ter's afternoon, as she was getting out of her carriage, comfortably
wrapped up in her warmest velvets and furs and looking very much
grander than she knew, she caught sight, as she crossed the pavement,
of a dingy little figure standing on the area steps, and stretching its
neck so that its wide-open eyes might peer at her through the railings.
Something in the eagerness and timidity of the smudgy face made her
look at it, and when she looked she smiled because it was her way to
smile at people.

But the owner of the smudgy face and the wide-open eyes evidently was
afraid that she ought not to have been caught looking at pupils of
importance. She dodged out of sight like a jack-in-the-box and
scurried back into the kitchen, disappearing so suddenly that if she
had not been such a poor little forlorn thing, Sara would have laughed
in spite of herself. That very evening, as Sara was sitting in the
midst of a group of listeners in a corner of the schoolroom telling one
of her stories, the very same figure timidly entered the room, carrying
a coal box much too heavy for her, and knelt down upon the hearth rug
to replenish the fire and sweep up the ashes.

She was cleaner than she had been when she peeped through the area
railings, but she looked just as frightened. She was evidently afraid
to look at the children or seem to be listening. She put on pieces of
coal cautiously with her fingers so that she might make no disturbing
noise, and she swept about the fire irons very softly. But Sara saw in
two minutes that she was deeply interested in what was going on, and
that she was doing her work slowly in the hope of catching a word here
and there. And realizing this, she raised her voice and spoke more
clearly.

"The Mermaids swam softly about in the crystal-green water, and dragged
after them a fishing-net woven of deep-sea pearls," she said. "The
Princess sat on the white rock and watched them."

It was a wonderful story about a princess who was loved by a Prince
Merman, and went to live with him in shining caves under the sea.

The small drudge before the grate swept the hearth once and then swept
it again. Having done it twice, she did it three times; and, as she
was doing it the third time, the sound of the story so lured her to
listen that she fell under the spell and actually forgot that she had
no right to listen at all, and also forgot everything else. She sat
down upon her heels as she knelt on the hearth