“I declare I think you are very wicked,” I said when I gained my breath; “I do believe, Sara, you take a delight in vexing your friends. For all the world what good could it do to cut off your hair? Don’t speak to me, child! I declare I am so vexed and provoked and angry, I could cry!”
“Don’t cry, godmamma,” said Sara quite coolly, “or I’ll have it made up into a wig; you can’t fancy how nice it is now. Besides, what was the good of such a lot of hair? Don’t you know that’s what gives people headaches? I thought I had better be wise in time.”
“You little storyteller!” cried I, “you never had a headache in your life.”
“Ah, but prevention is better than cure,” said the wicked little creature with her very demurest look.
“Dinner, Ma’am,” said Ellis at the door. It was just as well for Sara. But I had a great mind to pinch her, as Mr. Thackeray says the ladies do, when we went together to the dining-room. I am sure she deserved it. However, she did not escape a little pinch which touched her, brave as she was. Sarah, I suppose, had not taken the trouble to look at her till we were all seated at table. Then she looked up, quite ignorant of what had happened. Sarah did not start like me, nor scream out; but she looked at little Sara quite composedly, leaning forward to see her all round. When she had quite done, she folded her hands upon her napkin, and smiled. “What a shocking fright you have made of yourself, my dear child,” said Sarah with the most amiable look in the world. Little Sara coloured up in a moment, grew red and furious like a little vixen, and had something angry and wicked on the very tip of her tongue, which however, bold as she was, she dared not say. Mr. Cresswell ventured to give a little mutter and chuckle of a laugh, and how the little witch did look at him! But as for me, though I was glad to have her punished, I could not find in my heart to hear anything said against her without standing up in her defence.
“Well, of course, I am very angry,” said I; “but I can’t say I agree with your godmamma either—it’s pretty enough for that matter.”
“Oh, please, don’t take any trouble about my feelings. I never meant it to be pretty,” said little Sara, quite furious.
“Nice hair is very much in a dark person’s favour. It helps the complexion and harmonises,” said Sarah, who kept always looking at the child in her smiling aggravating way. “People will soon notice the want of it in you, my dear. They will say you are very much gone off in your looks. It’s a pity you were so rash. It does make you a sad fright, whatever Milly says.”
Now, only imagine how little Sara was to bear all this, spoken just in Sarah’s whisper, which made everybody, even Ellis, who was waiting, listen close to hear what she said. It was very seldom she said so many words in one day, not to say at one speaking. She began to eat her soup when she had done her pleasant remarks. And surely I never did remark before how odd the s’s sounded in her poor lost voice. Somehow they seemed to go hissing round the table, as if every word had an s in it. It was a round table, and not very large. Sarah never would do any carving, and I got tired of always doing it. So Ellis managed for us now on the sideboard, knowing foreign ways a little, and a small table suited us best.
“Ah, my dear lady, I wish you’d take her in hand,” said Mr. Cresswell (dear, dear! it is inconceivable how injudicious some people are!); “she’s too many for me.”