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The little Princess
Once
on
a
dark
winter
's
day
,
when
the
yellow
fog
hung
so
thick
and
heavy
in
the
streets
of
London
that
the
lamps
were
lighted
and
the
shop
windows
blazed
with
gas
as
they
do
at
night
,
an
odd-looking
little
girl
sat
in
a
cab
with
her
father
and
was
driven
rather
slowly
through
the
big
thoroughfares
.
She
sat
with
her
feet
tucked
under
her
,
and
leaned
against
her
father
,
who
held
her
in
his
arm
,
as
she
stared
out
of
the
window
at
the
passing
people
with
a
queer
old-fashioned
thoughtfulness
in
her
big
eyes
.
She
was
such
a
little
girl
that
one
did
not
expect
to
see
such
a
look
on
her
small
face
.
It
would
have
been
an
old
look
for
a
child
of
twelve
,
and
Sara
Crewe
was
only
seven
.
The
fact
was
,
however
,
that
she
was
always
dreaming
and
thinking
odd
things
and
could
not
herself
remember
any
time
when
she
had
not
been
thinking
things
about
grown-up
people
and
the
world
they
belonged
to
.
She
felt
as
if
she
had
lived
a
long
,
long
time
.
At
this
moment
she
was
remembering
the
voyage
she
had
just
made
from
Bombay
with
her
father
,
Captain
Crewe
.
She
was
thinking
of
the
big
ship
,
of
the
Lascars
passing
silently
to
and
fro
on
it
,
of
the
children
playing
about
on
the
hot
deck
,
and
of
some
young
officers
'
wives
who
used
to
try
to
make
her
talk
to
them
and
laugh
at
the
things
she
said
.
Principally
,
she
was
thinking
of
what
a
queer
thing
it
was
that
at
one
time
one
was
in
India
in
the
blazing
sun
,
and
then
in
the
middle
of
the
ocean
,
and
then
driving
in
a
strange
vehicle
through
strange
streets
where
the
day
was
as
dark
as
the
night
.
She
found
this
so
puzzling
that
she
moved
closer
to
her
father
.
"
Papa
,
"
she
said
in
a
low
,
mysterious
little
voice
which
was
almost
a
whisper
,
"
papa
.
"
"
What
is
it
,
darling
?
"
Captain
Crewe
answered
,
holding
her
closer
and
looking
down
into
her
face
.
"
What
is
Sara
thinking
of
?
"
"
Is
this
the
place
?
"
Sara
whispered
,
cuddling
still
closer
to
him
.
"
Is
it
,
papa
?
"
"
Yes
,
little
Sara
,
it
is
.
We
have
reached
it
at
last
.
"
And
though
she
was
only
seven
years
old
,
she
knew
that
he
felt
sad
when
he
said
it
.
It
seemed
to
her
many
years
since
he
had
begun
to
prepare
her
mind
for
"
the
place
,
"
as
she
always
called
it
.
Her
mother
had
died
when
she
was
born
,
so
she
had
never
known
or
missed
her
.
Her
young
,
handsome
,
rich
,
petting
father
seemed
to
be
the
only
relation
she
had
in
the
world
.
They
had
always
played
together
and
been
fond
of
each
other
.
She
only
knew
he
was
rich
because
she
had
heard
people
say
so
when
they
thought
she
was
not
listening
,
and
she
had
also
heard
them
say
that
when
she
grew
up
she
would
be
rich
,
too
.
She
did
not
know
all
that
being
rich
meant
.
She
had
always
lived
in
a
beautiful
bungalow
,
and
had
been
used
to
seeing
many
servants
who
made
salaams
to
her
and
called
her
"
Missee
Sahib
,
"
and
gave
her
her
own
way
in
everything
.
She
had
had
toys
and
pets
and
an
ayah
who
worshipped
her
,
and
she
had
gradually
learned
that
people
who
were
rich
had
these
things
.
That
,
however
,
was
all
she
knew
about
it
.
