like this--and Sara was sent out again
and again, until her shabby clothes were damp through. The absurd old
feathers on her forlorn hat were more draggled and absurd than ever,
and her downtrodden shoes were so wet that they could not hold any more
water. Added to this, she had been deprived of her dinner, because
Miss Minchin had chosen to punish her. She was so cold and hungry and
tired that her face began to have a pinched look, and now and then some
kind-hearted person passing her in the street glanced at her with
sudden sympathy. But she did not know that. She hurried on, trying to
make her mind think of something else. It was really very necessary.
Her way of doing it was to "pretend" and "suppose" with all the
strength that was left in her. But really this time it was harder than
she had ever found it, and once or twice she thought it almost made her
more cold and hungry instead of less so. But she persevered
obstinately, and as the muddy water squelched through her broken shoes
and the wind seemed trying to drag her thin jacket from her, she talked
to herself as she walked, though she did not speak aloud or even move
her lips.

"Suppose I had dry clothes on," she thought. "Suppose I had good shoes
and a long, thick coat and merino stockings and a whole umbrella. And
suppose--suppose--just when I was near a baker's where they sold hot
buns, I should find sixpence--which belonged to nobody. SUPPOSE if I
did, I should go into the shop and buy six of the hottest buns and eat
them all without stopping."

Some very odd things happen in this world sometimes.

It certainly was an odd thing that happened to Sara. She had to cross
the street just when she was saying this to herself. The mud was
dreadful--she almost had to wade. She picked her way as carefully as
she could, but she could not save herself much; only, in picking her
way, she had to look down at her feet and the mud, and in looking
down--just as she reached the pavement--she saw something shining in
the gutter. It was actually a piece of silver--a tiny piece trodden
upon by many feet, but still with spirit enough left to shine a little.
Not quite a sixpence, but the next thing to it--a fourpenny piece.

In one second it was in her cold little red-and-blue hand.

"Oh," she gasped, "it is true! It is true!"

And then, if you will believe me, she looked straight at the shop
directly facing her. And it was a baker's shop, and a cheerful, stout,