Free Racketty-Packetty House and Other Stories by Frances Hodgson; Burnett

nothing in particular but talk to the parrots and drive out with the spaniel. The most interesting person of all lived next door to Miss Minchin herself. Sara called him the Indian Gentleman. He was an elderly gentleman who was said to have lived in the East Indies, and to be immensely rich and to have something the matter with his liver,—in fact, it had been rumored that he had no liver at all, and was much inconvenienced by the fact. At any rate, he was very yellow and he did not look happy; and when he went out to his carriage, he was almost always wrapped up in shawls and overcoats, as if he were cold. He had a native servant who looked even colder than himself, and he had a monkey who looked colder than the native servant. Sara had seen the monkey sitting on a table, in the sun, in the parlor window, and he always wore such a mournful expression that she sympathized with him deeply.
    â€œI dare say,” she used sometimes to remark to herself, “he is thinking all the time of cocoanut trees and of swinging by his tail under a tropical sun. He might have had a family dependent on him too, poor thing!”
    The native servant, whom she called the Lascar, looked mournful too, but he was evidently very faithful to his master.
    â€œPerhaps he saved his master’s life in the Sepoy rebellion,” she thought. “They look as if they might have had all sorts of adventures. I wish I could speak to the Lascar. I remember a little Hindustani.”
    And one day she actually did speak to him, and his start at the sound of his own language expressed a great deal of surprise and delight. He was waiting for his master to come out to the carriage, and Sara, who was going on an errand as usual, stopped and spoke a few words. She had a special gift for languages and had remembered enough Hindustani to make herself understood by him. When his master came out, the Lascar spoke to him quickly, and the Indian Gentleman turned and looked at her curiously. And afterward the Lascar always greeted her with salaams of the most profound description. And occasionally they exchanged a few words. She learned that it was true that the Sahib was very rich—that he was ill—and also that he had no wife nor children, and that England did not agree with the monkey.
    â€œHe must be as lonely as I am,” thought Sara. “Being rich does not seem to make him happy.”
    That evening, as she passed the windows, the Lascar was closing the shutters, and she caught a glimpse of the room inside. There was a bright fire glowing in the grate, and the Indian Gentleman was sitting before it, in a luxurious chair. The room was richly furnished, and looked delightfully comfortable, but the Indian Gentleman sat with his head resting on his hand, and looked as lonely and unhappy as ever.
    â€œPoor man!” said Sara; “I wonder what you are ‘supposing’?”
    When she went into the house she met Miss Minchin in the hall.
    â€œWhere have you wasted your time?” said Miss Minchin. “You have been out for hours!”
    â€œIt was so wet and muddy,” Sara answered. “It was hard to walk, because my shoes were so bad and slipped about so.”
    â€œMake no excuses,” said Miss Minchin, “and tell no falsehoods.”
    Sara went downstairs to the kitchen.
    â€œWhy didn’t you stay all night?” said the cook.
    â€œHere are the things,” said Sara, and laid her purchases on the table.
    The cook looked over them, grumbling. She was in a very bad temper indeed.
    â€œMay I have something to eat?” Sara asked rather faintly.
    â€œTea’s over and done with,” was the answer. “Did you expect me to keep it hot for you?”
    Sara was silent a second.
    â€œI had no dinner,” she said, and her voice was quite low. She made it low, because she was afraid it would tremble.
    â€œThere’s some bread in the pantry,” said the cook. “That’s