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diff --git a/old/12176.txt b/old/12176.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a0c2c69 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12176.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3485 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Gate of the Giant Scissors, by Annie Fellows Johnston + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Gate of the Giant Scissors + +Author: Annie Fellows Johnston + +Release Date: April 27, 2004 [EBook #12176] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charlie Kirschner and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + + +THE GIANT SCISSORS + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + + I. IN THE PEAR-TREE. + II. A NEW FAIRY TALE. + III. BEHIND THE GREAT GATE. + IV. A LETTER AND A MEETING. + V. A THANKSGIVING BARBECUE. + VI. JOYCE PLAYS GHOST. + VII. OLD "NUMBER THIRTY-ONE". +VIII. CHRISTMAS PLANS AND AN ACCIDENT. + IX. A GREAT DISCOVERY. + X. CHRISTMAS. + +[Illustration: JULES] + +THE GATE OF THE GIANT +SCISSORS. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +IN THE PEAR-TREE. + +Joyce was crying, up in old Monsieur Greville's tallest pear-tree. She +had gone down to the farthest corner of the garden, out of sight of the +house, for she did not want any one to know that she was miserable +enough to cry. + +She was tired of the garden with the high stone wall around it, that +made her feel like a prisoner; she was tired of French verbs and foreign +faces; she was tired of France, and so homesick for her mother and Jack +and Holland and the baby, that she couldn't help crying. No wonder, for +she was only twelve years old, and she had never been out of the little +Western village where she was born, until the day she started abroad +with her Cousin Kate. + +Now she sat perched up on a limb in a dismal bunch, her chin in her +hands and her elbows on her knees. It was a gray afternoon in November; +the air was frosty, although the laurel-bushes in the garden were all +in bloom. + +"I s'pect there is snow on the ground at home," thought Joyce, "and +there's a big, cheerful fire in the sitting-room grate. + +"Holland and the baby are shelling corn, and Mary is popping it. Dear +me! I can smell it just as plain! Jack will be coming in from the +post-office pretty soon, and maybe he'll have one of my letters. Mother +will read it out loud, and there they'll all be, thinking that I am +having such a fine time; that it is such a grand thing for me to be +abroad studying, and having dinner served at night in so many courses, +and all that sort of thing. They don't know that I am sitting up here in +this pear-tree, lonesome enough to die. Oh, if I could only go back home +and see them for even five minutes," she sobbed, "but I can't! I can't! +There's a whole wide ocean between us!" + +She shut her eyes, and leaned back against the tree as that desolate +feeling of homesickness settled over her like a great miserable ache. +Then she found that shutting her eyes, and thinking very hard about the +little brown house at home, seemed to bring it into plain sight. It was +like opening a book, and seeing picture after picture as she turned +the pages. + +There they were in the kitchen, washing dishes, she and Mary; and Mary +was standing on a soap-box to make her tall enough to handle the dishes +easily. How her funny little braid of yellow hair bobbed up and down as +she worked, and how her dear little freckled face beamed, as they told +stories to each other to make the work seem easier. + +Mary's stories all began the same way: "If I had a witch with a wand, +this is what we would do." The witch with a wand had come to Joyce in +the shape of Cousin Kate Ware, and that coming was one of the pictures +that Joyce could see now, as she thought about it with her eyes closed. + +There was Holland swinging on the gate, waiting for her to come home +from school, and trying to tell her by excited gestures, long before she +was within speaking distance, that some one was in the parlor. The baby +had on his best plaid kilt and new tie, and the tired little mother was +sitting talking in the parlor, an unusual thing for her. Joyce could see +herself going up the path, swinging her sun-bonnet by the strings and +taking hurried little bites of a big June apple in order to finish it +before going into the house. Now she was sitting on the sofa beside +Cousin Kate, feeling very awkward and shy with her little brown fingers +clasped in this stranger's soft white hand. She had heard that Cousin +Kate was a very rich old maid, who had spent years abroad, studying +music and languages, and she had expected to see a stout, homely woman +with bushy eyebrows, like Miss Teckla Schaum, who played the church +organ, and taught German in the High School. + +But Cousin Kate was altogether unlike Miss Teckla. She was tall and +slender, she was young-looking and pretty, and there was a stylish air +about her, from the waves of her soft golden brown hair to the bottom of +her tailor-made gown, that was not often seen in this little +Western village. + +Joyce saw herself glancing admiringly at Cousin Kate, and then pulling +down her dress as far as possible, painfully conscious that her shoes +were untied, and white with dust. The next picture was several days +later. She and Jack were playing mumble-peg outside under the window by +the lilac-bushes, and the little mother was just inside the door, +bending over a pile of photographs that Cousin Kate had dropped in her +lap. Cousin Kate was saying, "This beautiful old French villa is where I +expect to spend the winter, Aunt Emily. These are views of Tours, the +town that lies across the river Loire from it, and these are some of the +chateaux near by that I intend to visit. They say the purest French in +the world is spoken there. I have prevailed on one of the dearest old +ladies that ever lived to give me rooms with her. She and her husband +live all alone in this big country place, so I shall have to provide +against loneliness by taking my company with me. Will you let me have +Joyce for a year?" + +Jack and she stopped playing in sheer astonishment, while Cousin Kate +went on to explain how many advantages she could give the little girl to +whom she had taken such a strong fancy. + +Looking through the lilac-bushes, Joyce could see her mother wipe her +eyes and say, "It seems like pure providence, Kate, and I can't stand in +the child's way. She'll have to support herself soon, and ought to be +prepared for it; but she's the oldest of the five, you know, and she has +been like my right hand ever since her father died. There'll not be a +minute while she is gone, that I shall not miss her and wish her back. +She's the life and sunshine of the whole home." + +Then Joyce could see the little brown house turned all topsy-turvy in +the whirl of preparation that followed, and the next thing, she was +standing on the platform at the station, with her new steamer trunk +beside her. Half the town was there to bid her good-by. In the +excitement of finding herself a person of such importance she forgot how +much she was leaving behind her, until looking up, she saw a tender, +wistful smile on her mother's face, sadder than any tears. + +[Illustration: WHERE JOYCE LIVED] + +Luckily the locomotive whistled just then, and the novelty of getting +aboard a train for the first time, helped her to be brave at the +parting. She stood on the rear platform of the last car, waving her +handkerchief to the group at the station as long as it was in sight, so +that the last glimpse her mother should have of her, was with her bright +little face all ashine. + +All these pictures passed so rapidly through Joyce's mind, that she had +retraced the experiences of the last three months in as many minutes. +Then, somehow, she felt better. The tears had washed away the ache in +her throat. She wiped her eyes and climbed liked a squirrel to the +highest limb that could bear her weight. + +This was not the first time that the old pear-tree had been shaken by +Joyce's grief, and it knew that her spells of homesickness always ended +in this way. There she sat, swinging her plump legs back and forth, her +long light hair blowing over the shoulders of her blue jacket, and her +saucy little mouth puckered into a soft whistle. She could see over the +high wall now. The sun was going down behind the tall Lombardy poplars +that lined the road, and in a distant field two peasants still at work +reminded her of the picture of "The Angelus." They seemed like +acquaintances on account of the resemblance, for there was a copy of the +picture in her little bedroom at home. + +All around her stretched quiet fields, sloping down to the ancient +village of St. Symphorien and the river Loire. Just across the river, so +near that she could hear the ringing of the cathedral bell, lay the +famous old town of Tours. There was something in these country sights +and sounds that soothed her with their homely cheerfulness. The crowing +of a rooster and the barking of a dog fell on her ear like +familiar music. + +"It's a comfort to hear something speak English," she sighed, "even if +it's nothing but a chicken. I do wish that Cousin Kate wouldn't be so +particular about my using French all day long. The one little half-hour +at bedtime when she allows me to speak English isn't a drop in the +bucket. It's a mercy that I had studied French some before I came, or I +would have a lonesome time. I wouldn't be able to ever talk at all." + +It was getting cold up in the pear-tree. Joyce shivered and stepped down +to the limb below, but paused in her descent to watch a peddler going +down the road with a pack on his back. + +"Oh, he is stopping at the gate with the big scissors!" she cried, so +interested that she spoke aloud. "I must wait to see if it opens." + +There was something mysterious about that gate across the road. Like +Monsieur Greville's, it was plain and solid, reaching as high as the +wall. Only the lime-trees and the second story windows of the house +could be seen above it. On the top it bore an iron medallion, on which +was fastened a huge pair of scissors. There was a smaller pair on each +gable of the house, also. + +During the three months that Joyce had been in Monsieur Greville's +home, she had watched every day to see it open; but if any one ever +entered or left the place, it was certainly by some other way than this +queer gate. + +What lay beyond it, no one could tell. She had questioned Gabriel the +coachman, and Berthe the maid, in vain. Madame Greville said that she +remembered having heard, when a child, that the man who built it was +named _Ciseaux_, and that was why the symbol of this name was hung over +the gate and on the gables. He had been regarded as half crazy by his +neighbors. The place was still owned by a descendant of his, who had +gone to Algiers, and left it in charge of two servants. + +The peddler rang the bell of the gate several times, but failing to +arouse any one, shouldered his pack and went off grumbling. Then Joyce +climbed down and walked slowly up the gravelled path to the house. +Cousin Kate had just come back from Tours in the pony cart, and was +waiting in the door to see if Gabriel had all the bundles that she had +brought out with her. + +Joyce followed her admiringly into the house. She wished that she could +grow up to look exactly like Cousin Kate, and wondered if she would +ever wear such stylish silk-lined skirts, and catch them up in such an +airy, graceful way when she ran up-stairs; and if she would ever have a +Paris hat with long black feathers, and always wear a bunch of sweet +violets on her coat. + +She looked at herself in Cousin Kate's mirror as she passed it, and +sighed. "Well, I am better-looking than when I left home," she thought. +"That's one comfort. My face isn't freckled now, and my hair is more +becoming this way than in tight little pigtails, the way I used to +wear it." + +Cousin Kate, coming up behind her, looked over her head and smiled at +the attractive reflection of Joyce's rosy cheeks and straightforward +gray eyes. Then she stopped suddenly and put her arms around her, +saying, "What's the matter, dear? You have been crying." + +"Nothing," answered Joyce, but there was a quaver in her voice, and she +turned her head aside. Cousin Kate put her hand under the resolute +little chin, and tilted it until she could look into the eyes that +dropped under her gaze "You have been crying," she said again, this +time in English, "crying because you are homesick. I wonder if it would +not be a good occupation for you to open all the bundles that I got this +afternoon. There is a saucepan in one, and a big spoon in the other, and +all sorts of good things in the others, so that we can make some +molasses candy here in my room, over the open fire. While it cooks you +can curl up in the big armchair and listen to a fairy tale in the +firelight. Would you like that, little one?" + +"Oh, yes!" cried Joyce, ecstatically. "That's what they are doing at +home this minute, I am sure. We always make candy every afternoon in the +winter time." + +Presently the saucepan was sitting on the coals, and Joyce's little pug +nose was rapturously sniffing the odor of bubbling molasses. "I know +what I'd like the story to be about," she said, as she stirred the +delicious mixture with the new spoon. "Make up something about the big +gate across the road, with the scissors on it." + +Cousin Kate crossed the room, and sat down by the window, where she +could look out and see the top of it. + +"Let me think for a few minutes," she said. "I have been very much +interested in that old gate myself." + +She thought so long that the candy was done before she was ready to tell +the story; but while it cooled in plates outside on the window-sill, she +drew Joyce to a seat beside her in the chimney-corner. With her feet on +the fender, and the child's head on her shoulder, she began this story, +and the firelight dancing on the walls, showed a smile on Joyce's +contented little face. + + + +CHAPTER II. + +A NEW FAIRY TALE. + +Once upon a time, on a far island of the sea, there lived a King with +seven sons. The three eldest were tall and dark, with eyes like eagles, +and hair like a crow's wing for blackness, and no princes in all the +land were so strong and fearless as they. The three youngest sons were +tall and fair, with eyes as blue as cornflowers, and locks like the +summer sun for brightness, and no princes in all the land were so brave +and beautiful as they. + +But the middle son was little and lorn; he was neither dark nor fair; he +was neither handsome nor strong. So when the King saw that he never won +in the tournaments nor led in the boar hunts, nor sang to his lute among +the ladies of the court, he drew his royal robes around him, and +henceforth frowned on Ethelried. + +To each of his other sons he gave a portion of his kingdom, armor and +plumes, a prancing charger, and a trusty sword; but to Ethelried he gave +nothing. When the poor Prince saw his brothers riding out into the world +to win their fortunes, he fain would have followed. Throwing himself on +his knees before the King, he cried, "Oh, royal Sire, bestow upon me +also a sword and a steed, that I may up and away to follow my brethren." + +But the King laughed him to scorn. "Thou a sword!" he quoth. "Thou who +hast never done a deed of valor in all thy life! In sooth thou shalt +have one, but it shall be one befitting thy maiden size and courage, if +so small a weapon can be found in all my kingdom!" + +Now just at that moment it happened that the Court Tailor came into the +room to measure the King for a new mantle of ermine. Forthwith the +grinning Jester began shrieking with laughter, so that the bells upon +his motley cap were all set a-jangling. + +"What now, Fool?" demanded the King. + +"I did but laugh to think the sword of Ethelried had been so quickly +found," responded the Jester, and he pointed to the scissors hanging +from the Tailor's girdle. + +"By my troth," exclaimed the King, "it shall be even as thou sayest!" +and he commanded that the scissors be taken from the Tailor, and buckled +to the belt of Ethelried. + +"Not until thou hast proved thyself a prince with these, shalt thou come +into thy kingdom," he swore with a mighty oath. "Until that far day, now +get thee gone!" + +So Ethelried left the palace, and wandered away over mountain and moor +with a heavy heart. No one knew that he was a prince; no fireside +offered him welcome; no lips gave him a friendly greeting. The scissors +hung useless and rusting by his side. + +One night as he lay in a deep forest, too unhappy to sleep, he heard a +noise near at hand in the bushes. By the light of the moon he saw that a +ferocious wild beast had been caught in a hunter's snare, and was +struggling to free itself from the heavy net. His first thought was to +slay the animal, for he had had no meat for many days. Then he bethought +himself that he had no weapon large enough. + +While he stood gazing at the struggling beast, it turned to him with +such a beseeching look in its wild eyes, that he was moved to pity. + +"Thou shalt have thy liberty," he cried, "even though thou shouldst rend +me in pieces the moment thou art free. Better dead than this craven life +to which my father hath doomed me!" + +So he set to work with the little scissors to cut the great ropes of the +net in twain. At first each strand seemed as hard as steel, and the +blades of the scissors were so rusty and dull that he could scarcely +move them. Great beads of sweat stood out on his brow as he bent himself +to the task. + +Presently, as he worked, the blades began to grow sharper and sharper, +and brighter and brighter, and longer and longer. By the time that the +last rope was cut the scissors were as sharp as a broadsword, and half +as long as his body. + +At last he raised the net to let the beast go free. Then he sank on his +knees in astonishment. It had suddenly disappeared, and in its place +stood a beautiful Fairy with filmy wings, which shone like rainbows in +the moonlight. + +"Prince Ethelried," she said in a voice that was like a crystal bell's +for sweetness, "dost thou not know that thou art in the domain of a +frightful Ogre? It was he who changed me into the form of a wild beast, +and set the snare to capture me. But for thy fearlessness and faithful +perseverance in the task which thou didst in pity undertake, I must have +perished at dawn." + +At this moment there was a distant rumbling as of thunder. "'Tis the +Ogre!" cried the Fairy. "We must hasten." Seizing the scissors that lay +on the ground where Ethelried had dropped them, she opened