d or called
back, she invariably stole away and crept up the flights of stairs,
and, climbing on the old table, got her head and body as far out of the
window as possible. When she had accomplished this, she always drew a
long breath and looked all round her. It used to seem as if she had
all the sky and the world to herself. No one else ever looked out of
the other attics. Generally the skylights were closed; but even if
they were propped open to admit air, no one seemed to come near them.
And there Sara would stand, sometimes turning her face upward to the
blue which seemed so friendly and near--just like a lovely vaulted
ceiling--sometimes watching the west and all the wonderful things that
happened there: the clouds melting or drifting or waiting softly to be
changed pink or crimson or snow-white or purple or pale dove-gray.
Sometimes they made islands or great mountains enclosing lakes of deep
turquoise-blue, or liquid amber, or chrysoprase-green; sometimes dark
headlands jutted into strange, lost seas; sometimes slender strips of
wonderful lands joined other wonderful lands together. There were
places where it seemed that one could run or climb or stand and wait to
see what next was coming--until, perhaps, as it all melted, one could
float away. At least it seemed so to Sara, and nothing had ever been
quite so beautiful to her as the things she saw as she stood on the
table--her body half out of the skylight--the sparrows twittering with
sunset softness on the slates. The sparrows always seemed to her to
twitter with a sort of subdued softness just when these marvels were
going on.

There was such a sunset as this a few days after the Indian gentleman
was brought to his new home; and, as it fortunately happened that the
afternoon's work was done in the kitchen and nobody had ordered her to
go anywhere or perform any task, Sara found it easier than usual to
slip away and go upstairs.

She mounted her table and stood looking out. It was a wonderful
moment. There were floods of molten gold covering the west, as if a
glorious tide was sweeping over the world. A deep, rich yellow light
filled the air; the birds flying across the tops of the houses showed
quite black against it.

"It's a Splendid one," said Sara, softly, to herself. "It makes me
feel almost afraid--as if something strange was just going to happen.
The Splendid ones always make me feel like that."

She suddenly turned her head because she