"Who—who are you talking to, Sara?" she gasped out.
Sara drew her in cautiously, but she looked as if something pleased and amused her.
"You must promise not to be frightened—not to scream the least bit, or I can't tell you," she answered.
Ermengarde felt almost inclined to scream on the spot, but managed to control herself. She looked all round the attic and saw no one. And yet Sara had certainly been speaking to some one. She thought of ghosts.
"Is it—something that will frighten me?" she asked timorously.
"Some people are afraid of them," said Sara. "I was at first,—but I am not now."
"Was it—a ghost?" quaked Ermengarde.
"No," said Sara, laughing. "It was my rat."
Ermengarde made one bound, and landed in the middle of the little dingy bed. She tucked her feet under her night-gown and the red shawl. She did not scream, but she gasped with fright.
"Oh! oh!" she cried under her breath. "A rat! A rat!"
"I was afraid you would be frightened," said Sara.
"But you need n't be. I am making him tame. He actually knows me and comes out when I call him. Are you too frightened to want to see him?"
The truth was that, as the days had gone on and, with the aid of scraps brought up from the kitchen, her curious friendship had developed, she had gradually forgotten that the timid creature she was becoming familiar with was a mere rat.