and shut them +several times, exclaiming: + + "Scissors, grow a giant's height + And save us from the Ogre's might!" + +Immediately they grew to an enormous size, and, with blades extended, +shot through the tangled thicket ahead of them, cutting down everything +that stood in their way,--bushes, stumps, trees, vines; nothing could +stand before the fierce onslaught of those mighty blades. + +The Fairy darted down the path thus opened up, and Ethelried followed as +fast as he could, for the horrible roaring was rapidly coming nearer. At +last they reached a wide chasm that bounded the Ogre's domain. Once +across that, they would be out of his power, but it seemed impossible to +cross. Again the Fairy touched the scissors, saying: + + "Giant scissors, bridge the path, + And save us from the Ogre's wrath." + +Again the scissors grew longer and longer, until they lay across the +chasm like a shining bridge. Ethelried hurried across after the Fairy, +trembling and dizzy, for the Ogre was now almost upon them. As soon as +they were safe on the other side, the Fairy blew upon the scissors, and, +presto, they became shorter and shorter until they were only the length +of an ordinary sword. + +"Here," she said, giving them into his hands; "because thou wast +persevering and fearless in setting me free, these shall win for thee +thy heart's desire. But remember that thou canst not keep them sharp and +shining, unless they are used at least once each day in some +unselfish service." + +Before he could thank her she had vanished, and he was left in the +forest alone. He could see the Ogre standing powerless to hurt him, on +the other side of the chasm, and gnashing his teeth, each one of which +was as big as a millston. + +The sight was so terrible, that he turned on his heel, and fled away as +fast as his feet could carry him. By the time he reached the edge of the +forest he was very tired, and ready to faint from hunger. His heart's +greatest desire being for food, he wondered if the scissors could obtain +it for him as the Fairy had promised. He had spent his last coin and +knew not where to go for another. + +Just then he spied a tree, hanging full of great, yellow apples. By +standing on tiptoe he could barely reach the lowest one with his +scissors. He cut off an apple, and was about to take a bite, when an +old Witch sprang out of a hollow tree across the road. + +"So you are the thief who has been stealing my gold apples all this last +fortnight!" she exclaimed. "Well, you shall never steal again, that I +promise you. Ho, Frog-eye Fearsome, seize on him and drag him into your +darkest dungeon!" + +At that, a hideous-looking fellow, with eyes like a frog's, green hair, +and horrid clammy webbed fingers, clutched him before he could turn to +defend himself. He was thrust into the dungeon and left there all day. + +At sunset, Frog-eye Fearsome opened the door to slide in a crust and a +cup of water, saying in a croaking voice, "You shall be hanged in the +morning, hanged by the neck until you are quite dead." Then he stopped +to run his webbed fingers through his damp green hair, and grin at the +poor captive Prince, as if he enjoyed his suffering. But the next +morning no one came to take him to the gallows, and he sat all day in +total darkness. At sunset Frog-eye Fearsome opened the door again to +thrust in another crust and some water and say, "In the morning you +shall be drowned; drowned in the Witch's mill-pond with a great stone +tied to your heels." + +Again the croaking creature stood and gloated over his victim, then left +him to the silence of another long day in the dungeon. The third day he +opened the door and hopped in, rubbing his webbed hands together with +fiendish pleasure, saying, "You are to have no food and drink to-night, +for the Witch has thought of a far more horrible punishment for you. In +the morning I shall surely come again, and then--beware!" + +Now as he stopped to grin once more at the poor Prince, a Fly darted in, +and, blinded by the darkness of the dungeon, flew straight into a +spider's web, above the head of Ethelried. + +"Poor creature!" thought Ethelried. "Thou shalt not be left a prisoner +in this dismal spot while I have the power to help thee." He lifted the +scissors and with one stroke destroyed the web, and gave the Fly +its freedom. + +As soon as the dungeon had ceased to echo with the noise that Frog-eye +Fearsome made in banging shut the heavy door, Ethelried heard a low +buzzing near his ear. It was the Fly, which had alighted on +his shoulder. + +"Let an insect in its gratitude teach you this," buzzed the Fly. +"To-morrow, if you remain here, you must certainly meet your doom, for +the Witch never keeps a prisoner past the third night. But escape is +possible. Your prison door is of iron, but the shutter which bars the +window is only of wood. Cut your way out at midnight, and I will have a +friend in waiting to guide you to a place of safety. A faint glimmer of +light on the opposite wall shows me the keyhole. I shall make my escape +thereat and go to repay thy unselfish service to me. But know that the +scissors move only when bidden in rhyme. Farewell." + +The Prince spent all the following time until midnight, trying to think +of a suitable verse to say to the scissors. The art of rhyming had been +neglected in his early education, and it was not until the first +cock-crowing began that he succeeded in making this one: + + "Giant scissors, serve me well, + And save me from the Witch's spell!" + +As he uttered the words the scissors leaped out of his hand, and began +to cut through the wooden shutters as easily as through a cheese. In a +very short time the Prince had crawled through the opening. There he +stood, outside the dungeon, but it was a dark night and he knew not +which way to turn. + +He could hear Frog-eye Fearsome snoring like a tempest up in the +watch-tower, and the old Witch was talking in her sleep in seven +languages. While he stood looking around him in bewilderment, a Firefly +alighted on his arm. Flashing its little lantern in the Prince's face, +it cried, "This way! My friend, the Fly, sent me to guide you to a place +of safety. Follow me and trust entirely to my guidance." + +The Prince flung his mantle over his shoulder, and followed on with all +possible speed. They stopped first in the Witch's orchard, and the +Firefly held its lantern up while the Prince filled his pockets with the +fruit. The apples were gold with emerald leaves, and the cherries were +rubies, and the grapes were great bunches of amethyst. When the Prince +had filled his pockets he had enough wealth to provide for all his wants +for at least a twelvemonth. + +The Firefly led him on until they came to a town where was a fine inn. +There he left him, and flew off to report the Prince's safety to the Fly +and receive the promised reward. + +Here Ethelried stayed for many weeks, living like a king on the money +that the fruit jewels brought him. All this time the scissors were +becoming little and rusty, because he never once used them, as the Fairy +bade him, in unselfish service for others. But one day he bethought +himself of her command, and started out to seek some opportunity to +help somebody. + +Soon he came to a tiny hut where a sick man lay moaning, while his wife +and children wept beside him. "What is to become of me?" cried the poor +peasant. "My grain must fall and rot in the field from overripeness +because I have not the strength to rise and harvest it; then indeed must +we all starve." + +Ethelried heard him, and that night, when the moon rose, he stole into +the field to cut it down with the giant scissors. They were so rusty +from long idleness that he could scarcely move them. He tried to think +of some rhyme with which to command them; but it had been so long since +he had done any thinking, except for his own selfish pleasure, that his +brain refused to work. + +However, he toiled on all night, slowly cutting down the grain stalk by +stalk. Towards morning the scissors became brighter and sharper, until +they finally began to open and shut of their own accord. The whole field +was cut by sunrise. Now the peasant's wife had risen very early to go +down to the spring and dip up some cool water for her husband to drink. +She came upon Ethelried as he was cutting the last row of the grain, and +fell on her knees to thank him. From that day the peasant and all his +family were firm friends of Ethelried's, and would have gone through +fire and water to serve him. + +After that he had many adventures, and he was very busy, for he never +again forgot what the Fairy had said, that only unselfish service each +day could keep the scissors sharp and shining. When the shepherd lost a +little lamb one day on the mountain, it was Ethelried who found it +caught by the fleece in a tangle of cruel thorns. When he had cut it +loose and carried it home, the shepherd also became his firm friend, and +would have gone through fire and water to serve him. + +The grandame whom he supplied with fagots, the merchant whom he rescued +from robbers, the King's councillor to whom he gave aid, all became his +friends. Up and down the land, to beggar or lord, homeless wanderer or +high-born dame, he gladly gave unselfish service all unsought, and such +as he helped straightway became his friends. + +Day by day the scissors grew sharper and sharper and ever more quick to +spring forward at his bidding. + +One day a herald dashed down the highway, shouting through his silver +trumpet that a beautiful Princess had been carried away by the Ogre. She +was the only child of the King of this country, and the knights and +nobles of all other realms and all the royal potentates were prayed to +come to her rescue. To him who could bring her back to her father's +castle should be given the throne and kingdom, as well as the +Princess herself. + +So from far and near, indeed from almost every country under the sun, +came knights and princes to fight the Ogre. One by one their brave heads +were cut off and stuck on poles along the moat that surrounded +the castle. + +Still the beautiful Princess languished in her prison. Every night at +sunset she was taken up to the roof for a glimpse of the sky, and told +to bid good-by to the sun, for the next morning would surely be her +last. Then she would wring her lily-white hands and wave a sad farewell +to her home, lying far to the westward. When the knights saw this they +would rush down to the chasm and sound a challenge to the Ogre. + +They were brave men, and they would not have feared to meet the fiercest +wild beasts, but many shrunk back when the Ogre came rushing out. They +dared not meet in single combat, this monster with the gnashing teeth, +each one of which was as big as a millston. + +Among those who drew back were Ethelried's brothers (the three that were +dark and the three that were fair). They would not acknowledge their +fear. They said, "We are only waiting to lay some wily plan to +capture the Ogre." + +[Illustration: THE PRINCESS.] + +After several days Ethelried reached the place on foot. "See him," +laughed one of the brothers that was dark to one that was fair. "He +comes afoot; no prancing steed, no waving plumes, no trusty sword; +little and lorn, he is not fit to be called a brother to princes." + +But Ethelried heeded not their taunts. He dashed across the drawbridge, +and, opening his scissors, cried: + + "Giant scissors, rise in power! + Grant me my heart's desire this hour!" + +The crowds on the other side held their breath as the Ogre rushed out, +brandishing a club as big as a church steeple. Then Whack! Bang! The +blows of the scissors, warding off the blows of the mighty club, could +be heard for miles around. + +At last Ethelried became so exhausted that he could scarcely raise his +hand, and it was plain to be seen that the scissors could not do battle +much longer. By this time a great many people, attracted by the terrific +noise, had come running up to the moat. The news had spread far and +wide that Ethelried was in danger; so every one whom he had ever served +dropped whatever he was doing, and ran to the scene of the battle. The +peasant was there, and the shepherd, and the lords and beggars and +high-born dames, all those whom Ethelried had ever befriended. + +As they saw that the poor Prince was about to be vanquished, they all +began a great lamentation, and cried out bitterly. + +"He saved my harvest," cried one. "He found my lamb," cried another. "He +showed me a greater kindness still," shouted a third. And so they went +on, each telling of some unselfish service that the Prince had rendered +him. Their voices all joined at last into such a roar of gratitude that +the scissors were given fresh strength on account of it. They grew +longer and longer, and stronger and stronger, until with one great swoop +they sprang forward and cut the ugly old Ogre's head from his shoulders. + +Every cap was thrown up, and such cheering rent the air as has never +been heard since. They did not know his name, they did not know that he +was Prince Ethelried, but they knew by his valor that there was royal +blood in his veins. So they all cried out long and loud: "_Long live the +Prince! Prince Ciseaux!_" + +Then the King stepped down from his throne and took off his crown to +give to the conqueror, but Ethelried put it aside. + +"Nay," he said. "The only kingdom that I crave is the kingdom of a +loving heart and a happy fireside. Keep all but the Princess." + +So the Ogre was killed, and the Prince came into his kingdom that was +his heart's desire. He married the Princess, and there was feasting and +merrymaking for seventy days and seventy nights, and they all lived +happily ever after. + +When the feasting was over, and the guests had all gone to their homes, +the Prince pulled down the house of the Ogre and built a new one. On +every gable he fastened a pair of shining scissors to remind himself +that only through unselfish service to others comes the happiness that +is highest and best. + +Over the great entrance gate he hung the ones that had served him so +valiantly, saying, "Only those who belong to the kingdom of loving +hearts and happy homes can ever enter here." + +One day the old King, with the brothers of Ethelried (the three that +were dark and the three that were fair), came riding up to the portal. +They thought to share in Ethelried's fame and splendor. But the scissors +leaped from their place and snapped so angrily in their faces that they +turned their horses and fled. + +Then the scissors sprang back to their place again to guard the portal +of Ethelried, and, to this day, only those who belong to the kingdom of +loving hearts may enter the Gate of the Giant Scissors. + + + +CHAPTER III. + +BEHIND THE GREAT GATE. + +That was the tale of the giant scissors as it was told to Joyce in the +pleasant fire-lighted room; but behind the great gates the true story +went on in a far different way. + +Back of the Ciseaux house was a dreary field, growing drearier and +browner every moment as the twilight deepened; and across its rough +furrows a tired boy was stumbling wearily homeward. He was not more than +nine years old, but the careworn expression of his thin white face might +have belonged to a little old man of ninety. He was driving two unruly +goats towards the house. The chase they led him would have been a +laughable sight, had he not looked so small and forlorn plodding along +in his clumsy wooden shoes, and a peasant's blouse of blue cotton, +several sizes too large for his thin little body. + +The anxious look in his eyes changed to one of fear as he drew nearer +the house. At the sound of a gruff voice bellowing at him from the end +of the lane, he winced as if he had been struck. + +"Ha, there, Jules! Thou lazy vagabond! Late again! Canst thou never +learn that I am not to be kept waiting?" + +"But, Brossard," quavered the boy in his shrill, anxious voice, "it was +not my fault, indeed it was not. The goats were so stubborn to-night. +They broke through the hedge, and I had to chase them over +three fields." + +"Have done with thy lying excuses," was the rough answer. "Thou shalt +have no supper to-night. Maybe an empty stomach will teach thee when my +commands fail. Hasten and drive the goats into the pen." + +There was a scowl on Brossard's burly red face that made Jules's heart +bump up in his throat. Brossard was only the caretaker of the Ciseaux +place, but he had been there for twenty years,--so long that he felt +himself the master. The real master was in Algiers nearly all the time. +During his absence the great house was closed, excepting the kitchen and +two rooms above it. Of these Brossard had one and Henri the other. +Henri was the cook; a slow, stupid old man, not to be jogged out of +either his good-nature or his slow gait by anything that Brossard +might say. + +Henri cooked and washed and mended, and hoed in the garden. Brossard +worked in the fields and shaved down the expenses of their living closer +and closer. All that was thus saved fell to his share, or he might not +have watched the expenses so carefully. + +Much saving had made him miserly. Old Therese, the woman with the +fish-cart, used to say that he was the stingiest man in all Tourraine. +She ought to know, for she had sold him a fish every Friday during all +those twenty years, and he had never once failed to quarrel about the +price. Five years had gone by since the master's last visit. Brossard +and Henri were not likely to forget that time, for they had been +awakened in the dead of night by a loud knocking at the side gate. When +they opened it the sight that greeted them made them rub their sleepy +eyes to be sure that they saw aright. + +There stood the master, old Martin Ciseaux. His hair and fiercely +bristling mustache had turned entirely white since they had last seen +him. In his arms he carried a child. + +Brossard almost dropped his candle in his first surprise, and his wonder +grew until he could hardly contain it, when the curly head raised itself +from monsieur's shoulder, and the sleepy baby voice lisped something in +a foreign tongue. + +"By all the saints!" muttered Brossard, as he stood aside for his master +to pass. + +"It's my brother Jules's grandson," was the curt explanation that +monsieur offered. "Jules is dead, and so is his son and all the +family,--died in America. This is his son's son, Jules, the last of the +name. If I choose to take him from a foreign poorhouse and give him +shelter, it's nobody's business, Louis Brossard, but my own." + +With that he strode on up the stairs to his room, the boy still in his +arms. This sudden coming of a four-year-old child into their daily life +made as