"Don't cry and make a noise," she implored. "I shall be scolded
if you do, and I have been scolded all day. It's--it's not such
a bad room, Lottie."
"Isn't it?" gasped Lottie, and as she looked round it she bit her lip.
She was a spoiled child yet, but she was fond enough of her
adopted parent to make an effort to control herself for her sake.
Then, somehow, it was quite possible that any place in which Sara lived
might turn out to be nice. "Why isn't it, Sara?" she almost whispered.
Sara hugged her close and tried to laugh. There was a sort of
comfort in the warmth of the plump, childish body. She had had
a hard day and had been staring out of the windows with hot eyes.
"You can see all sorts of things you can't see downstairs,"
she said.
"What sort of things?" demanded Lottie, with that curiosity Sara
could always awaken even in bigger girls.
"Chimneys--quite close to us--with smoke curling up in wreaths
and clouds and going up into the sky--and sparrows hopping
about and talking to each other just as if they were people--
and other attic windows where heads may pop out any minute and you
can wonder who they belong to. And it all feels as high up--
as if it was another world."
"Oh, let me see it!" cried Lottie. "Lift me up!"
Sara lifted her up, and they stood on the old table together and
leaned on the edge of the flat window in the roof, and looked out.
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