"Then," breathed Becky, devoutly, "I would n't mind how heavy the coal-boxes was—or what the cook done to me, if—if I might have that to think of."
"You may," said Sara. "I 'll tell it all to you."
When Becky went down-stairs, she was not the same Becky who had staggered up, loaded down by the weight of the coal-scuttle. She had an extra piece of cake in her pocket, and she had been fed and warmed, but not only by cake and fire. Something else had warmed and fed her, and the something else was Sara.
When she was gone Sara sat on her favorite perch on the end of her table. Her feet were on a chair, her elbows on her knees, and her chin in her hands.
"If I was a princess— a real princess," she murmured, "I could scatter largess to the populace. But even if I am only a pretend princess, I can invent little things to do for people. Things like this. She was just as happy as if it was largess. I 'll pretend that to do things people like is scattering largess. I 've scattered largess."