little difference to Brossard and Henri as the presence of the +four-months-old puppy. They spread a cot for him in Henri's room when +the master went back to Algiers. They gave him something to eat three +times a day when they stopped for their own meals, and then went on with +their work as usual. + +It made no difference to them that he sobbed in the dark for his mother +to come and sing him to sleep,--the happy young mother who had petted +and humored him in her own fond American fashion. They could not +understand his speech; more than that, they could not understand him. +Why should he mope alone in the garden with that beseeching look of a +lost dog in his big, mournful eyes? Why should he not play and be happy, +like the neighbor's children or the kittens or any other young thing +that had life and sunshine? + +Brossard snapped his fingers at him sometimes at first, as he would have +done to a playful animal; but when Jules drew back, frightened by his +foreign speech and rough voice, he began to dislike the timid child. +After awhile he never noticed him except to push him aside or to +find fault. + +It was from Henri that Jules picked up whatever French he learned, and +it was from Henri also that he had received the one awkward caress, and +the only one, that his desolate little heart had known in all the five +loveless years that he had been with them. + +A few months ago Brossard had put him out in the field to keep the goats +from straying away from their pasture, two stubborn creatures, whose +self-willed wanderings had brought many a scolding down on poor Jules's +head. To-night he was unusually unfortunate, for added to the weary +chase they had led him was this stern command that he should go to bed +without his supper. + +He was about to pass into the house, shivering and hungry, when Henri +put his head out at the window. "Brossard," he called, "there isn't +enough bread for supper; there's just this dry end of a loaf. You should +have bought as I told you, when the baker's cart stopped here +this morning." + +Brossard slowly measured the bit of hard, black bread with his eye, and, +seeing that there was not half enough to satisfy the appetites of two +hungry men, he grudgingly drew a franc from his pocket. + +"Here, Jules," he called. "Go down to the bakery, and see to it that +thou art back by the time that I have milked the goats, or thou shalt +go to bed with a beating, as well as supperless. Stay!" he added, as +Jules turned to go. "I have a mind to eat white bread to-night instead +of black. It will cost an extra son, so be careful to count the change. +It is only once or so in a twelvemonth," he muttered to himself as an +excuse for his extravagance. + +It was half a mile to the village, but down hill all the way, so that +Jules reached the bakery in a very short time. + +Several customers were ahead of him, however, and he awaited his turn +nervously. When he left the shop an old lamplighter was going down the +street with torch and ladder, leaving a double line of twinkling lights +in his wake, as he disappeared down the wide "Paris road." Jules watched +him a moment, and then ran rapidly on. For many centuries the old +village of St. Symphorien had echoed with the clatter of wooden shoes on +its ancient cobblestones; but never had foot-falls in its narrow, +crooked streets kept time to the beating of a lonelier little heart. + +The officer of Customs, at his window beside the gate that shuts in the +old town at night, nodded in a surly way as the boy hurried past. Once +outside the gate, Jules walked more slowly, for the road began to wind +up-hill. Now he was out again in the open country, where a faint light +lying over the frosty fields showed that the moon was rising. + +Here and there lamps shone from the windows of houses along the road; +across the field came the bark of a dog, welcoming his master; two old +peasant women passed him in a creaking cart on their glad way home. + +At the top of the hill Jules stopped to take breath, leaning for a +moment against the stone wall. He was faint from hunger, for he had been +in the fields since early morning, with nothing for his midday lunch but +a handful of boiled chestnuts. The smell of the fresh bread tantalized +him beyond endurance. Oh, to be able to take a mouthful,--just one +little mouthful of that brown, sweet crust! + +He put his face down close, and shut his eyes, drawing in the delicious +odor with long, deep breaths. What bliss it would be to have that whole +loaf for his own,--he, little Jules, who was to have no supper that +night! He held it up in the moonlight, hungrily looking at it on every +side. There was not a broken place to be found anywhere on its surface; +not one crack in all that hard, brown glaze of crust, from which he +might pinch the tiniest crumb. + +For a moment a mad impulse seized him to tear it in pieces, and eat +every scrap, regardless of the reckoning with Brossard afterwards. But +it was only for a moment. The memory of his last beating stayed his +hand. Then, fearing to dally with temptation, lest it should master him, +he thrust the bread under his arm, and ran every remaining step of +the way home. + +Brossard took the loaf from him, and pointed with it to the stairway,--a +mute command for Jules to go to bed at once. Tingling with a sense of +injustice, the little fellow wanted to shriek out in all his hunger and +misery, defying this monster of a man; but a struggling sparrow might as +well have tried to turn on the hawk that held it. He clenched his hands +to keep from snatching something from the table, set out so temptingly +in the kitchen, but he dared not linger even to look at it. With a +feeling of utter helplessness he passed it in silence, his face +white and set. + +Dragging his tired feet slowly up the stairs, he went over to the +casement window, and swung it open; then, kneeling down, he laid his +head on the sill, in the moonlight. Was it his dream that came back to +him then, or only a memory? He could never be sure, for if it were a +memory, it was certainly as strange as any dream, unlike anything he had +ever known in his life with Henri and Brossard. Night after night he had +comforted himself with the picture that it brought before him. + +He could see a little white house in the middle of a big lawn. There +were vines on the porches, and it must have been early in the evening, +for the fireflies were beginning to twinkle over the lawn. And the grass +had just been cut, for the air was sweet with the smell of it. A woman, +standing on the steps under the vines, was calling "Jules, Jules, it is +time to come in, little son!" + +But Jules, in his white dress and shoulder-knots of blue ribbon, was +toddling across the lawn after a firefly. + +Then she began to call him another way. Jules had a vague idea that it +was a part of some game that they sometimes played together. It sounded +like a song, and the words were not like any that he had ever heard +since he came to live with Henri and Brossard. He could not forget them, +though, for had they not sung themselves through that beautiful dream +every time he had it? + + "Little Boy Blue, oh, where are you? + O, where are you-u-u-u?" + +He only laughed in the dream picture and ran on after the firefly. Then +a man came running after him, and, catching him, tossed him up +laughingly, and carried him to the house on his shoulder. + +Somebody held a glass of cool, creamy milk for him to drink, and by and +by he was in a little white night-gown in the woman's lap. His head was +nestled against her shoulder, and he could feel her soft lips touching +him on cheeks and eyelids and mouth, before she began to sing: + + "Oh, little Boy Blue, lay by your horn, + And mother will sing of the cows and the corn, + Till the stars and the angels come to keep + Their watch, where my baby lies fast asleep." + +Now all of a sudden Jules knew that there was another kind of hunger +worse than the longing for bread. He wanted the soft touch of those lips +again on his mouth and eyelids, the loving pressure of those restful +arms, a thousand times more than he had wished for the loaf that he had +just brought home. Two hot tears, that made his eyes ache in their slow +gathering, splashed down on the window-sill. + +Down below Henri opened the kitchen door and snapped his fingers to call +the dog. Looking out, Jules saw him set a plate of bones on the step. +For a moment he listened to the animal's contented crunching, and then +crept across the room to his cot, with a little moan. "O-o-oh--o-oh!" he +sobbed. "Even the dog has more than I have, and I'm _so_ hungry!" He hid +his head awhile in the old quilt; then he raised it again, and, with the +tears streaming down his thin little face, sobbed in a heartbroken +whisper: "Mother! Mother! Do you know how hungry I am?" + +A clatter of knives and forks from the kitchen below was the only +answer, and he dropped despairingly down again. + +"She's so far away she can't even hear me!" he moaned. "Oh, if I could +only be dead, too!" + +He lay there, crying, till Henri had finished washing the supper dishes +and had put them clumsily away. The rank odor of tobacco, stealing up +the stairs, told him that Brossard had settled down to enjoy his evening +pipe. Through the casement window that was still ajar came the faint +notes of an accordeon from Monsieur Greville's garden, across the way. +Gabriel, the coachman, was walking up and down in the moonlight, playing +a wheezy accompaniment to the only song he knew. Jules did not notice it +at first, but after awhile, when he had cried himself quiet, the faint +melody began to steal soothingly into his consciousness. His eyelids +closed drowsily, and then the accordeon seemed to be singing something +to him. He could not understand at first, but just as he was dropping +off to sleep he heard it quite clearly: + + "Till the stars and the angels come to keep + Their watch, where my baby lies fast asleep." + +Late in the night Jules awoke with a start, and sat up, wondering what +had aroused him. He knew that it must be after midnight, for the moon +was nearly down. Henri was snoring. Suddenly such a strong feeling of +hunger came over him, that he could think of nothing else. It was like a +gnawing pain. As if he were being led by some power outside of his own +will, he slipped to the door of the room. The little bare feet made no +noise on the carpetless floor. No mouse could have stolen down the +stairs more silently than timid little Jules. The latch of the kitchen +door gave a loud click that made him draw back with a shiver of alarm; +but that was all. After waiting one breathless minute, his heart beating +like a trip-hammer, he went on into the pantry. + +The moon was so far down now, that only a white glimmer of light showed +him the faint outline of things; but his keen little nose guided him. +There was half a cheese on the swinging shelf, with all the bread that +had been left from supper. He broke off great pieces of each in eager +haste. Then he found a crock of goat's milk. Lifting it to his mouth, he +drank with big, quick gulps until he had to stop for breath. Just as +he was about to raise it to his lips again, some instinct of danger made +him look up. There in the doorway stood Brossard, bigger and darker and +more threatening than he had ever seemed before. + +[Illustration: "IT FELL TO THE FLOOR WITH A CRASH."] + +A frightened little gasp was all that the child had strength to give. He +turned so sick and faint that his nerveless fingers could no longer hold +the crock. It fell to the floor with a crash, and the milk spattered all +over the pantry. Jules was too terrified to utter a sound. It was +Brossard who made the outcry. Jules could only shut his eyes and crouch +down trembling, under the shelf. The next instant he was dragged out, +and Brossard's merciless strap fell again and again on the poor +shrinking little body, that writhed under the cruel blows. + +Once more Jules dragged himself up-stairs to his cot, this time bruised +and sore, too exhausted for tears, too hopeless to think of possible +to-morrows. + +Poor little prince in the clutches of the ogre! If only fairy tales +might be true! If only some gracious spirit of elfin lore might really +come at such a time with its magic wand of healing! Then there would be +no more little desolate hearts, no more grieved little faces with +undried tears upon them in all the earth. Over every threshold where a +child's wee feet had pattered in and found a home, it would hang its +guardian Scissors of Avenging, so that only those who belong to the +kingdom of loving hearts and gentle hands would ever dare to enter. + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +A LETTER AND A MEETING. + +Nearly a week later Joyce sat at her desk, hurrying to finish a letter +before the postman's arrival. + +"Dear Jack," it began. + +"You and Mary will each get a letter this week. Hers is the fairy tale +that Cousin Kate told me, about an old gate near here. I wrote it down +as well as I could remember. I wish you could see that gate. It gets +more interesting every day, and I'd give most anything to see what lies +on the other side. Maybe I shall soon, for Marie has a way of finding +out anything she wants to know. Marie is my new maid. Cousin Kate went +to Paris last week, to be gone until nearly Christmas, so she got Marie +to take care of me. + +"It seems so odd to have somebody button my boots and brush my hair, and +take me out to walk as if I were a big doll. I have to be very dignified +and act as if I had always been used to such things. I believe Marie +would be shocked to death if she knew that I had ever washed dishes, or +pulled weeds out of the pavement, or romped with you in the barn. + +"Yesterday when we were out walking I got so tired of acting as if I +were a hundred years old, that I felt as if I should scream. 'Marie,' I +said, 'I've a mind to throw my muff in the fence-corner and run and hang +on behind that wagon that's going down-hill.' She had no idea that I was +in earnest. She just smiled very politely and said, 'Oh, mademoiselle, +impossible! How you Americans do love to jest.' But it was no joke. You +can't imagine how stupid it is to be with nobody but grown people all +the time. I'm fairly aching for a good old game of hi spy or prisoner's +base with you. There is nothing at all to do, but to take poky walks. + +"Yesterday afternoon we walked down to the river. There's a double row +of trees along it on this side, and several benches where people can +wait for the tram-cars that pass down this street and then across the +bridge into Tours. Marie found an old friend of hers sitting on one of +the benches,--such a big fat woman, and oh, such a gossip! Marie said +she was tired, so we sat there a long time. Her friend's name is +Clotilde Robard. They talked about everybody in St. Symphorien. + +"Then I gossiped, too. I asked Clotilde Robard if she knew why the gate +with the big scissors was never opened any more. She told me that she +used to be one of the maids there, before she married the spice-monger +and was Madame Robard. Years before she went to live there, when the old +Monsieur Ciseaux died, there was a dreadful quarrel about some money. +The son that got the property told his brother and sister never to +darken his doors again. + +[Illustration: OUT WITH MARIE.] + +"They went off to America, and that big front gate has never been opened +since they passed out of it. Clotilde says that some people say that +they put a curse on it, and something awful will happen to the first one +who dares to go through. Isn't that interesting? + +"The oldest son, Mr. Martin Ciseaux, kept up the place for a long time, +just as his father had done, but he never married. All of a sudden he +shut up the house, sent away all the servants but the two who take care +of it, and went off to Algiers to live. Five years ago he came back to +bring his little grand-nephew, but nobody has seen him since that time. + +"Clotilde says that an orphan asylum would have been a far better home +for Jules (that is the boy's name), for Brossard, the caretaker, is so +mean to him. Doesn't that make you think of Prince Ethelried in the +fairy tale? 