and it told me to go and look."

"But oh, miss," cried Becky, "wait till she's told you what they are!
They ain't just--oh, miss, please tell her," appealing to Sara.

So Sara told her, and because her Magic helped her she made her ALMOST
see it all: the golden platters--the vaulted spaces--the blazing
logs--the twinkling waxen tapers. As the things were taken out of the
hamper--the frosted cakes--the fruits--the bonbons and the wine--the
feast became a splendid thing.

"It's like a real party!" cried Ermengarde.

"It's like a queen's table," sighed Becky.

Then Ermengarde had a sudden brilliant thought.

"I'll tell you what, Sara," she said. "Pretend you are a princess now
and this is a royal feast."

"But it's your feast," said Sara; "you must be the princess, and we
will be your maids of honor."

"Oh, I can't," said Ermengarde. "I'm too fat, and I don't know how.
YOU be her."

"Well, if you want me to," said Sara.

But suddenly she thought of something else and ran to the rusty grate.

"There is a lot of paper and rubbish stuffed in here!" she exclaimed.
"If we light it, there will be a bright blaze for a few minutes, and we
shall feel as if it was a real fire." She struck a match and lighted
it up with a great specious glow which illuminated the room.

"By the time it stops blazing," Sara said, "we shall forget about its
not being real."

She stood in the dancing glow and smiled.

"Doesn't it LOOK real?" she said. "Now we will begin the party."

She led the way to the table. She waved her hand graciously to
Ermengarde and Becky. She was in the midst of her dream.

"Advance, fair damsels," she said in her happy dream-voice, "and be
seated at the banquet table. My noble father, the king, who is absent
on a long journey, has commanded me to feast you." She turned her head
slightly toward the corner of the room. "What, ho, there, minstrels!
Strike up with your viols and bassoons. Princesses," she explained
rapidly to Ermengarde and Becky, "always had minstrels to play at their
feasts. Pretend there is a minstrel gallery up there in the corner.
Now we will begin."

They had barely had time to take their pieces of cake into their
hands--not one of them had time to do more, when--they all three sprang
to their feet and turned pale faces toward the
door--listening--listening.

Someone was coming up the stairs. There was no mistake about it. Each
of them recognized the angry, mounting tread