Summary:
        Sara Crewe,
           a pupil
               at Miss Minchin's London school,
         is left in poverty
             when her father dies,
           but is later
              rescued by a mysterious benefactor.
 
  1
  Sara

    Once on
           a dark winter's day,
         when the yellow fog
               hung so thick and heavy
                   in the streets of London
             that the lamps
                were lighted
                       and the shop windows
                      blazed with gas as
             they do at night,
         an odd-looking little girl
            sat in a cab
                   with her father
            and was
                  driven rather slowly
                       through the big thoroughfares.

    She sat with her feet
          tucked under her,
           and leaned against her father,
         who held her
               in his arm,
           as she
            stared out of the window
                   at the passing
                 people with
                       a queer old-fashioned thoughtfulness
                     in her big eyes.

    She was
           such a little girl
         that one
            did not
                  expect to see
                       such a look
                     on her small face.

    It would have been
           an old
          look for a child
               of twelve,
           and Sara Crewe
            was only seven.

    The fact was,
           however,
         that she
            was always
                  dreaming and thinking odd things
            and could not herself
                  remember any time
             when she
                had not
                    been thinking things
                           about grown-up people
                               and the world
                 they belonged to.

    She felt
         as if
             she had lived a long,
           long time.

    At this moment
         she was remembering the voyage
           she had just
              made from Bombay
                   with her father,
           Captain Crewe.

    She was
          thinking of the big ship,
           of the Lascars
              passing silently to and fro
                   on it,
         of the children
              playing about
                   on the hot deck,
           and of
               some young officers' wives
             who used
                  to try
                      to make her talk
                           to them and laugh
                         at the things she said.

    Principally,
           she was thinking of
          what a queer
             thing it was
                 that at one time one
                    was in India
                           in the blazing sun,
         and then
               in the middle
                   of the ocean,
           and then driving
               in a strange vehicle
             through strange streets
             where the day
                was as dark
                       as the night.

    She found this so puzzling
         that she moved
               closer to her father.

    "Papa,"
          she said in a low,
               mysterious little voice
                  which was almost a whisper,
             "papa."

    "What is it,
           darling?"

    Captain Crewe answered,
           holding her closer and
              looking down into her face.

    "What is Sara thinking of?"

    "Is this the place?"

    Sara whispered,
           cuddling still closer to him.

    "Is it,
           papa?"

    "Yes,
           little Sara,
         it is.

    We have
          reached it at last."

    And though
         she was
              only seven years old,
           she knew
             that he felt sad
               when he said it.

    It seemed
           to her many years
         since he had
             begun to prepare
                   her mind for
         "the place,"
            as she always called it.

    Her mother had died
         when she was born,
           so she
            had never
                  known or missed her.

    Her young,
           handsome,
         rich,
           petting father seemed
              to be the only relation
             she had in the world.

    They had always played together
        and been fond
               of each other.

    She only knew
         he was rich
           because she had heard
             people say so
         when they thought
             she was not listening,
           and she
            had also heard them
                  say that
             when she grew up
                 she would be rich,
         too.

    She did not know all