'Little and lorn; no fireside welcomed him and no lips gave +him a friendly greeting.' + +"Marie says that she has often seen Jules down in the field, back of his +uncle's house, tending the goats. I hope that I may see him sometime. + +"Oh, dear, the postman has come sooner than I expected. He is talking +down in the hall now, and if I do not post this letter now it will miss +the evening train and be too late for the next mail steamer. Tell mamma +that I will answer all her questions about my lessons and clothes next +week. Oceans of love to everybody in the dear little brown house." + +Hastily scrawling her name, Joyce ran out into the hall with her +letter. "Anything for me?" she asked, anxiously, leaning over the +banister to drop the letter into Marie's hand. "One, mademoiselle," was +the answer. "But it has not a foreign stamp." + +"Oh, from Cousin Kate!" exclaimed Joyce, tearing it open as she went +back to her room. At the door she stooped to pick up a piece of paper +that had dropped from the envelope. It crackled stiffly as she +unfolded it. + +"Money!" she exclaimed in surprise. "A whole twenty franc note. What +could Cousin Kate have sent it for?" The last page of the letter +explained. + + "I have just remembered that December is not very far off, + and that whatever little Christmas gifts we send home should + soon be started on their way. Enclosed you will find twenty + francs for your Christmas shopping. It is not much, but we + are too far away to send anything but the simplest little + remembrances, things that will not be spoiled in the mail, + and on which little or no duty need be paid. You might buy + one article each day, so that there will be some purpose in + your walks into Tours. + + "I am sorry that I can not be with you on Thanksgiving Day. + We will have to drop it from our calendar this year; not the + thanksgiving itself, but the turkey and mince pie part. + Suppose you take a few francs to give yourself some little + treat to mark the day. I hope my dear little girl will not be + homesick all by herself. I never should have left just at + this time if it had not been very necessary." + +Joyce smoothed out the bank-note and looked at it with sparkling eyes. +Twenty whole francs! The same as four dollars! All the money that she +had ever had in her whole life put together would not have amounted to +that much. Dimes were scarce in the little brown house, and even pennies +seldom found their way into the children's hands when five pairs of +little feet were always needing shoes, and five healthy appetites must +be satisfied daily. + +All the time that Joyce was pinning her treasure securely in her pocket +and putting on her hat and jacket, all the time that she was walking +demurely down the road with Marie, she was planning different ways in +which to spend her fortune. + +"Mademoiselle is very quiet," ventured Marie, remembering that one of +her duties was to keep up an improving conversation with her +little mistress. + +"Yes," answered Joyce, half impatiently; "I've got something so lovely +to think about, that I'd like to go back and sit down in the garden and +just think and think until dark, without being interrupted by anybody." + +This was Marie's opportunity. "Then mademoiselle might not object to +stopping in the garden of the villa which we are now approaching," she +said. "My friend, Clotilde Robard, is housekeeper there, and I have a +very important message to deliver to her." + +Joyce had no objection. "But, Marie," she said, as she paused at the +gate, "I think I'll not go in. It is so lovely and warm out here in the +sun that I'll just sit here on the steps and wait for you." + +Five minutes went by and then ten. By that time Joyce had decided how to +spend every centime in the whole twenty francs, and Marie had not +returned. Another five minutes went by. It was dull, sitting there +facing the lonely highway, down which no one ever seemed to pass. Joyce +stood up, looked all around, and then slowly sauntered down the road a +short distance. + +Here and there in the crevices of the wall blossomed a few hardy wild +flowers, which Joyce began to gather as she walked. "I'll go around this +bend in the road and see what's there," she said to herself. "By that +time Marie will surely be done with her messages." + +No one was in sight in any direction, and feeling that no one could be +in hearing distance, either, in such a deserted place, she began to +sing. It was an old Mother Goose rhyme that she hummed over and over, in +a low voice at first, but louder as she walked on. + +Around the bend in the road there was nothing to be seen but a lonely +field where two goats were grazing. On one side of it was a stone wall, +on two others a tall hedge, but the side next her sloped down to the +road, unfenced. + +Joyce, with her hands filled with the yellow wild flowers, stood looking +around her, singing the old rhyme, the song that she had taught the baby +to sing before he could talk plainly: + + "Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn, + The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn. + Little Blue Blue, oh, where are you? + Oh, where are you-u-u-u?" + +The gay little voice that had been rising higher and higher, sweet as +any bird's, stopped suddenly in mid-air; for, as if in answer to her +call, there was a rustling just ahead of her, and a boy who had been +lying on his back, looking at the sky, slowly raised himself out of +the grass. + +For an instant Joyce was startled; then seeing by his wooden shoes and +old blue cotton blouse that he was only a little peasant watching the +goats, she smiled at him with a pleasant good morning. + +He did not answer, but came towards her with a dazed expression on his +face, as if he were groping his way through some strange dream. "It is +time to go in!" he exclaimed, as if repeating some lesson learned long +ago, and half forgotten. + +Joyce stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment. The little fellow had +spoken in English. "Oh, you must be Jules," she cried. "Aren't you? I've +been wanting to find you for ever so long." + +[Illustration: "HE CAME TOWARDS HER WITH A DAZED EXPRESSION ON HIS +FACE."] + +The boy seemed frightened, and did not answer, only looked at her with +big, troubled eyes. Thinking that she had made a mistake, that she +had not heard aright, Joyce spoke in French. He answered her timidly. +She had not been mistaken; he was Jules; he had been asleep, he told +her, and when he heard her singing, he thought it was his mother calling +him as she used to do, and had started up expecting to see her at last. +Where was she? Did mademoiselle know her? Surely she must if she +knew the song. + +It was on the tip of Joyce's tongue to tell him that everybody knew that +song; that it was as familiar to the children at home as the chirping of +crickets on the hearth or the sight of dandelions in the spring-time. +But some instinct warned her not to say it. She was glad afterwards, +when she found that it was sacred to him, woven in as it was with his +one beautiful memory of a home. It was all he had, and the few words +that Joyce's singing had startled from him were all that he remembered +of his mother's speech. + +If Joyce had happened upon him in any other way, it is doubtful if their +acquaintance would have grown very rapidly. He was afraid of strangers; +but coming as she did with the familiar song that was like an old +friend, he felt that he must have known her sometime,--that other time +when there was always a sweet voice calling, and fireflies twinkled +across a dusky lawn. + +Joyce was not in a hurry for Marie to come now. She had a hundred +questions to ask, and made the most of her time by talking very fast. +"Marie will be frightened," she told Jules, "if she does not find me at +the gate, and will think that the gypsies have stolen me. Then she will +begin to hunt up and down the road, and I don't know what she would say +if she came and found me talking to a strange child out in the fields, +so I must hurry back. I am glad that I found you. I have been wishing so +long for somebody to play with, and you seem like an old friend because +you were born in America. I'm going to ask madame to ask Brossard to let +you come over sometime." + +Jules watched her as she hurried away, running lightly down the road, +her fair hair flying over her shoulders and her short blue skirt +fluttering. Once she looked back to wave her hand. Long after she was +out of sight he still stood looking after her, as one might gaze +longingly after some visitant from another world. Nothing like her had +ever dropped into his life before, and he wondered if he should ever see +her again. + + + +CHAPTER V. + +A THANKSGIVING BARBECUE. + + +"This doesn't seem a bit like Thanksgiving Day, Marie," said Joyce, +plaintively, as she sat up in bed to take the early breakfast that her +maid brought in,--a cup of chocolate and a roll. + +"In our country the very minute you wake up you can _feel_ that it is a +holiday. Outdoors it's nearly always cold and gray, with everything +covered with snow. Inside you can smell turkey and pies and all sorts of +good spicy things. Here it is so warm that the windows are open and +flowers blooming in the garden, and there isn't a thing to make it seem +different from any other old day." + +Here her grumbling was interrupted by a knock at the door, and Madame +Greville's maid, Berthe, came in with a message. + +"Madame and monsieur intend spending the day in Tours, and since +Mademoiselle Ware has written that Mademoiselle Joyce is to have no +lessons on this American holiday, they will be pleased to have her +accompany them in the carriage. She can spend the morning with them +there or return immediately with Gabriel." + +"Of course I want to go," cried Joyce. "I love to drive. But I'd rather +come back here to lunch and have it by myself in the garden. Berthe, ask +madame if I can't have it served in the little kiosk at the end of +the arbor." + +As soon as she had received a most gracious permission, Joyce began to +make a little plan. It troubled her conscience somewhat, for she felt +that she ought to mention it to madame, but she was almost certain that +madame would object, and she had set her heart on carrying it out. + +"I won't speak about it now," she said to herself, "because I am not +_sure_ that I am going to do it. Mamma would think it was all right, +but foreigners are so queer about some things." + +Uncertain as Joyce may have been about her future actions, as they drove +towards town, no sooner had madame and monsieur stepped from the +carriage, on the Rue Nationale, than she was perfectly sure. + +"Stop at the baker's, Gabriel," she ordered as they turned homeward, +then at the big grocery on the corner. "Cousin Kate told me to treat +myself to something nice," she said apologetically to her conscience, as +she gave up the twenty francs to the clerk to be changed. + +If Gabriel wondered what was in the little parcels which she brought +back to the carriage, he made no sign. He only touched his hat +respectfully, as she gave the next order: "Stop where the road turns by +the cemetery, Gabriel; at the house with the steps going up to an +iron-barred gate. I'll be back in two or three minutes," she said, when +she had reached it, and climbed from the carriage. + +To his surprise, instead of entering the gate, she hurried on past it, +around the bend in the road. In a little while she came running back, +her shoes covered with damp earth, as if she had been walking in a +freshly ploughed field. + +If Gabriel's eyes could have followed her around that bend in the road, +he would have seen a sight past his understanding: Mademoiselle Joyce +running at the top of her speed to meet a little goatherd in wooden +shoes and blue cotton blouse,--a common little peasant goatherd. + +"It's Thanksgiving Day. Jules," she announced, gasping, as she sank down +on the ground beside him. "We're the only Americans here, and everybody +has gone off; and Cousin Kate said to celebrate in some way. I'm going +to have a dinner in the garden. I've bought a rabbit, and we'll dig a +hole, and make a fire, and barbecue it the way Jack and I used to do at +home. And we'll roast eggs in the ashes, and have a fine time. I've got +a lemon tart and a little iced fruit-cake, too." + +All this was poured out in such breathless haste, and in such a +confusion of tongues, first a sentence of English and then a word of +French, that it is no wonder that Jules grew bewildered in trying to +follow her. She had to begin again at the beginning, and speak very +slowly, in order to make him understand that it was a feast day of some +kind, and that he, Jules, was invited to some sort of a strange, +wonderful entertainment in Monsieur Greville's garden. "But Brossard is +away from home," said Jules, "and there is no one to watch the goats, +and keep them from straying down the road. Still it would be just the +same if he were home," he added, sadly. "He would not let me go, I am +sure. I have never been out of sight of that roof since I first came +here, except on errands to the village, when I had to run all the way +back." He pointed to the peaked gables, adorned by the scissors of his +crazy old ancestor. + +"Brossard isn't your father," cried Joyce, indignantly, "nor your uncle, +nor your cousin, nor anything else that has a right to shut you up that +way. Isn't there a field with a fence all around it, that you could +drive the goats into for a few hours?" + +Jules shook his head. + +"Well, I can't have my Thanksgiving spoiled for just a couple of old +goats," exclaimed Joyce. "You'll have to bring them along, and we'll +shut them up in the carriage-house. You come over in about an hour, and +I'll be at the side gate waiting for you." + +Joyce had always been a general in her small way. She made her plans and +issued her orders both at home and at school, and the children accepted +her leadership as a matter of course. Even if Jules had not been willing +and anxious to go, it is doubtful if he could have mustered courage to +oppose the arrangements that she made in such a masterful way; but Jules +had not the slightest wish to object to anything whatsoever that Joyce +might propose. + +It is safe to say that the old garden had never before even dreamed of +such a celebration as the one that took place that afternoon behind its +moss-coated walls. The time-stained statue of Eve, which stood on one +side of the fountain, looked across at the weather-beaten figure of +Adam, on the other side, in stony-eyed surprise. The little marble satyr +in the middle of the fountain, which had been grinning ever since its +endless shower-bath began, seemed to grin wider than ever, as it watched +the children's strange sport. + +Jules dug the little trench according to Joyce's directions, and laid +the iron grating which she had borrowed from the cook across it, and +built the fire underneath. "We ought to have something especially +patriotic and Thanksgivingey," said Joyce, standing on one foot to +consider. "Oh, now I know," she cried, after a moment's thought. "Cousin +Kate has a lovely big silk flag in the top of her trunk. I'll run and +get that, and then I'll recite the 'Landing of the Pilgrims' to you +while the rabbit cooks." + +Presently a savory odor began to steal along the winding paths of the +garden, between the laurel-bushes,--a smell of barbecued meat sputtering +over the fire. Above the door of the little kiosk, with many a soft +swish of silken stirrings, hung the beautiful old flag. Then a clear +little voice floated up through the pine-trees: + + "My country, 'tis of thee, + Sweet land of liberty, + Of thee I sing!" + +All the time that Joyce sang, she was moving around the table, setting +out the plates and rattling cups and saucers. She could not keep a +little quaver out of her voice, for, as she went on, all the scenes of +all the times that she had sung that song before came crowding up in her +memory. There were the Thanksgiving days in the church at home, and the +Washington's birthdays at school, and two Decoration days, when, as a +granddaughter of a veteran, she had helped scatter flowers over the +soldiers' graves. + +Somehow it made her feel so hopelessly far away from all that made life +dear to be singing of that "sweet land of liberty" in a foreign country, +with only poor little alien Jules for company. + +Maybe that is why the boy's first lesson in patriotism was given so +earnestly by his homesick little teacher. Something that could not be +put into words stirred within him, as, looking up at the soft silken +flutterings of the old flag, he listened for the first time to the story +of the Pilgrim Fathers. + +The rabbit cooked slowly, so slowly that there was time for Jules to +learn how to play mumble-peg while they waited. At last it was done, and +Joyce proudly plumped it into the platter that had been waiting for it. +Marie had already brought out a bountiful lunch, cold meats and salad +and a dainty pudding. By the time that Joyce had added her contribution +to the feast, there was scarcely an inch of the table left uncovered. +Jules did not know the names of half the dishes. + +Not many miles away from that old garden, scattered up and down the +Loire throughout all the region of fair Tourraine, rise the turrets of +many an old chateau. Great banquet halls, where kings and queens once +feasted, still stand as silent witnesses of a gay bygone court life; but +never in any chateau or palace among them all was feast more thoroughly +enjoyed than this impromptu dinner in the garden, where a little +goatherd was the only guest. + +It was an enchanted spot to Jules, made so by the magic of Joyce's +wonderful gift of story-telling. For the first time in his life that he +could remember, he heard of Santa Claus and Christmas trees, of +Bluebeard and Aladdin's lamp, and all the dear old fairy tales that were +so entrancing he almost forgot to eat. + +Then they played that he was the prince, Prince Ethelried, and that the +goats in the carriage-house were his royal steeds, and that Joyce was a +queen whom he had come to visit. + +[Illustration: A LESSON IN PATRIOTISM.] + +But it came to an end, as all beautiful things must do. The bells in +the village rang four, and Prince Ethelried started up as Cinderella +must have done when the pumpkin coach disappeared. He was no longer a +king's son; he was only Jules, the little goatherd, who must hurry back +to the field before the coming of Brossard. + +Joyce went with him to the carriage-house. Together they swung open the +great door. Then an exclamation of dismay fell from Joyce's lips. All +over the floor were scattered scraps of leather and cloth and hair, the +kind used in upholstering. The goats had whiled away the hours of their +imprisonment by chewing up the cushions of the pony cart. + +Jules turned pale with fright. Knowing so little of the world, he judged +all grown people by his knowledge of Henri and Brossard. "Oh, what will +they do to us?" he gasped. + +"Nothing at all," answered Joyce, bravely, although her heart beat twice +as fast as usual as monsieur's accusing face rose up before her. + +"It was all my fault," said Jules, ready to cry. "What must I do?" Joyce +saw his distress, and with quick womanly tact recognized her duty as +hostess. It would never do to let this, his first Thanksgiving Day, be +clouded by a single unhappy remembrance. She would pretend that it was a +part of their last game; so she waved her hand, and said, in a +theatrical voice, "You forget, Prince Ethelried, that in the castle of +Irmingarde she rules supreme. If it is the pleasure of your royal steeds +to feed upon cushions they shall not be denied, even though they choose +my own coach pillows, of gold-cloth and velour." + +"But what if Gabriel should tell Brossard?" questioned Jules, his teeth +almost chattering at the mere thought. + +"Oh, never mind, Jules," she answered, laughingly. "Don't worry about a +little thing like that. I'll make it all right with madame as soon as +she gets home." + +Jules, with utmost faith in Joyce's power to do anything that she might +undertake, drew a long breath of relief. Half a dozen times between the +gate and the lane that led into the Ciseaux field, he turned around to +wave his old cap in answer to the hopeful flutter of her little white +handkerchief; but when he was out of sight she went back to the +carriage-house and looked at the wreck of the cushions with a sinking +heart. After that second look, she was not so sure of making it all +right with madame. + +Going slowly up to her room, she curled up in the window-seat to wait +for the sound of the carriage wheels. The blue parrots on the wall-paper +sat in their blue hoops in straight rows from floor to ceiling, and hung +all their dismal heads. It seemed to Joyce as if there were thousands of +them, and that each one was more unhappy than any of the others. The +blue roses on the bed-curtains, that had been in such gay blossom a few +hours before, looked ugly and unnatural now. + +Over the mantel hung a picture that had been a pleasure to Joyce ever +since she had taken up her abode in this quaint blue room. It