During her short life only one thing had troubled her, and that thing was โthe placeโ she was to be taken to some day. The climate of India was very bad for children, and as soon as possible they were sent away from itโgenerally to England and to school. She had seen other children go away, and had heard their fathers and mothers talk about the letters they received from them. She had known that she would be obliged to go also, and though sometimes her fatherโs stories of the voyage and the new country had attracted her, she had been troubled by the thought that he could not stay with her.
โCouldnโt you go to that place with me, papa?โ she had asked when she was five years old. โCouldnโt you go to school, too? I would help you with your lessons.โ
โBut you will not have to stay for a very long time, little Sara,โ he had always said. โYou will go to a nice house where there will be a lot of little girls, and you will play together, and I will send you plenty of books, and you will grow so fast that it will seem scarcely a year before you are big enough and clever enough to come back and take care of papa.โ
She had liked to think of that. To keep the house for her father; to ride with him, and sit at the head of his table when he had dinner-parties; to talk to him and read his booksโthat would be what she would like most in the world, and if one must go away to โthe placeโ in England to attain it, she must make up her mind to go. She did not care very much for other little girls, but if she had plenty of books she could console herself. She liked books more than anything else, and was, in fact, always inventing stories of beautiful things and telling them to herself. Sometimes she had told them to her father, and he had liked them as much as she did.