re's Melchisedec, poor thing. He's come to ask for his supper."

Melchisedec had come out of his hole as if he had been listening for
her footstep. Sara was quite sure he knew it. He came forward with an
affectionate, expectant expression as Sara put her hand in her pocket
and turned it inside out, shaking her head.

"I'm very sorry," she said. "I haven't one crumb left. Go home,
Melchisedec, and tell your wife there was nothing in my pocket. I'm
afraid I forgot because the cook and Miss Minchin were so cross."

Melchisedec seemed to understand. He shuffled resignedly, if not
contentedly, back to his home.

"I did not expect to see you tonight, Ermie," Sara said. Ermengarde
hugged herself in the red shawl.

"Miss Amelia has gone out to spend the night with her old aunt," she
explained. "No one else ever comes and looks into the bedrooms after
we are in bed. I could stay here until morning if I wanted to."

She pointed toward the table under the skylight. Sara had not looked
toward it as she came in. A number of books were piled upon it.
Ermengarde's gesture was a dejected one.

"Papa has sent me some more books, Sara," she said. "There they are."

Sara looked round and got up at once. She ran to the table, and
picking up the top volume, turned over its leaves quickly. For the
moment she forgot her discomforts.

"Ah," she cried out, "how beautiful! Carlyle's French Revolution. I
have SO wanted to read that!"

"I haven't," said Ermengarde. "And papa will be so cross if I don't.
He'll expect me to know all about it when I go home for the holidays.
What SHALL I do?"

Sara stopped turning over the leaves and looked at her with an excited
flush on her cheeks.

"Look here," she cried, "if you'll lend me these books, _I'll_ read
them--and tell you everything that's in them afterward--and I'll tell
it so that you will remember it, too."

"Oh, goodness!" exclaimed Ermengarde. "Do you think you can?"

"I know I can," Sara answered. "The little ones always remember what I
tell them."

"Sara," said Ermengarde, hope gleaming in her round face, "if you'll do
that, and make me remember, I'll--I'll give you anything."

"I don't want you to give me anything," said Sara. "I want your
books--I want them!" And her eyes grew big, and her chest heaved.

"Take them, then," said Ermengarde. "I wish I wanted them--but I
don't. I'm not clever, and my father is, and he thinks I ought to be."

Sara was open