was called +"A Message from Noel," and showed an angel flying down with gifts to +fill a pair of little wooden shoes that some child had put out on a +window-sill below. When madame had explained that the little French +children put out their shoes for Saint Noel to fill, instead of hanging +stockings for Santa Claus, Joyce had been so charmed with the picture +that she declared that she intended to follow the French custom herself, +this year. + +Now, even the picture looked different, since she had lost her joyful +anticipations of Christmas. "It is all No-el to me now," she sobbed. "No +tree, no Santa Claus, and now, since the money must go to pay for the +goats' mischief, no presents for anybody in the dear little brown house +at home,--not even mamma and the baby!" + +A big salty tear trickled down the side of Joyce's nose and splashed on +her hand; then another one. It was such a gloomy ending for her happy +Thanksgiving Day. One consoling thought came to her in time to stop the +deluge that threatened. "Anyway, Jules has had a good time for once in +his life." The thought cheered her so much that, when Marie came in to +light the lamps, Joyce was walking up and down the room with her hands +behind her back, singing. + +As soon as she was dressed for dinner she went down-stairs, but found no +one in the drawing-room. A small fire burned cozily on the hearth, for +the November nights were growing chilly. Joyce picked up a book and +tried to read, but found herself looking towards the door fully as +often as at the page before her. Presently she set her teeth together +and swallowed hard, for there was a rustling in the hall. The portiere +was pushed aside and madame swept into the room in a dinner-gown of dark +red velvet. + +To Joyce's waiting eyes she seemed more imposing, more elegant, and more +unapproachable than she had ever been before. At madame's entrance Joyce +rose as usual, but when the red velvet train had swept on to a seat +beside the fire, she still remained standing. Her lips seemed glued +together after those first words of greeting. + +"Be seated, mademoiselle," said the lady, with a graceful motion of her +hand towards a chair. "How have you enjoyed your holiday?" + +Joyce gave a final swallow of the choking lump in her throat, and began +her humble confession that she had framed up-stairs among the rows of +dismal blue wall-paper parrots. She started with Clotilde Robard's story +of Jules, told of her accidental meeting with him, of all that she knew +of his hard life with Brossard, and of her longing for some one to play +with. Then she acknowledged that she had planned the barbecue secretly, +fearing that madame would not allow her to invite the little goatherd. +At the conclusion, she opened the handkerchief which she had been +holding tightly clenched in her hand, and poured its contents in the red +velvet lap. + +"There's all that is left of my Christmas money," she said, sadly, +"seventeen francs and two sous. If it isn't enough to pay for the +cushions, I'll write to Cousin Kate, and maybe she will lend me +the rest." + +Madame gathered up the handful of coin, and slowly rose. "It is only a +step to the carriage-house," she said. "If you will kindly ring for +Berthe to bring a lamp we will look to see how much damage has +been done." + +It was an unusual procession that filed down the garden walk a few +minutes later. First came Berthe, in her black dress and white cap, +holding a lamp high above her head, and screwing her forehead into a +mass of wrinkles as she peered out into the surrounding darkness. After +her came madame, holding up her dress and stepping daintily along in her +high-heeled little slippers. Joyce brought up the rear, stumbling along +in the darkness of madame's large shadow, so absorbed in her troubles +that she did not see the amused expression on the face of the grinning +satyr in the fountain. + +Eve, looking across at Adam, seemed to wink one of her stony eyes, as +much as to say, "Humph! Somebody else has been getting into trouble. +There's more kinds of forbidden fruit than one; pony-cart cushions, for +instance." + +Berthe opened the door, and madame stepped inside the carriage-house. +With her skirts held high in both hands, she moved around among the +wreck of the cushions, turning over a bit with the toe of her slipper +now and then. + +Madame wore velvet dinner-gowns, it is true, and her house was elegant +in its fine old furnishings bought generations ago; but only her +dressmaker and herself knew how many times those gowns had been ripped +and cleaned and remodelled. It was only constant housewifely skill that +kept the antique furniture repaired and the ancient brocade hangings +from falling into holes. None but a French woman, trained in petty +economies, could have guessed how little money and how much thought was +spent in keeping her table up to its high standard of excellence. + +Now as she looked and estimated, counting the fingers of one hand with +the thumb of the other, a wish stirred in her kind old heart that she +need not take the child's money; but new cushions must be bought, and +she must be just to herself before she could be generous to others. So +she went on with her estimating and counting, and then called Gabriel to +consult with him. + +"Much of the same hair can be used again," she said, finally, "and the +cushions were partly worn, so that it would not be right for you to have +to bear the whole expense of new ones. I shall keep sixteen,--no, I +shall keep only fifteen francs of your money, mademoiselle. I am sorry +to take any of it, since you have been so frank with me; but you must +see that it would not be justice for me to have to suffer in +consequence of your fault. In France, children do nothing without the +permission of their elders, and it would be well for you to adopt the +same rule, my dear mademoiselle." + +Here she dropped two francs and two sous into Joyce's hand. It was more +than she had dared to hope for. Now there would be at least a little +picture-book apiece for the children at home. + +This time Joyce saw the grin on the satyr's face when they passed the +fountain. She was smiling herself when they entered the house, where +monsieur was waiting to escort them politely in to dinner. + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +JOYCE PLAYS GHOST. + +Monsieur Ciseaux was coming home to live. Gabriel brought the news when +he came back from market. He had met Henri on the road and heard it from +him. Monsieur was coming home. That was all they knew; as to the day or +the hour, no one could guess. That was the way with monsieur, Henri +said. He was so peculiar one never knew what to expect. + +Although the work of opening the great house was begun immediately, and +a thorough cleaning was in progress from garret to cellar, Brossard did +not believe that his master would really be at home before the end of +the week. He made his own plans accordingly, although he hurried Henri +relentlessly with the cleaning. + +As soon as Joyce heard the news she made an excuse to slip away, and ran +down to the field to Jules. She found him paler than usual, and there +was a swollen look about his eyes that made her think that maybe he had +been crying. + +"What's the matter?" she asked. "Aren't you glad that your uncle is +coming home?" + +Jules gave a cautious glance over his shoulder towards the house, and +then looked up at Joyce. Heretofore, some inward monitor of pride had +closed his lips about himself whenever he had been with her, but, since +the Thanksgiving Day that had made them such firm friends, he had wished +every hour that he could tell her of his troubles. He felt that she was +the only person in the world who took any interest in him. Although she +was only three years older than himself, she had that motherly little +way with her that eldest daughters are apt to acquire when there is a +whole brood of little brothers and sisters constantly claiming +attention. + +So when Joyce asked again, "What's the matter, Jules?" with so much +anxious sympathy in her face and voice, the child found himself blurting +out the truth. + +"Brossard beat me again last night," he exclaimed. Then, in response to +her indignant exclamation, he poured out the whole story of his +ill-treatment. "See here!" he cried, in conclusion, unbuttoning his +blouse and baring his thin little shoulders. Great red welts lay across +them, and one arm was blue with a big mottled bruise. + +Joyce shivered and closed her eyes an instant to shut out the sight that +brought the quick tears of sympathy. + +"Oh, you poor little thing!" she cried. "I'm going to tell madame." + +"No, don't!" begged Jules. "If Brossard ever found out that I had told +anybody, I believe that he would half kill me. He punishes me for the +least thing. I had no breakfast this morning because I dropped an old +plate and broke it." + +"Do you mean to say," cried Joyce, "that you have been out here in the +field since sunrise without a bite to eat?" + +Jules nodded. + +"Then I'm going straight home to get you something." Before he could +answer she was darting over the fields like a little flying squirrel. + +"Oh, what if it were Jack!" she kept repeating as she ran. "Dear old +Jack, beaten and starved, without anybody to love him or say a kind +word to him." The mere thought of such misfortune brought a sob. + +In a very few minutes Jules saw her coming across the field again, more +slowly this time, for both hands were full, and without their aid she +had no way to steady the big hat that flapped forward into her eyes at +every step. Jules eyed the food ravenously. He had not known how weak +and hungry he was until then. + +"It will not be like this when your uncle comes home," said Joyce, as +she watched the big mouthfuls disappear down the grateful little throat. +Jules shrugged his shoulders, answering tremulously, "Oh, yes, it will +be lots worse. Brossard says that my Uncle Martin has a terrible temper, +and that he turned his poor sister and my grandfather out of the house +one stormy might. Brossard says he shall tell him how troublesome I am, +and likely he will turn me out, too. Or, if he doesn't do that, they +will both whip me every day." + +Joyce stamped her foot. "I don't believe it," she cried, indignantly. +"Brossard is only trying to scare you. Your uncle is an old man now, so +old that he must be sorry for the way he acted when he was young. Why, +of course he must be," she repeated, "or he never would have brought you +here when you were left a homeless baby. More than that, I believe he +will be angry when he finds how you have been treated. Maybe he will +send Brossard away when you tell him." + +"I would not dare to tell him," said Jules, shrinking back at the bare +suggestion. + +"Then _I_ dare," cried Joyce with flashing eyes. "I am not afraid of +Brossard or Henri or your uncle, or any man that I ever knew. What's +more, I intend to march over here just as soon as your uncle comes home, +and tell him right before Brossard how you have been treated." + +Jules gasped in admiration of such reckless courage. "Seems to me +Brossard himself would be afraid of you if you looked at him that way." +Then his voice sank to a whisper. "Brossard is afraid of one thing, I've +heard him tell Henri so, and that is _ghosts_. They talk about them +every night when the wind blows hard and makes queer noises in the +chimney. Sometimes they are afraid to put out their candles for fear +some evil spirit might be in the room." + +"I'm glad he is afraid of something, the mean old thing!" exclaimed +Joyce. For a few moments nothing more was said, but Jules felt comforted +now that he had unburdened his long pent up little heart. He reached out +for several blades of grass and began idly twisting them around +his finger. + +Joyce sat with her hands clasped over her knees, and a wicked little +gleam in her eyes that boded mischief. Presently she giggled as if some +amusing thought had occurred to her, and when Jules looked up +inquiringly she began noiselessly clapping her hands together. + +"I've thought of the best thing," she said. "I'll fix old Brossard now. +Jack and I have played ghost many a time, and have even scared each +other while we were doing it, because we were so frightful-looking. We +put long sheets all over us and went about with pumpkin jack-o'-lanterns +on our heads. Oh, we looked awful, all in white, with fire shining out +of those hideous eyes and mouths. If I knew when Brossard was likely to +whip you again, I'd suddenly appear on the scene and shriek out like a +banshee and make him stop. Wouldn't it be lovely?" she cried, more +carried away with the idea the longer she thought of it. "Why, it would +be like acting our fairy story. You are the Prince, and I will be the +giant scissors and rescue you from the Ogre. Now let me see if I can +think of a rhyme for you to say whenever you need me." + +Joyce put her hands over her ears and began to mumble something that had +no meaning whatever for Jules: "Ghost--post--roast--toast,--no that will +never do; need--speed deed,--no! Help--yelp (I wish I could make him +yelp),--friend--spend--lend,--that's it. I shall try that." + +There was a long silence, during which Joyce whispered to herself with +closed eyes. "Now I've got it," she announced, triumphantly, "and it's +every bit as good as Cousin Kate's: + + "Giant scissors, fearless friend, + Hasten, pray, thy aid to lend. + +"If you could just say that loud enough for me to hear I'd come rushing +in and save you." + +Jules repeated the rhyme several times, until he was sure that he could +remember it, and then Joyce stood up to go. + +"Good-by, fearless friend," said Jules. "I wish I were brave like you." +Joyce smiled in a superior sort of way, much flattered by the new title. +Going home across the field she held her head a trifle higher than +usual, and carried on an imaginary conversation with Brossard, in which +she made him quail before her scathing rebukes. + +Joyce did not take her usual walk that afternoon. She spent the time +behind locked doors busy with paste, scissors, and a big muff-box, the +best foundation she could find for a jack-o'-lantern. First she covered +the box with white paper and cut a hideous face in one side,--great +staring eyes, and a frightful grinning mouth. With a bit of wire she +fastened a candle inside and shut down the lid. + +"Looks too much like a box yet," she said, after a critical examination. +"It needs some hair and a beard. Wonder what I can make it of." She +glanced all around the room for a suggestion, and then closed her eyes +to think. Finally she went over to her bed, and, turning the covers +back from one corner, began ripping a seam in the mattress. When the +opening was wide enough she put in her thumb and finger and pulled out a +handful of the curled hair. "I can easily put it back when I have used +it, and sew up the hole in the mattress," she said to her conscience. +"My! This is exactly what I needed." The hair was mixed, white and +black, coarse and curly as a negro's wool. + +She covered the top of the pasteboard head with it, and was so pleased +that she added long beard and fierce mustache to the already hideous +mouth. When that was all done she took it into a dark closet and lighted +the candle. The monster's head glared at her from the depth of the +closet, and she skipped back and forth in front of it, wringing her +hands in delight. + +"Oh, if Jack could only see it! If he could only see it!" she kept +exclaiming. "It is better than any pumpkin head we ever made, and scary +enough to throw old Brossard into a fit. I can hardly wait until it is +dark enough to go over." + +Meanwhile the short winter day drew on towards the close. Jules, out in +the field with the goats, walked back and forth, back and forth, trying +to keep warm. Brossard, who had gone five miles down the Paris road to +bargain about some grain, sat comfortably in a little tobacco shop, with +a pipe in his mouth and a glass and bottle on the table at his elbow. +Henri was at home, still scrubbing and cleaning. The front of the great +house was in order, with even the fires laid on all the hearths ready +for lighting. Now he was scrubbing the back stairs. His brush bumped +noisily against the steps, and the sound of its scouring was nearly +drowned by the jerky tune which the old fellow sung through his nose as +he worked. + +A carriage drove slowly down the road and stopped at the gate with the +scissors; then, in obedience to some command from within, the vehicle +drove on to the smaller gate beyond. An old man with white hair and +bristling mustache slowly alighted. The master had come home. He put +out his hand as if to ring the bell, then on second thought drew a key +from his pocket and fitted it in the lock. The gate swung back and he +passed inside. The old house looked gray and forbidding in the dull +light of the late afternoon. He frowned up at it, and it frowned down on +him, standing there as cold and grim as itself. That was his +only welcome. + +The doors and windows were all shut, so that he caught only a faint +sound of the bump, thump of the scrubbing-brush as it accompanied +Henri's high-pitched tune down the back stairs. + +Without giving any warning of his arrival, he motioned the man beside +the coachman to follow with his trunk, and silently led the way +up-stairs. When the trunk had been unstrapped and the man had departed, +monsieur gave one slow glance all around the room. It was in perfect +readiness for him. He set a match to the kindling laid in the grate, and +then closed the door into the hall. The master had come home again, more +silent, more mysterious in his movements than before. + +Henri finished his scrubbing and his song, and, going down into the +kitchen, began preparations for supper. A long time after, Jules came up +from the field, put the goats in their place, and crept in behind the +kitchen stove. + +Then it was that Joyce, from her watch-tower of her window, saw Brossard +driving home in the market-cart. "Maybe I'll have a chance to scare him +while he is putting the horse up and feeding it," she thought. It was in +the dim gloaming when she could easily slip along by the hedges without +attracting attention. Bareheaded, and in breathless haste to reach the +barn before Brossard, she ran down the road, keeping close to the hedge, +along which the wind raced also, blowing the dead leaves almost as high +as her head. + +Slipping through a hole in the hedge, just as Brossard drove in at the +gate, she ran into the barn and crouched down behind the door. There she +wrapped herself in the sheet that she had brought with her for the +purpose, and proceeded to strike a match to