There are three kinds of squeaks.One kind is the children's,and one is Mrs.Melchisedec's,and one is Melchisedec's own."
Ermengarde began to laugh.
"Oh,Sara!"she said."You ARE queer--but you are nice."
"I know I am queer,"admitted Sara,cheerfully;"and I TRY to be nice."
She rubbed her forehead with her little brown paw,and a puzzled,tender look came into her face."Papa always laughed at me,"she said;
"but I liked it.He thought I was queer,but he liked me to make up things.I--I can't help making up things.If I didn't,I don't believe I could live."She paused and glanced around the attic.
"I'm sure I couldn't live here,"she added in a low voice.
Ermengarde was interested,as she always was."When you talk about things,"she said,"they seem as if they grew real.
You talk about Melchisedec as if he was a person."
"He IS a person,"said Sara."He gets hungry and frightened,just as we do;and he is married and has children.How do we know he doesn't think things,just as we do?His eyes look as if he was a person.That was why I gave him a name."
She sat down on the floor in her favorite attitude,holding her knees.
"Besides,"she said,"he is a Bastille rat sent to be my friend.
I can always get a bit of bread the cook has thrown away,and it is quite enough to support him."
"Is it the Bastille yet?"asked Ermengarde,eagerly."Do you always pretend it is the Bastille?"