a language which is
not made of words and everything in the world understands it. Perhaps
there is a soul hidden in everything and it can always speak, without
even making a sound, to another soul. But whatsoever was the reason,
the rat knew from that moment that he was safe--even though he was a
rat. He knew that this young human being sitting on the red footstool
would not jump up and terrify him with wild, sharp noises or throw
heavy objects at him which, if they did not fall and crush him, would
send him limping in his scurry back to his hole. He was really a very
nice rat, and did not mean the least harm. When he had stood on his
hind legs and sniffed the air, with his bright eyes fixed on Sara, he
had hoped that she would understand this, and would not begin by hating
him as an enemy. When the mysterious thing which speaks without saying
any words told him that she would not, he went softly toward the crumbs
and began to eat them. As he did it he glanced every now and then at
Sara, just as the sparrows had done, and his expression was so very
apologetic that it touched her heart.

She sat and watched him without making any movement. One crumb was
very much larger than the others--in fact, it could scarcely be called
a crumb. It was evident that he wanted that piece very much, but it
lay quite near the footstool and he was still rather timid.

"I believe he wants it to carry to his family in the wall," Sara
thought. "If I do not stir at all, perhaps he will come and get it."

She scarcely allowed herself to breathe, she was so deeply interested.
The rat shuffled a little nearer and ate a few more crumbs, then he
stopped and sniffed delicately, giving a side glance at the occupant of
the footstool; then he darted at the piece of bun with something very
like the sudden boldness of the sparrow, and the instant he had
possession of it fled back to the wall, slipped down a crack in the
skirting board, and was gone.

"I knew he wanted it for his children," said Sara