“I don't know who it is," she said; "but somebody cares for me a little. I have a friend.”

“Are you learning me by heart, little Sara?" he said, stroking her hair."No," she answered. "I know you by heart. You are inside my heart.”

“Sara...looked long and hard at his face.'Are you learning me by heart, little Sara?' he said...'No,' she answered. 'I know you by heart. You are inside my heart.”

“I don't like it, papa," she said. "But then I dare say soldiers - even brave ones - don't really like going into battle.”

“She did not care very much for other little girls, but if she had plenty of books she could console herself.”

“She stopped and listened to him and somehow his cheerful, friendly little whistle gave her a pleased feeling--even a disagreeable little girl may be lonely, and the big closed house and big bare moor and big bare gardens had made this one feel as if there was no one left in the world but herself. If she had been an affectionate child, who had been used to being loved, she would have broken her heart, but even though she was "Mistress Mary Quite Contrary" she was desolate, and the bright-breasted little bird brought a look into her sour little face which was almost a smile. She listened to him until he flew away. He was not like an Indian bird and she liked him and wondered if she should ever see him again. Perhaps he lived in the mysterious garden and knew all about it.”

“Never did she find anything so difficult as to keep herself from losing her temper when she was suddenly disturbed while absorbed in a book. People who are fond of books know the feeling of irritation which sweeps over them at such a moment. The temptation to be unreasonable and snappish is one not easy to manage."It makes me feel as if something had hit me," Sara had told Ermengarde once in confidence. "And as if I want to hit back. I have to remember things quickly to keep from saying something ill-tempered.”