en sat on her
shoulder holding a lock of her hair, looking mournful but not at all
agitated. Upon the whole, he seemed pleased with Sara.

[Illustration: "THE MONKEY SEEMED MUCH INTERESTED IN HER REMARKS."]

"But I must take you back," she said to him, "though I'm sorry to have
to do it. Oh, the company you _would_ be to a person!"

She lifted him from her shoulder, set him on her knee, and gave him a
bit of cake. He sat and nibbled it, and then put his head on one side,
looked at her, wrinkled his forehead, and then nibbled again, in the
most companionable manner.

"But you must go home," said Sara at last; and she took him in her arms
to carry him downstairs. Evidently he did not want to leave the room,
for as they reached the door he clung to her neck and gave a little
scream of anger.

"You mustn't be an ungrateful monkey," said Sara. "You ought to be
fondest of your own family. I am sure the Lascar is good to you."

Nobody saw her on her way out, and very soon she was standing on the
Indian Gentleman's front steps, and the Lascar had opened the door for
her.

"I found your monkey in my room," she said in Hindustani. "I think he
got in through the window."

The man began a rapid outpouring of thanks; but, just as he was in the
midst of them, a fretful, hollow voice was heard through the open door
of the nearest room. The instant he heard it the Lascar disappeared, and
left Sara still holding the monkey.

It was not many moments, however, before he came back bringing a
message. His master had told him to bring Missy into the library. The
Sahib was very ill, but he wished to see Missy.

Sara thought this odd, but she remembered reading stories of Indian
gentlemen who, having no constitutions, were extremely cross and full of
whims, and who must have their own way. So she followed the Lascar.

When she entered the room the Indian Gentleman was lying on an easy
chair, propped up with pillows. He looked frightfully ill. His yellow
face was thin, and his eyes were hollow. He gave Sara a rather curious
look--it was as if she wakened in him some anxious interest.

"You live next door?" he said.

"Yes," answered Sara. "I live at Miss Minchin's."

"She keeps a boarding-school?"

"Yes," said Sara.

"And you are one of her pupils?"

Sara hesitated a moment.

"I don't know exactly what I am," she replied.

"Why not?" asked the Indian Gentleman.

The monkey gave a tiny squeak, and Sara stroked him.

"A