would be hers, and that he would not remain long in the
army, but would come to live in London. And every time a letter came,
she hoped it would say he was coming, and they were to live together
again.

But about the middle of the third year a letter came bringing very
different news. Because he was not a business man himself, her papa had
given his affairs into the hands of a friend he trusted. The friend had
deceived and robbed him. All the money was gone, no one knew exactly
where, and the shock was so great to the poor, rash young officer, that,
being attacked by jungle fever shortly afterward, he had no strength to
rally, and so died, leaving Sara with no one to take care of her.

Miss Minchin's cold and fishy eyes had never looked so cold and fishy as
they did when Sara went into the parlor, on being sent for, a few days
after the letter was received.

No one had said anything to the child about mourning, so, in her
old-fashioned way, she had decided to find a black dress for herself,
and had picked out a black velvet she had outgrown, and came into the
room in it, looking the queerest little figure in the world, and a sad
little figure too. The dress was too short and too tight, her face was
white, her eyes had dark rings around them, and her doll, wrapped in a
piece of old black crape, was held under her arm. She was not a pretty
child. She was thin, and had a weird, interesting little face, short
black hair, and very large, green-gray eyes fringed all around with
heavy black lashes.

"I am the ugliest child in the school," she had said once, after staring
at herself in the glass for some minutes.

But there had been a clever, good-natured little French teacher who had
said to the music-master:

"Zat leetle Crewe. Vat a child! A so ogly beauty! Ze so large eyes! ze
so little spirituelle face. Waid till she grow up. You shall see!"

This morning, however, in the tight, small black frock, she looked
thinner and odder than ever, and her eyes were fixed on Miss Minchin
with a queer steadiness as she slowly advanced into the parlor,
clutching her doll.

[Illustration: "SHE SLOWLY ADVANCED INTO THE PARLOR, CLUTCHING HER
DOLL."]

"Put your doll down!" said Miss Minchin.

"No," said the child, "I won't put her down; I want her with me. She is
all I have. She has stayed with me all the time since my papa died."

She had never been an obedient child. She had had her own way ever since
she was born, and ther