light the lantern. The first +one flickered and went out. The second did the same. Brossard was +calling angrily for Jules now, and she struck another match in nervous +haste, this time touching the wick with it before the wind could +interfere. Then she drew her dress over the lantern to hide the light. + +"Wouldn't Jack enjoy this," she thought, with a daring little giggle +that almost betrayed her hiding-place. + +"I tell thee it is thy fault," cried Brossard's angry voice, drawing +nearer the barn. + +"But I tried," began Jules, timidly. + +His trembling excuse was interrupted by Brossard, who had seized him by +the arm. They were now on the threshold of the barn, which was as dark +as a pocket inside. + +Joyce, peeping through the crack of the door, saw the man's arm raised +in the dim twilight outside. "Oh, he is really going to beat him," she +thought, turning faint at the prospect. Then her indignation overcame +every other feeling as she heard a heavy halter-strap whiz through the +air and fall with a sickening blow across Jules's shoulders. She had +planned a scene something like this while she worked away at the lantern +that afternoon. Now she felt as if she were acting a part in some +private theatrical performance. Jules's cry gave her the cue, and the +courage to appear. + +As the second blow fell across Jules's smarting shoulders, a low, +blood-curdling wail came from the dark depths of the barn. Joyce had not +practised that dismal moan of a banshee to no purpose in her ghost +dances at home with Jack. It rose and fell and quivered and rose again +in cadences of horror. There was something awful, something inhuman, in +that fiendish, long-drawn shriek. + +Brossard's arm fell to his side paralyzed with fear, as that same hoarse +voice cried, solemnly: "Brossard, beware! Beware!" But worse than that +voice of sepulchral warning was the white-sheeted figure, coming towards +him with a wavering, ghostly motion, fire shooting from the demon-like +eyes, and flaming from the hideous mouth. + +Brossard sank on his knees in a shivering heap, and began crossing +himself. His hair was upright with horror, and his tongue stiff. Jules +knew who it was that danced around them in such giddy circles, first +darting towards them with threatening gestures, and then gliding back to +utter one of those awful, sickening wails. He knew that under that +fiery head and wrapped in that spectral dress was his "fearless friend," +who, according to promise, had hastened her aid to lend; nevertheless, +he was afraid of her himself. He had never imagined that anything could +look so terrifying. + +The wail reached Henri's ears and aroused his curiosity. Cautiously +opening the kitchen door, he thrust out his head, and then nearly fell +backward in his haste to draw it in again and slam the door. One glimpse +of the ghost in the barnyard was quite enough for Henri. + +Altogether the performance probably did not last longer than a minute, +but each of the sixty seconds seemed endless to Brossard. With a final +die-away moan Joyce glided towards the gate, delighted beyond measure +with her success; but her delight did not last long. Just as she turned +the corner of the house, some one standing in the shadow of it clutched +her. A strong arm was thrown around her, and a firm hand snatched the +lantern, and tore the sheet away from her face. + +[Illustration: "BROSSARD, BEWARE! BEWARE!"] + +It was Joyce's turn to be terrified. "Let me go!" she shrieked, in +English. With one desperate wrench she broke away, and by the light +of the grinning jack-o'-lantern saw who was her captor. She was face to +face with Monsieur Ciseaux. + +"What does this mean?" he asked, severely. "Why do you come masquerading +here to frighten my servants in this manner?" + +For an instant Joyce stood speechless. Her boasted courage had forsaken +her. It was only for an instant, however, for the rhyme that she had +made seemed to sound in her ears as distinctly as if Jules were +calling to her: + + "Giant scissors, fearless friend, + Hasten, pray, thy aid to lend." + +"I will be a fearless friend," she thought. Looking defiantly up into +the angry face she demanded: "Then why do you keep such servants? I came +because they needed to be frightened, and I'm glad you caught me, for I +told Jules that I should tell you about them as soon as you got home. +Brossard has starved and beaten him like a dog ever since he has been +here. I just hope that you will look at the stripes and bruises on his +poor little back. He begged me not to tell, for Brossard said you would +likely drive him away, as you did your brother and sister. But even if +you do, the neighbors say that an orphan asylum would be a far better +home for Jules than this has been. I hope you'll excuse me, monsieur, I +truly do, but I'm an American, and I can't stand by and keep still when +I see anybody being abused, even if I am a girl, and it isn't polite for +me to talk so to older people." + +Joyce fired out the words as if they had been bullets, and so rapidly +that monsieur could scarcely follow her meaning. Then, having relieved +her mind, and fearing that maybe she had been rude in speaking so +forcibly to such an old gentleman, she very humbly begged his pardon. +Before he could recover from her rapid change in manner and her torrent +of words, she reached out her hand, saying, in the meekest of little +voices, "And will you please give me back those things, monsieur? The +sheet is Madame Greville's, and I've got to stuff that hair back in the +mattress to-night." + +Monsieur gave them to her, still too astonished for words. He had never +before heard any child speak in such a way. This one seemed more like a +wild, uncanny little sprite than like any of the little girls he had +known heretofore. Before he could recover from his bewilderment, Joyce +had gone. "Good night, monsieur," she called, as the gate clanged +behind her. + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +OLD "NUMBER THIRTY-ONE." + +No sooner had the gate closed upon the subdued little ghost, shorn now +of its terrors, than the old man strode forward to the place where +Brossard crouched in the straw, still crossing himself. This sudden +appearance of his master at such a time only added to Brossard's fright. +As for Jules, his knees shook until he could scarcely stand. + +Henri, his curiosity lending him courage, cautiously opened the kitchen +door to peer out again. Emboldened by the silence, he flung the door +wide open, sending a broad stream of lamplight across the little group +in the barnyard. Without a word of greeting monsieur laid hold of the +trembling Jules and drew him nearer the door. Throwing open the child's +blouse, he examined the thin little shoulders, which shrank away as if +to dodge some expected blow. + +"Go to my room," was all the old man said to him. Then he turned +fiercely towards Brossard. His angry tones reached Jules even after he +had mounted the stairs and closed the door. The child crept close to the +cheerful fire, and, crouching down on the rug, waited in a shiver of +nervousness for his uncle's step on the stair. + +Meanwhile, Joyce, hurrying home all a-tingle with the excitement of her +adventure, wondered anxiously what would be the result of it. Under +cover of the dusk she slipped into the house unobserved. There was +barely time to dress for dinner. When she made her appearance monsieur +complimented her unusually red cheeks. + +"Doubtless mademoiselle has had a fine promenade," he said. + +"No," answered Joyce, with a blush that made them redder still, and that +caused madame to look at her so keenly that she felt those sharp eyes +must be reading her inmost thoughts. It disturbed her so that she upset +the salt, spilled a glass of water, and started to eat her soup with a +fork. She glanced in an embarrassed way from madame to monsieur, and +gave a nervous little laugh. + +"The little mademoiselle has been in mischief again," remarked monsieur, +with a smile. "What is it this time?" + +The smile was so encouraging that Joyce's determination not to tell +melted away, and she began a laughable account of the afternoon's +adventure. At first both the old people looked shocked. Monsieur +shrugged his shoulders and pulled his gray beard thoughtfully. Madame +threw up her hands at the end of each sentence like horrified little +exclamation points. But when Joyce had told the entire story neither of +them had a word of blame, because their sympathies were so thoroughly +aroused for Jules. + +"I shall ask Monsieur Ciseaux to allow the child to visit here +sometimes," said madame, her kind old heart full of pity for the +motherless little fellow; "and I shall also explain that it was only +your desire to save Jules from ill treatment that caused you to do such +an unusual thing. Otherwise he might think you too bold and too--well, +peculiar, to be a fit playmate for his little nephew." + +"Oh, was it really so improper and horrid of me, madame?" asked Joyce, +anxiously. + +Madame hesitated. "The circumstances were some excuse," she finally +admitted. "But I certainly should not want a little daughter of mine to +be out after dark by herself on such a wild errand. In this country a +little girl would not think it possible to do such a thing." + +Joyce's face was very sober as she arose to leave the room. "I do wish +that I could be proper like little French girls," she said, with +a sigh. + +Madame drew her towards her, kissing her on both cheeks. It was such an +unusual thing for madame to do that Joyce could scarcely help showing +some surprise. Feeling that the caress was an assurance that she was not +in disgrace, as she had feared, she ran up-stairs, so light-hearted that +she sang on the way. + +As the door closed behind her, monsieur reached for his pipe, saying, as +he did so, "She has a heart of gold, the little mademoiselle." + +"Yes," assented madame; "but she is a strange little body, so untamed +and original. I am glad that her cousin returns soon, for the +responsibility is too great for my old shoulders. One never knows what +she will do next." + +Perhaps it was for this reason that madame took Joyce with her when she +went to Tours next day. She felt safer when the child was in her sight. + +"It is so much nicer going around with you than Marie," said Joyce, +giving madame an affectionate little pat, as they stood before the +entrance of a great square building, awaiting admission. "You take me to +places that I have never seen before. What place is this?" She stooped +to read the inscription on the door-plate: + + "LITTLE SISTERS OF THE POOR." + +Before her question could be answered, the door was opened by a wrinkled +old woman, in a nodding white cap, who led them into a reception-room at +the end of the hall. + +"Ask for Sister Denisa," said madame, "and give her my name." + +The old woman shuffled out of the room, and madame, taking a small +memorandum book from her pocket, began to study it. Joyce sat looking +about her with sharp, curious glances. She wondered if these little +sisters of the poor were barefoot beggar girls, who went about the +streets with ragged shawls over their heads, and with baskets in their +hands. In her lively imagination she pictured row after row of such +unfortunate children, marching out in the morning, empty-handed, and +creeping back at night with the results of the day's begging. She did +not like to ask about them, however, and, in a few minutes, her +curiosity was satisfied without the use of questions. + +Sister Denisa entered the room. She was a beautiful woman, in the plain +black habit and white head-dress of a sister of charity. + +"Oh, they're nuns!" exclaimed Joyce, in a disappointed whisper. She had +been hoping to see the beggar girls. She had often passed the convent in +St. Symphorien, and caught glimpses of the nuns, through the high barred +gate. She had wondered how it must feel to be shut away from the world; +to see only the patient white faces of the other sisters, and to walk +with meekly folded hands and downcast eyes always in the same old paths. + +But Sister Denisa was different from the nuns that she had seen before. +Some inward joy seemed to shine through her beautiful face and make it +radiant. She laughed often, and there was a happy twinkle in her clear, +gray eyes. When she came into the room, she seemed to bring the outdoors +with her, there was such sunshine and fresh air in the cheeriness of +her greeting. + +Madame had come to visit an old pensioner of hers who was in the home. +After a short conversation, Sister Denisa rose to lead the way to her. +"Would the little mademoiselle like to go through the house while +madame is engaged?" asked the nun. + +[Illustration: JOYCE AND SISTER DENISA.] + +"Oh, yes, thank you," answered Joyce, who had found by this time that +this home was not for little beggar girls, but for old men and women. +Joyce had known very few old people in her short life, except her +Grandmother Ware; and this grandmother was one of those dear, sunny old +souls, whom everybody loves to claim, whether they are in the family or +not. Some of Joyce's happiest days had been spent in her grandmother's +country home, and the host of happy memories that she had stored up +during those visits served to sweeten all her after life. + +Old age, to Joyce, was associated with the most beautiful things that +she had ever known: the warmest hospitality, the tenderest love, the +cheeriest home-life. Strangers were in the old place now, and +Grandmother Ware was no longer living, but, for her sake, Joyce held +sacred every wrinkled face set round with snow-white hair, just as she +looked tenderly on all old-fashioned flowers, because she had seen them +first in her grandmother's garden. + +Sister Denisa led the way into a large, sunny room, and Joyce looked +around eagerly. It was crowded with old men. Some were sitting idly on +the benches around the walls, or dozing in chairs near the stove. Some +smoked, some gathered around the tables where games of checkers and +chess were going on; some gazed listlessly out of the windows. It was +good to see how dull faces brightened, as Sister Denisa passed by with a +smile for this group, a cheery word for the next. She stopped to brush +the hair back from the forehead of an old paralytic, and pushed another +man gently aside, when he blocked the way, with such a sweet-voiced +"Pardon, little father," that it was like a caress. One white-haired old +fellow, in his second childhood, reached out and caught at her dress, as +she passed by. + +Crossing a porch where were more old men sitting sadly alone, or walking +sociably up and down in the sunshine, Sister Denisa passed along a court +and held the door open for Joyce to enter another large room. + +"Here is the rest of our family," she said. "A large one, is it not? Two +hundred poor old people that nobody wants, and nobody cares what +becomes of." + +Joyce looked around the room and saw on every hand old age that had +nothing beautiful, nothing attractive. "Were they beggars when they were +little?" she asked. + +"No, indeed," answered the nun. "That is the saddest part of it to me. +Nearly all these poor creatures you see here once had happy homes of +their own. That pitiful old body over by the stove, shaking with palsy, +was once a gay, rich countess; the invalid whom madame visits was a +marquise. It would break your heart, mademoiselle, to hear the stories +of some of these people, especially those who have been cast aside by +ungrateful children, to whom their support has become a burden. Several +of these women have prosperous grandchildren, to whom we have appealed +in vain. There is no cruelty that hurts me like such cruelty to +old age." + +Just then another nun came into the room, said something to Sister +Denisa in a low voice, and glided out like a silent shadow, her rosary +swaying back and forth with every movement of her clinging black skirts. +"I am needed up-stairs," said Sister Denisa, turning to Joyce. "Will you +come up and see the sleeping-rooms?" + +They went up the freshly scrubbed steps to a great dormitory, where, +against the bare walls, stood long rows of narrow cots. They were all +empty, except one at the farthest end, where an old woman lay with her +handkerchief across her eyes. + +"Poor old Number Thirty-one!" said Sister Denisa. "She seems to feel her +unhappy position more than any one in the house. The most of them are +thankful for mere bodily comfort,--satisfied with food and shelter and +warmth; but she is continually pining for her old home surroundings. +Will you not come and speak to her in English? She married a countryman +of yours, and lived over thirty years in America. She speaks of that +time as the happiest in her life. I am sure that you can give her a +great deal of pleasure." + +"Is she ill?" said Joyce, timidly drawing back as the nun started across +the room. + +"No, I think not," was the answer. "She says she can't bear to be herded +in one room with all those poor creatures, like a flock of sheep, with +nothing to do but wait for death. She has always been accustomed to +having a room of her own, so that her greatest trial is in having no +privacy. She must eat, sleep, and live with a hundred other old women +always around her. She comes up here to bed whenever she can find the +slightest ache for an excuse, just to be by herself. I wish that we +could give her a little spot that she could call her own, and shut the +door on, and feel alone. But it cannot be," she added, with a sigh. "It +taxes our strength to the utmost to give them all even a bare home." + +By this time they had reached the cot, over the head of which hung a +card, bearing the number "Thirty-one." + +"Here is a little friend to see you, grandmother," said Sister Denisa, +placing a chair by the bedside, and stooping to smooth back the locks of +silvery hair that had strayed out from under the coarse white night-cap. +Then she passed quickly on to her other duties, leaving Joyce to begin +the conversation as best she could. The old woman looked at her sharply +with piercing dark eyes, which must have been beautiful in their youth. +The intense gaze embarrassed Joyce, and to break the silence she +hurriedly stammered out the first thing that came to her mind. + +"Are you ill, to-day?" + +The simple question had a startling effect on the old woman. She raised +herself on one elbow, and reached out for Joyce's hand, drawing her +eagerly nearer. "Ah," she cried, "you speak the language that my husband +taught me to love, and the tongue my little children lisped; but they +are all dead now, and I've come back to my native land to find no home +but the one that charity provides." + +Her words ended