The truth was that,as the days had gone on and,with the aid of scraps brought up from the kitchen,her curious friendship had developed,she had gradually forgotten that the timid creature she was becoming familiar with was a mere rat.
At first Ermengarde was too much alarmed to do anything but huddle in a heap upon the bed and tuck up her feet,but the sight of Sara's composed little countenance and the story of Melchisedec's first appearance began at last to rouse her curiosity,and she leaned forward over the edge of the bed and watched Sara go and kneel down by the hole in the skirting board.
"He--he won't run out quickly and jump on the bed,will he?"
she said.
"No,"answered Sara."He's as polite as we are.He is just like a person.Now watch!"
She began to make a low,whistling sound--so low and coaxing that it could only have been heard in entire stillness.
She did it several times,looking entirely absorbed in it.
Ermengarde thought she looked as if she were working a spell.
And at last,evidently in response to it,a gray-whiskered,bright-eyed head peeped out of the hole.Sara had some crumbs in her hand.
She dropped them,and Melchisedec came quietly forth and ate them.
A piece of larger size than the rest he took and carried in the most businesslike manner back to his home.
"You see,"said Sara,"that is for his wife and children.
He is very nice.He only eats the little bits.After he goes back I can always hear his family squeaking for joy.
There are three kinds of squeaks.One kind is the children's,and one is Mrs.Melchisedec's,and one is Melchisedec's own."
Ermengarde began to laugh.
"Oh,Sara!"she said."You ARE queer--but you are nice."
"I know I am queer,"admitted Sara,cheerfully;"and I TRY to be nice."
She rubbed her forehead with her little brown paw,and a puzzled,tender look came into her face."Papa always laughed at me,"she said;
"but I liked it.He thought I was queer,but he liked me to make up things.I--I can't help making up things.If I didn't,I don't believe I could live."She paused and glanced around the attic.
"I'm sure I couldn't live here,"she added in a low voice.
Ermengarde was interested,as she always was."When you talk about things,"she said,"they seem as if they grew real.
You talk about Melchisedec as if he was a person."
"He IS a person,"said Sara."He gets hungry and frightened,just as we do;and he is married and has children.How do we know he doesn't think things,just as we do?His eyes look as if he was a person.That was why I gave him a name."
She sat down on the floor in her favorite attitude,holding her knees.
"Besides,"she said,"he is a Bastille rat sent to be my friend.
I can always get a bit of bread the cook has thrown away,and it is quite enough to support him."
"Is it the Bastille yet?"asked Ermengarde,eagerly."Do you always pretend it is the Bastille?"
"Nearly always,"answered Sara."Sometimes I try to pretend it is another kind of place;but the Bastille is generally easiest--particularly when it is cold."
Just at that moment Ermengarde almost jumped off the bed,she was so startled by a sound she heard.It was like two distinct knocks on the wall.
"What is that?"she exclaimed.
Sara got up from the floor and answered quite dramatically:
"It is the prisoner in the next cell."
"Becky!"cried Ermengarde,enraptured.
"Yes,"said Sara."Listen;the two knocks meant,`Prisoner,are you there?'"
She knocked three times on the wall herself,as if in answer.
"That means,`Yes,I am here,and all is well.'"
Four knocks came from Becky's side of the wall.
"That means,"explained Sara,"`Then,fellow-sufferer,we will sleep in peace.Good night.'"
Ermengarde quite beamed with delight.
"Oh,Sara!"she whispered joyfully."It is like a story!"
"It IS a story,"said Sara."EVERYTHING'S a story.You are a story--
I am a story.Miss Minchin is a story."
And she sat down again and talked until Ermengarde forgot that she was a sort of escaped prisoner herself,and had to be reminded by Sara that she could not remain in the Bastille all night,but must steal noiselessly downstairs again and creep back into her deserted bed.
