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Yes; there Ermengarde was when she opened the door. She was sitting
in the middle of the bed, with her feet tucked safely under her.
She had never become intimate with Melchisedec and his family,
though they rather fascinated her. When she found herself alone in
the attic she always preferred to sit on the bed until Sara arrived.
She had, in fact, on this occasion had time to become rather nervous,
because Melchisedec had appeared and sniffed about a good deal,
and once had made her utter a repressed squeal by sitting up on
his hind legs and, while he looked at her, sniffing pointedly in
her direction.
"Oh, Sara," she cried out, "I am glad you have come. Melchy WOULD
sniff about so. I tried to coax him to go back, but he wouldn't
for such a long time. I like him, you know; but it does frighten
me when he sniffs right at me. Do you think he ever WOULD jump?"
"No," answered Sara.
Ermengarde crawled forward on the bed to look at her.
"You DO look tired, Sara," she said; "you are quite pale."
"I AM tired," said Sara, dropping on to the lopsided footstool.
"Oh, there's Melchisedec, poor thing. He's come to ask for
his supper."
Melchisedec had come out of his hole as if he had been listening
for her footstep. Sara was quite sure he knew it. He came forward
with an affectionate, expectant expression as Sara put her hand
in her pocket and turned it inside out, shaking her head.
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