in a wail, and she sank back on her pillow. "And this is +my birthday," she went on. "Seventy-three years old, and a pauper, cast +out to the care of strangers." + +The tears ran down her wrinkled cheeks, and her mouth trembled +pitifully. Joyce was distressed; she looked around for Sister Denisa, +but saw that they were alone, they two, in the great bare dormitory, +with its long rows of narrow white cots. The child felt utterly helpless +to speak a word of comfort, although she was so sorry for the poor +lonely old creature that she began to cry softly to herself. She leaned +over, and taking one of the thin, blue-veined hands in hers, patted it +tenderly with her plump little fingers. + +"I ought not to complain," said the trembling voice, still broken by +sobs. "We have food and shelter and sunshine and the sisters. Ah, that +little Sister Denisa, she is indeed a smile of God to us all. But at +seventy-three one wants more than a cup of coffee and a clean +handkerchief. One wants something besides a bed and being just Number +Thirty-one among two hundred other paupers." + +"I am _so_ sorry!" exclaimed Joyce, with such heartfelt earnestness that +the sobbing woman felt the warmth of her sympathy, and looked up with a +brighter face. + +"Talk to me," she exclaimed. "It has been so long since I have heard +your language." + +While she obeyed Joyce kept thinking of her Grandmother Ware. She could +see her outdoors among her flowers, the dahlias and touch-me-nots, the +four-o'clocks and the cinnamon roses, taking such pride and pleasure in +her sweet posy beds. She could see her beside the little table on the +shady porch, making tea for some old neighbor who had dropped in to +spend the afternoon with her. Or she was asleep in her armchair by the +western window, her Bible in her lap and a smile on her sweet, kindly +face. How dreary and empty the days must seem to poor old Number +Thirty-one, with none of these things to brighten them. + +Joyce could scarcely keep the tears out of her voice while she talked. +Later, when Sister Denisa came back, Joyce was softly humming a +lullaby, and Number Thirty-one, with a smile on her pitiful old face, +was sleeping like a little child. + +"You will come again, dear mademoiselle," said Sister Denisa, as she +kissed the child good-by at the door. "You have brought a blessing, may +you carry one away as well!" + +Joyce looked inquiringly at madame. "You may come whenever you like," +was the answer. "Marie can bring you whenever you are in town." + +Joyce was so quiet on the way home that madame feared the day had been +too fatiguing for her. "No," said Joyce, soberly. "I was only thinking +about poor old Number Thirty-one. I am sorrier for her than I was for +Jules. I used to think that there was nothing so sad as being a little +child without any father or mother, and having to live in an asylum. +I've often thought how lovely it would be to go around and find a +beautiful home for every little orphan in the world. But I believe, now, +that it is worse to be old that way. Old people can't play together, and +they haven't anything to look forward to, and it makes them so +miserable to remember all the things they have had and lost. If I had +enough money to adopt anybody, I would adopt some poor old grandfather +or grandmother and make'm happy all the rest of their days." + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +CHRISTMAS PLANS AND AN ACCIDENT. + +That night, when Marie came in to light the lamps and brush Joyce's hair +before dinner, she had some news to tell. + +"Brossard has been sent away from the Ciseaux place," she said. "A new +man is coming to-morrow, and my friend, Clotilde Robard, has already +taken the position of housekeeper. She says that a very different life +has begun for little Monsieur Jules, and that in his fine new clothes +one could never recognize the little goatherd. He looks now like what he +is, a gentleman's son. He has the room next to monsieur's, all freshly +furnished, and after New Year a tutor is coming from Paris. + +"But they say that it is pitiful to see how greatly the child fears his +uncle. He does not understand the old man's cold, forbidding manner, and +it provokes monsieur to have the little one tremble and grow pale +whenever he speaks. Clotilde says that Madame Greville told monsieur +that the boy needed games and young companions to make him more like +other children, and he promised her that Monsieur Jules should come over +here to-morrow afternoon to play with you." + +"Oh, good!" cried Joyce. "We'll have another barbecue if the day is +fine. I am so glad that we do not have to be bothered any more by those +tiresome old goats." + +By the time the next afternoon arrived, however, Joyce was far too much +interested in something else to think of a barbecue. Cousin Kate had +come back from Paris with a trunk full of pretty things, and a plan for +the coming Christmas. At first she thought of taking only madame into +her confidence, and preparing a small Christmas tree for Joyce; but +afterwards she concluded that it would give the child more pleasure if +she were allowed to take part in the preparations. It would keep her +from being homesick by giving her something else to think about. + +Then madame proposed inviting a few of the little peasant children who +had never seen a Christmas tree. The more they discussed the plan the +larger it grew, like a rolling snowball. By lunch-time madame had a list +of thirty children, who were to be bidden to the Noel fete, and Cousin +Kate had decided to order a tree tall enough to touch the ceiling. + +When Jules came over, awkward and shy with the consciousness of his new +clothes, he found Joyce sitting in the midst of yards of gaily colored +tarletan. It was heaped up around her in bright masses of purple and +orange and scarlet and green, and she was making it into candy-bags +for the tree. + +In a few minutes Jules had forgotten all about himself, and was as busy +as she, pinning the little stocking-shaped patterns in place, and +carefully cutting out those fascinating bags. + +"You would be lots of help," said Joyce, "if you could come over every +day, for there's all the ornaments to unpack, and the corn to shell, +and pop, and string. It will take most of my time to dress the dolls, +and there's such a short time to do everything in." + +"You never saw any pop-corn, did you, Jules?" asked Cousin Kate. "When I +was here last time, I couldn't find it anywhere in France; but the other +day a friend told me of a grocer in Paris, who imports it for his +American customers every winter. So I went there. Joyce, suppose you get +the popper and show Jules what the corn is like." + +Madame was interested also, as she watched the little brown kernels +shaken back and forth in their wire cage over the glowing coals. When +they began popping open, the little seeds suddenly turning into big +white blossoms, she sent Rosalie running to bring monsieur to see the +novel sight. + +"We can eat and work at the same time," said Joyce, as she filled a dish +with the corn, and called Jules back to the table, where he had been +cutting tarletan. "There's no time to lose. See what a funny grain this +is!" she cried, picking up one that lay on the top of the dish. "It +looks like Therese, the fish woman, in her white cap." + +"And here is a goat's head," said Jules, picking up another grain. "And +this one looks like a fat pigeon." + +He had forgotten his shyness entirely now, and was laughing and talking +as easily as Jack could have done. + +"Jules," said Joyce, suddenly, looking around to see that the older +people were too busy with their own conversation to notice hers. "Jules, +why don't you talk to your Uncle Martin the way you do to me? He would +like you lots better if you would. Robard says that you get pale and +frightened every time he speaks to you, and it provokes him for you to +be so timid." + +Jules dropped his eyes. "I cannot help it," he exclaimed. "He looks so +grim and cross that my voice just won't come out of my throat when I +open my mouth." + +Joyce studied him critically, with her head tipped a little to one side. +"Well, I must say," she exclaimed, finally, "that, for a boy born in +America, you have the least dare about you of anybody I ever saw. Your +Uncle Martin isn't any grimmer or crosser than a man I know at home. +There's Judge Ward, so big and solemn and dignified that everybody is +half way afraid of him. Even grown people have always been particular +about what they said to him. + +"Last summer his little nephew, Charley Ward, came to visit him. +Charley's just a little thing, still in dresses, and he calls his uncle, +Bill. Think of anybody daring to call Judge Ward, _Bill!_ No matter what +the judge was doing, or how glum he looked, if Charley took a notion, he +would go up and stand in front of him, and say, 'Laugh, Bill, laugh!' If +the judge happened to be reading, he'd have to put down his book, and no +matter whether he felt funny or not, or whether there was anything to +laugh at or not, he would have to throw his head back and just roar. +Charley liked to see his fat sides shake, and his white teeth shine. +I've heard people say that the judge likes Charley better than anybody +else in the world, because he's the only person who acts as if he wasn't +afraid of him." + +Jules sat still a minute, considering, and then asked, anxiously, "But +what do you suppose would happen if I should say 'Laugh, Martin, +laugh,' to my uncle?" + +Joyce shrugged her shoulders impatiently. "Mercy, Jules, I did not mean +that you should act like a three-year-old baby. I meant that you ought +to talk up to your uncle some. Now this is the way you are." She picked +up a kernel of the unpopped corn, and held it out for him to see. "You +shut yourself up in a little hard ball like this, so that your uncle +can't get acquainted with you. How can he know what is inside of your +head if you always shut up like a clam whenever he comes near you? This +is the way that you ought to be." She shot one of the great white grains +towards him with a deft flip of her thumb and finger. "Be free and open +with him." + +Jules put the tender morsel in his mouth and ate it thoughtfully. "I'll +try," he promised, "if you really think that it would please him, and I +can think of anything to say. You don't know how I dread going to the +table when everything is always so still that we can hear the +clock tick." + +"Well, you take my advice," said Joyce. "Talk about anything. Tell him +about our Thanksgiving feast and the Christmas tree, and ask him if you +can't come over every day to help. I wouldn't let anybody think that I +was a coward." + +Joyce's little lecture had a good effect, and monsieur saw the wisdom of +Madame Greville's advice when Jules came to the table that night. He had +brought a handful of the wonderful corn to show his uncle, and in the +conversation that it brought about he unconsciously showed something +else,--something of his sensitive inner self that aroused his +uncle's interest. + +Every afternoon of the week that followed found Jules hurrying over to +Madame Greville's to help with the Christmas preparations. He strung +yards of corn, and measured out the nuts and candy for each of the gay +bags. Twice he went in the carriage to Tours with Cousin Kate and Joyce, +to help buy presents for the thirty little guests. He was jostled by the +holiday shoppers in crowded aisles. He stood enraptured in front of +wonderful show windows, and he had the joy of choosing fifteen things +from piles of bright tin trumpets, drums, jumping-jacks, and +picture-books. Joyce chose the presents for the girls. + +The tree was bought and set up in a large unused room back of the +library, and as soon as each article was in readiness it was carried in +and laid on a table beside it. Jules used to steal in sometimes and look +at the tapers, the beautiful colored glass balls, the gilt stars and +glittering tinsel, and wonder how the stately cedar would look in all +that array of loveliness. Everything belonging to it seemed sacred, even +the unused scraps of bright tarletan and the bits of broken candles. He +would not let Marie sweep them up to be burned, but gathered them +carefully into a box and carried them home. There were several things +that he had rescued from her broom,--one of those beautiful red balls, +cracked on one side it is true, but gleaming like a mammoth red cherry +on the other. There were scraps of tinsel and odds and ends of ornaments +that had been broken or damaged by careless handling. These he hid away +in a chest in his room, as carefully as a miser would have hoarded a +bag of gold. + +Clotilde Robard, the housekeeper, wondered why she found his candle +burned so low several mornings. She would have wondered still more if +she had gone into his room a while before daybreak. He had awakened +early, and, sitting up in bed with the quilts wrapped around him, spread +the scraps of tarletan on his knees. He was piecing together with his +awkward little fingers enough to make several tiny bags. + +Henri missed his spade one morning, and hunted for it until he was out +of patience. It was nowhere to be seen. Half an hour later, coming back +to the house, he found it hanging in its usual place, where he had +looked for it a dozen times at least. Jules had taken it down to the +woods to dig up a little cedar-tree, so little that it was not over a +foot high when it was planted in a box. + +Clotilde had to be taken into the secret, for he could not hide it from +her. "It is for my Uncle Martin," he said, timidly. "Do you think he +will like it?" + +The motherly housekeeper looked at the poor little tree, decked out in +its scraps of cast-off finery, and felt a sob rising in her throat, but +she held up her hands with many admiring exclamations that made Jules +glow with pride. + +[Illustration: "SITTING UP IN BED WITH THE QUILTS WRAPPED AROUND HIM."] + +"I have no beautiful white strings of pop-corn to hang over it like +wreaths of snow," he said, "so I am going down the lane for some +mistletoe that grows in one of the highest trees. The berries are like +lovely white wax beads." + +"You are a good little lad," said the housekeeper, kindly, as she gave +his head an affectionate pat. "I shall have to make something to hang on +that tree myself; some gingerbread figures, maybe. I used to know how to +cut out men and horses and pigs,--nearly all the animals. I must try it +again some day soon." + +A happy smile spread all over Jules's face as he thanked her. The words, +"You are a good little lad," sent a warm glow of pleasure through him, +and rang like music in his ears all the way down the lane. How bright +the world looked this frosty December morning! What cheeriness there was +in the ring of Henri's axe as he chopped away at the stove-wood! What +friendliness in the baker's whistle, as he rattled by in his big cart! +Jules found himself whistling, too, for sheer gladness, and all because +of no more kindness than might have been thrown to a dog; a pat on the +head and the words, "You are a good little lad." + + * * * * * + +Sometime after, it may have been two hours or more, Madame Greville was +startled by a wild, continuous ringing of the bell at her front gate. +Somebody was sending peal after peal echoing through the garden, with +quick, impatient jerks of the bell-wire. She hurried out herself to +answer the summons. + +Berthe had already shot back the bolt and showed Clotilde leaning +against the stone post, holding her fat sides and completely exhausted +by her short run from the Ciseaux house. + +"Will madame send Gabriel for the doctor?" she cried, gasping for breath +at every word. "The little Monsieur Jules has fallen from a tree and is +badly hurt. We do not know how much, for he is still unconscious and his +uncle is away from home. Henri found him lying under a tree with a big +bunch of mistletoe in his arms. He carried him up-stairs while I ran +over to ask you to send Gabriel quickly on a horse for the doctor." + +"Gabriel shall go immediately," said Madame Greville, "and I shall +follow you as soon as I have given the order." + +Clotilde started back in as great haste as her weight would allow, +puffing and blowing and wiping her eyes on her apron at every step. +Madame overtook her before she had gone many rods. Always calm and +self-possessed in every emergency, madame took command now; sent the +weeping Clotilde to look for old linen, Henri to the village for +Monsieur Ciseaux, and then turned her attention to Jules. + +"To think," said Clotilde, coming into the room, "that the last thing +the poor little lamb did was to show me his Christmas tree that he was +making ready for his uncle!" She pointed to the corner where it stood, +decked by awkward boyish hands in its pitiful collection of scraps. + +"Poor little fellow!" said madame, with tears in her own eyes. "He has +done the best he could. Put it in the closet, Clotilde. Jules would not +want it to be seen before Christmas." + +Madame stayed until the doctor had made his visit; then the report that +she carried home was that Jules had regained consciousness, and that, +as far as could be discovered, his only injury was a broken leg. + +Joyce took refuge in the pear-tree. It was not alone because Jules was +hurt that she wanted to cry, but because they must have the Noel fete +without him. She knew how bitterly he would be disappointed. + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +A GREAT DISCOVERY. + +"Only two more nights till Christmas eve, two more nights, two more +nights," sang Joyce to Jules in a sort of chant. She was sitting beside +his bed with a box in her lap, full of little dolls, which she was +dressing. Every day since his accident she had been allowed to make him +two visits,--one in the morning, and one in the afternoon. They helped +wonderfully in shortening the long, tedious days for Jules. True, Madame +Greville came often with broths and jellies, Cousin Kate made flying +visits to leave rare hothouse grapes and big bunches of violets; +Clotilde hung over him with motherly tenderness, and his uncle looked +into the room many times a day to see that he wanted nothing. + +Jules's famished little heart drank in all this unusual kindness and +attention as greedily as the parched earth drinks in the rain. Still, +he would have passed many a long, restless hour, had it not been for +Joyce's visits. + +She brought over a photograph of the house at home, with the family +seated in a group on the front porch. Jules held it close while she +introduced each one of them. By the time he had heard all about +Holland's getting lost the day the circus came to town, and Jack's +taking the prize