Sara spent a terrible first night in the attic. Her bed felt hard.
The room was pitch black, and the wind howled over the roof.
But there was something worse.
Sara heard scratching and squeaking in the walls. She knew what that meant.
Becky had told her about the mice and rats living in the attic.
Sara pulled the thin blanket over her head and tried to sleep.
"My papa is dead!" she kept whispering to herself. "My papa is dead!"
The next morning when Sara went down to breakfast, she saw that someone was sitting in her seat next to Miss Minchin. It was Lavinia.
"Sara, you will begin your new duties at once," Miss Minchin said coldly.
"Sit with the younger girls and make sure they behave.
You should have been here earlier. Lottie has already spilled her tea."
Sara's duties at breakfast were only the beginning.
The headmistress knew that Sara was smart and could be sent on complicated errands.
She could even pay bills.
So soon Sara was sent out at all times of day and in any weather.
Sara worked hard and didn't complain.
For a while she thought this would make everyone like her.
But the other servants were delighted at her downfall.
The maids gave her the worst jobs to do. The cook always scolded her.
It was convenient for them to have a new servant to blame for every problem at the school.
Of course Sara no longer went to any classes.
"I'm afraid I'll forget everything I've learned," she said to Miss Minchin.
"Well, you could use the schoolroom at night," the headmistress said grudgingly.
Each night Sara sat alone in the schoolroom, reading old books.
As time passed, her clothes became shabbier.
Miss Minchin told the other girls not to talk to Sara anymore.
Sara now had to eat downstairs in the kitchen.
Each day she worked hard, trudging through the wet streets carrying parcels and baskets.
Her heart was breaking, but she was determined not to show it.
"Soldiers don't complain," she reminded herself.
"So I will not either. I will pretend I am at war."
Becky was still kind to Sara.
Every day she helped Sara to dress and undress.
But Becky was so busy with her own chores, she didn't have much time to talk.
One day Ermengarde saw Sara coming down the hall.
Sara was carrying a pile of clothes to be mended.
Sara looked so pale and poor, Ermengarde wasn't sure what to say.
So she blurted out the first thing she thought of.
"Oh . . . oh . . . How are you, Sara? Are you very unhappy?"
"What do you think?" Sara suddenly felt annoyed.
She marched past Ermengarde without another word.
"Ermengarde is just like the others," Sara said to herself.
"She doesn't really want to talk to me."
Whenever they met after that, Sara always looked the other way.
And Ermengarde always felt too awkward and embarrassed to speak.
But things had changed greatly for Ermengarde too.
Without Sara, Ermengarde was lonely and miserable.
She constantly made mistakes during lessons, and she spent hours by herself, just staring out the window.
One night when Sara returned to the attic, she saw a flicker of light under her door.
"That's strange," she thought.
She opened the door slowly. Inside was Ermengarde.
She was sitting on the footstool, dressed in her nightgown and a red shawl.
"Ermengarde!" cried Sara. "What are you doing here?"
Ermengarde stumbled up from the footstool.
She shuffled across the attic in her bedroom slippers.
Her eyes and nose were pink from crying.
"I couldn't bear it anymore," said Ermengarde.
"You may be able to live without me, but I can't live without you.
Why won't you speak to me?"
"I thought you didn't like me.
Everything is different now—I'm a servant," Sara reminded her.
"I don't care about that," said Ermengarde.
"Can't we be best friends again?"
"Oh yes!" Sara rushed into Ermengarde's arms. "I've missed you!"
Ermengarde looked around the room. "Sara, how can you stand living here?"
Sara looked around the room too.
"Other people have lived in worse places," she replied.
"Think of the prisoners in the Bastille prison during the French Revolution."
"You could make up a story!" said Ermengarde.
"That's a wonderful idea!"
Sara felt her imagination stirring for the first time since her father had died.
"I could pretend that Miss Minchin is the jailer.
And Becky is the prisoner in the next cell!"
Sara's eyes were glowing, and she was already starting to look more like her old self.
"I will tell myself the stories, and it will be a great comfort to me!"
"I'll creep up here every night to hear the stories too!" Ermengarde promised.