, smiling; "and I can give buns and bread to the
populace." And she went and sat on the stool, and the Indian gentleman
(he used to like her to call him that, too, sometimes) drew her small
dark head down on his knee and stroked her hair.

The next morning, Miss Minchin, in looking out of her window, saw the
things she perhaps least enjoyed seeing. The Indian gentleman's
carriage, with its tall horses, drew up before the door of the next
house, and its owner and a little figure, warm with soft, rich furs,
descended the steps to get into it. The little figure was a familiar
one, and reminded Miss Minchin of days in the past. It was followed by
another as familiar--the sight of which she found very irritating. It
was Becky, who, in the character of delighted attendant, always
accompanied her young mistress to her carriage, carrying wraps and
belongings. Already Becky had a pink, round face.

A little later the carriage drew up before the door of the baker's
shop, and its occupants got out, oddly enough, just as the bun-woman
was putting a tray of smoking-hot buns into the window.

When Sara entered the shop the woman turned and looked at her, and,
leaving the buns, came and stood behind the counter. For a moment she
looked at Sara very hard indeed, and then her good-natured face lighted
up.

"I'm sure that I remember you, miss," she said. "And yet--"

"Yes," said Sara; "once you gave me six buns for fourpence, and--"

"And you gave five of 'em to a beggar child," the woman broke in on
her. "I've always remembered it. I couldn't make it out at first." She
turned round to the Indian gentleman and spoke her next words to him.
"I beg your pardon, sir, but there's not many young people that notices
a hungry face in that way; and I've thought of it many a time. Excuse
the liberty, miss,"--to Sara--"but you look rosier and--well, better
than you did that--that--"

"I am better, thank you," said Sara. "And--I am much happier--and I
have come to ask you to do something for me."

"Me, miss!" exclaimed the bun-woman, smiling cheerfully. "Why, bless
you! Yes, miss. What can I do?"

And then Sara, leaning on the counter, made her little proposal
concerning the dreadful days and the hungry waifs and the buns.

The woman watched her, and listened with an astonished face.

"Why, bless me!" she said again when she had heard it all; "it'll be a
pleasure to me to do it. I am a working-woman myself and cannot afford