"His eyes look as if he would,"Sara whispered back."He is thinking and thinking whether he dare.Yes,he will!Yes,he is coming!"
He flew down and hopped toward the crumbs,but stopped a few inches away from them,putting his head on one side again,as if reflecting on the chances that Sara and Lottie might turn out to be big cats and jump on him.At last his heart told him they were really nicer than they looked,and he hopped nearer and nearer,darted at the biggest crumb with a lightning peck,seized it,and carried it away to the other side of his chimney.
"Now he KNOWS>,said Sara."And he will come back for the others."
He did come back,and even brought a friend,and the friend went away and brought a relative,and among them they made a hearty meal over which they twittered and chattered and exclaimed,stopping every now and then to put their heads on one side and examine Lottie and Sara.Lottie was so delighted that she quite forgot her first shocked impression of the attic.In fact,when she was lifted down from the table and returned to earthly things,as it were,Sara was able to point out to her many beauties in the room which she herself would not have suspected the existence of.
"It is so little and so high above everything,"she said,"that it is almost like a nest in a tree.The slanting ceiling is so funny.See,you can scarcely stand up at this end of the room;
and when the morning begins to come I can lie in bed and look right up into the sky through that flat window in the roof.
It is like a square patch of light.If the sun is going to shine,little pink clouds float about,and I feel as if I could touch them.
And if it rains,the drops patter and patter as if they were saying something nice.Then if there are stars,you can lie and try to count how many go into the patch.It takes such a lot.And just look at that tiny,rusty grate in the corner.If it was polished and there was a fire in it,just think how nice it would be.You see,it's really a beautiful little room."
She was walking round the small place,holding Lottie's hand and making gestures which described all the beauties she was making herself see.
She quite made Lottie see them,too.Lottie could always believe in the things Sara made pictures of.
"You see,"she said,"there could be a thick,soft blue Indian rug on the floor;and in that corner there could be a soft little sofa,with cushions to curl up on;and just over it could be a shelf full of books so that one could reach them easily;and there could be a fur rug before the fire,and hangings on the wall to cover up the whitewash,and pictures.They would have to be little ones,but they could be beautiful;and there could be a lamp with a deep rose-colored shade;and a table in the middle,with things to have tea with;and a little fat copper kettle singing on the hob;
and the bed could be quite different.It could be made soft and covered with a lovely silk coverlet.It could be beautiful.
And perhaps we could coax the sparrows until we made such friends with them that they would come and peck at the window and ask to be let in."
"Oh,Sara!"cried Lottie."I should like to live here!"
When Sara had persuaded her to go downstairs again,and,after setting her on her way,had come back to her attic,she stood in the middle of it and looked about her.The enchantment of her imaginings for Lottie had died away.The bed was hard and covered with its dingy quilt.The whitewashed wall showed its broken patches,the floor was cold and bare,the grate was broken and rusty,and the battered footstool,tilted sideways on its injured leg,the only seat in the room.She sat down on it for a few minutes and let her head drop in her hands.The mere fact that Lottie had come and gone away again made things seem a little worse--just as perhaps prisoners feel a little more desolate after visitors come and go,leaving them behind.
"It's a lonely place,"she said."Sometimes it's the loneliest place in the world."
She was sitting in this way when her attention was attracted by a slight sound near her.She lifted her head to see where it came from,and if she had been a nervous child she would have left her seat on the battered footstool in a great hurry.A large rat was sitting up on his hind quarters and sniffing the air in an interested manner.
Some of Lottie's crumbs had dropped upon the floor and their scent had drawn him out of his hole.
He looked so queer and so like a gray-whiskered dwarf or gnome that Sara was rather fascinated.He looked at her with his bright eyes,as if he were asking a question.He was evidently so doubtful that one of the child's queer thoughts came into her mind.
"I dare say it is rather hard to be a rat,"she mused.
"Nobody likes you.People jump and run away and scream out,`Oh,a horrid rat!'I shouldn't like people to scream and jump and say,`Oh,a horrid Sara!'the moment they saw me.And set traps for me,and pretend they were dinner.It's so different to be a sparrow.
But nobody asked this rat if he wanted to be a rat when he was made.
Nobody said,`Wouldn't you rather be a sparrow?'"
She had sat so quietly that the rat had begun to take courage.
He was very much afraid of her,but perhaps he had a heart like the sparrow and it told him that she was not a thing which pounced.
He was very hungry.He had a wife and a large family in the wall,and they had had frightfully bad luck for several days.He had left the children crying bitterly,and felt he would risk a good deal for a few crumbs,so he cautiously dropped upon his feet.
"Come on,"said Sara;"I'm not a trap.You can have them,poor thing!
Prisoners in the Bastille used to make friends with rats.
Suppose I make friends with you."
How it is that animals understand things I do not know,but it is certain that they do understand.Perhaps there is a language which is not made of words and everything in the world understands it.