in a skating contest, and Mary's setting her apron on +fire, and the baby's sweet little ways when he said his prayers, or +played peek-a-boo, he felt very well acquainted with the entire Ware +family. Afterward, when Joyce had gone, he felt his loneliness more than +ever. He lay there, trying to imagine how it must feel to have a mother +and sisters and brothers all as fond of each other as Joyce's were, and +to live in the midst of such good times as always went on in the little +brown house. + +Monsieur Ciseaux, sitting by his fire with the door open between the two +rooms, listened to Joyce's merry chatter with almost as much interest as +Jules. He would have been ashamed to admit how eagerly he listened for +her step on the stairs every day, or what longings wakened in his +lonely old heart, when he sat by his loveless fireside after she had +gone home, and there was no more sound of children's voices in the +next room. + +There had been good times in the old Ciseaux house also, once, and two +little brothers and a sister had played in that very room; but they had +grown up long ago, and the ogre of selfishness and misunderstanding had +stolen in and killed all their happiness. Ah, well, there was much that +the world would never know about that misunderstanding. There was much +to forgive and forget on both sides. + +Joyce had a different story for each visit. To-day she had just finished +telling Jules the fairy tale of which he never tired, the tale of the +giant scissors. + +"I never look at those scissors over the gate without thinking of you," +said Jules, "and the night when you played that I was the Prince, and +you came to rescue me." + +"I wish I could play scissors again, and rescue somebody else that I +know," answered Joyce. "I'd take poor old Number Thirty-one away from +the home of the Little Sisters of the Poor." + +"What's Number Thirty-one?" asked Jules. "You never told me about that." + +"Didn't I?" asked Joyce, in surprise. "She is a lonely old woman that +the sisters take care of. I have talked about her so often, and written +home so much, that I thought I had told everybody. I can hardly keep +from crying whenever I think of her. Marie and I stop every day we go +into town and take her flowers. I have been there four times since my +first visit with madame. Sometimes she tells me things that happened +when she was a little girl here in France, but she talks to me oftenest +in English about the time when she lived in America. I can hardly +imagine that she was ever as young as I am, and that she romped with her +brothers as I did with Jack." + +"Tell some of the things that she told you," urged Jules; so Joyce began +repeating all that she knew about Number Thirty-one. + +It was a pathetic little tale that brought tears to Jules's eyes, and a +dull pain to the heart of the old man who listened in the next room. "I +wish I were rich," exclaimed Joyce, impulsively, as she finished. "I +wish I had a beautiful big home, and I would adopt her for my +grandmother. She should have a great lovely room, where the sun shines +in all day long, and it should be furnished in rose-color like the one +that she had when she was a girl. I'd dress her in gray satin and soft +white lace. She has the prettiest silvery hair, and beautiful dark eyes. +She would make a lovely grandmother. And I would have a maid to wait on +her, and there'd be mignonette always growing in boxes on the +window-sill. Every time I came back from town, I'd bring her a present +just for a nice little surprise; and I'd read to her, and sing to her, +and make her feel that she belonged to somebody, so that she'd be happy +all the rest of her days. + +"Yesterday while I was there she was holding a little cut glass +vinaigrette. It had a big D engraved on the silver top. She said that it +was the only thing that she had left except her wedding ring, and that +it was to be Sister Denisa's when she was gone. The D stands for both +their names. Hers is Desire. She said the vinaigrette was too precious +to part with as long as she lives, because her oldest brother gave it +to her on her twelfth birthday, when she was exactly as old as I am. +Isn't Desire a pretty name?" + +"Mademoiselle," called Monsieur Ciseaux from the next room, +"mademoiselle, will you come--will you tell me--what name was that? +Desire, did you say?" + +There was something so strange in the way he called that name Desire, +almost like a cry, that Joyce sprang up, startled, and ran into the next +room. She had never ventured inside before. + +"Tell me again what you were telling Jules," said the old man. +"Seventy-three years, did you say? And how long has she been back +in France?" + +Joyce began to answer his rapid questions, but stopped with a frightened +cry as her glance fell on a large portrait hanging over the mantel. +"There she is!" she cried, excitedly dancing up and down as she pointed +to the portrait. "There she is! That's Number Thirty-one, her very +own self." + +"You are mistaken!" cried the old man, attempting to rise from his +chair, but trembling so that he could scarcely pull himself up on his +feet. "That is a picture of my mother, and Desire is dead; long dead." + +[Illustration: "'THAT'S NUMBER THIRTY-ONE.'"] + +"But it is _exactly_ like Number Thirty-one,--I mean Madame Desire," +persisted Joyce. + +Monsieur looked at her wildly from under his shaggy brows, and then, +turning away, began to pace up and down the room. "I had a sister once," +he began. "She would have been seventy-three this month, and her name +was Desire." + +Joyce stood motionless in the middle of the room, wondering what was +coming next. Suddenly turning with a violence that made her start, he +cried, "No, I never can forgive! She has been dead to me nearly a +lifetime. Why did you tell me this, child? Out of my sight! What is it +to me if she is homeless and alone? Go! Go!" + +He waved his hands so wildly in motioning her away, that Joyce ran out +of the room and banged the door behind her. + +"What do you suppose is the matter with him?" asked Jules, in a +frightened whisper, as they listened to his heavy tread, back and forth, +back and forth, in the next room. + +Joyce shook her head. "I don't know for sure," she answered, +hesitatingly, "but I believe that he is going crazy." + +Jules's eyes opened so wide that Joyce wished she had not frightened +him. "Oh, you know that I didn't mean it," she said, reassuringly. The +heavy tread stopped, and the children looked at each other. + +"What can he be doing now?" Jules asked, anxiously. + +Joyce tiptoed across the room, and peeped through the keyhole. "He is +sitting down now, by the table, with his head on his arms. He looks as +if he might be crying about something." + +"I wish he didn't feel bad," said Jules, with a swift rush of pity. "He +has been so good to me ever since he sent Brossard away. Sometimes I +think that he must feel as much alone in the world as I do, because all +his family are dead, too. Before I broke my leg I was making him a +little Christmas tree, so that he need not feel left out when we had the +big one. I was getting mistletoe for it when I fell. I can't finish it +now, but there's five pieces of candle on it, and I'll get Clotilde to +light them while the fete is going on, so that I'll not miss the big +tree so much. Oh, nobody knows how much I want to go to that fete! +Sometimes it seems more than I can bear to have to stay away." + +"Where is your tree?" asked Joyce. "May I see it?" + +Jules pointed to the closet. "It's in there," he said, proudly. "I +trimmed it with pieces that Marie swept up to burn. Oh, shut the door! +Quick!" he cried, excitedly, as a step was heard in the hall. "I don't +want anybody to see it before the time comes." + +The step was Henri's. He had come to say that Marie was waiting to take +mademoiselle home. Joyce was glad of the interruption. She could not say +anything in praise of the poor little tree, and she knew that Jules +expected her to. She felt relieved that Henri's presence made it +impossible for her to express any opinion. + +She bade Jules good-by gaily, but went home with such a sober little +face that Cousin Kate began to question her about her visit. Madame, +sitting by the window with her embroidery-frame, heard the account also. +Several times she looked significantly across at Cousin Kate, over the +child's head. + +"Joyce," said Cousin Kate, "you have had so little outdoor exercise +since Jules's accident that it would be a good thing for you to run +around in the garden awhile before dark." + +Joyce had not seen madame's glances, but she felt vaguely that Cousin +Kate was making an excuse to get rid of her. She was disappointed, for +she thought that her account of monsieur's queer actions and Jules's +little tree would have made a greater impression on her audience. She +went out obediently, walking up and down the paths with her hands in her +jacket pockets, and her red tam-o'shanter pulled down over her eyes. The +big white cat followed her, ran on ahead, and then stopped, arching its +back as if waiting for her to stroke it. Taking no notice of it, Joyce +turned aside to the pear-tree and climbed up among the highest branches. + +The cat rubbed against the tree, mewing and purring by turns, then +sprang up in the tree after her. She took the warm, furry creature in +her arms and began talking to it. + +"Oh, Solomon," she said, "what do you suppose is the matter over there? +My poor old lady must be monsieur's sister, or she couldn't have looked +exactly like that picture, and he would not have acted so queerly. What +do you suppose it is that he can never forgive? Why did he call me in +there and then drive me out in such a crazy way, and tramp around the +room, and put his head down on his arms as if he were crying?" + +Solomon purred louder and closed his eyes. + +"Oh, you dear, comfortable old thing," exclaimed Joyce, giving the cat a +shake. "Wake up and take some interest in what I am saying. I wish you +were as smart as Puss in Boots; then maybe you could find out what is +the matter. How I wish fairy tales could be true! I'd say 'Giant +scissors, right the wrong and open the gate that's been shut so long,' +There! Did you hear that, Solomon Greville? I said a rhyme right off +without waiting to make it up. Then the scissors would leap down and +cut the misunderstanding or trouble or whatever it is, and the gate +would fly open, and there the brother and sister would meet each other. +All the unhappy years would be forgotten, and they'd take each other by +the hand, just as they did when they were little children, Martin and +Desire, and go into the old home together,--on Christmas Day, in +the morning." + +Joyce was half singing her words now, as she rocked the cat back and +forth in her arms. "And then the scissors would bring Jules a +magnificent big tree, and he'd never be afraid of his uncle any more. +Oh, they'd all have such a happy time on Christmas Day, in the morning!" + +Joyce had fully expected to be homesick all during the holidays; but now +she was so absorbed in other people's troubles, and her day-dreams to +make everybody happy, that she forgot all about herself. She fairly +bubbled over with the peace and good-will of the approaching +Christmas-tide, and rocked the cat back and forth in the pear-tree to +the tune of a happy old-time carol. + +A star or two twinkled out through the gloaming, and, looking up beyond +them through the infinite stretches of space, Joyce thought of a verse +that she and Jack had once learned together, one rainy Sunday at her +Grandmother Ware's, sitting on a little stool at the old lady's feet: + +"Behold thou hast made the heaven and the earth by thy great power and +outstretched arm, and _there is nothing too hard for thee._" Her heart +gave a bound at the thought. Why should she be sitting there longing for +fairy tales to be true, when the great Hand that had set the stars to +swinging could bring anything to pass; could even open that long-closed +gate and bring the brother and sister together again, and send happiness +to little Jules? + +Joyce lifted her eyes again and looked up, out past the stars. "Oh, if +you please, God," she whispered, "for the little Christ-child's sake." + +When Joyce went back to the house, Cousin Kate sat in the drawing-room +alone. Madame had gone over to see Jules, and did not return until long +after dark. Berthe had been in three times to ask monsieur if dinner +should be served, before they heard her ring at the gate. When she +finally came, there was such an air of mystery about her that Joyce was +puzzled. All that next morning, too, the day before Christmas, it seemed +to Joyce as if something unusual were afloat. Everybody in the house was +acting strangely. + +Madame and Cousin Kate did not come home to lunch. She had been told +that she must not go to see Jules until afternoon, and the doors of the +room where the Christmas tree was kept had all been carefully locked. +She thought that the morning never would pass. It was nearly three +o'clock when she started over to see Jules. To her great surprise, as +she ran lightly up the stairs to his room, she saw her Cousin Kate +hurrying across the upper hall, with a pile of rose-colored silk +curtains in her arms. + +Jules tried to raise himself up in bed as Joyce entered, forgetting all +about his broken leg in his eagerness to tell the news. "Oh, what do you +think!" he cried. "They said that I might be the one to tell you. She +_is_ Uncle Martin's sister, the old woman you told about yesterday, and +he is going to bring her home to-morrow." + +Joyce sank into a chair with a little gasp at the suddenness of his +news. She had not expected this beautiful ending of her day-dreams to be +brought about so soon, although she had hoped that it would be sometime. + +"How did it all happen?" she cried, with a beaming face. "Tell me about +it! Quick!" + +"Yesterday afternoon madame came over soon after you left. She gave me +my wine jelly, and then went into Uncle Martin's room, and talked and +talked for the longest time. After she had gone he did not eat any +dinner, and I think that he must have sat up all night, for I heard him +walking around every time that I waked up. Very early this morning, +madame came back again, and M. Greville was with her. They drove with +Uncle Martin to the Little Sisters of the Poor. I don't know what +happened out there, only that Aunt Desire is to be brought home +to-morrow. + +"Your Cousin Kate was with them when they came back, and they had +brought all sorts of things with them from Tours. She is in there now, +making Aunt Desire's room look like it did when she was a girl." + +"Oh, isn't it lovely!" exclaimed Joyce. "It is better than all the +fairy tales that I have ever read or heard,--almost too good to be +true!" Just then Cousin Kate called her, and she ran across the hall. +Standing in the doorway, she looked all around the freshly furnished +room, that glowed with the same soft, warm pink that colors the heart +of a shell. + +"How beautiful!" cried Joyce, glancing from the rose on the +dressing-table to the soft curtains of the windows, which all opened +towards the morning sun. "What a change it will be from that big bare +dormitory with its rows of narrow little cots." She tiptoed around the +room, admiring everything, and smiling over the happiness in store for +poor old Number Thirty-one, when she should find herself in the midst of +such loveliness. + +Joyce's cup of pleasure was so full, that it brimmed over when they +turned to leave the room. Cousin Kate slipped an arm around her, and +kissed her softly on the forehead. + +"You dear little fairy tale lover," she said. "Do you know that it is +because of you that this desert has blossomed? If you had never made all +those visits to the Little Sisters of the Poor, and had never won old +Madame Desire's love and confidence by your sympathy, if you had never +told Jules the story of the giant scissors, and wished so loud that you +could fly to her rescue, old monsieur would never have known that his +sister is living. Even then, I doubt if he would have taken this step, +and brought her back home to live, if your stories of your mother and +the children had not brought his own childhood back to him. He said that +he used to sit there hour after hour, and hear you talk of your life at +home, until some of its warmth and love crept into his own frozen old +heart, and thawed out its selfishness and pride." + +Joyce lifted her radiant face, and looked towards the half opened +window, as she caught the sound of chimes. Across the Loire came the +deep-toned voice of a cathedral bell, ringing for vespers. + +"Listen!" she cried. "Peace on earth,--good-will--oh, Cousin Kate! It +really does seem to say it! My Christmas has begun the day before." + + + +CHAPTER X. + +CHRISTMAS. + +Long before the Christmas dawn was bright enough to bring the blue +parrots into plain view on the walls of Joyce's room, she had climbed +out of bed to look for her "messages from Noel." The night before, +following the old French custom, she had set her little slippers just +outside the threshold. Now, candle in hand, she softly slipped to the +door and peeped out into the hall. Her first eager glance showed that +they were full. + +Climbing back into her warm bed, she put the candle on the table beside +it, and began emptying the slippers. They were filled with bonbons and +all sorts of little trifles, such as she and Jules had admired in the +gay shop windows. On the top of one madame had laid a slender silver +pencil, and monsieur a pretty purse. In the other was a pair of little +wooden shoes, fashioned like the ones that Jules had worn when she +first knew him. They were only half as long as her thumb, and wrapped in +a paper on which was written that Jules himself had whittled them out +for her, with Henri's help and instructions. + +"What little darlings!" exclaimed Joyce. "I hope he will think as much +of the scrap-book that I made for him as I do of these. I know that he +will be pleased with the big microscope that Cousin Kate bought +for him." + +She spread all the things out on the table, and gave the slippers a +final shake. A red morocco case, no larger than half a dollar, fell out +of the toe of one of them. Inside the case was a tiny buttonhole watch, +with its wee hands pointing to six o'clock. It was the smallest watch +that Joyce had ever seen, Cousin Kate's gift. Joyce could hardly keep +back a little squeal of delight. She wanted to wake up everybody on the +place and show it. Then she wished that she could be back in the brown +house, showing it to her mother and the children. For a moment, as she +thought of them, sharing the pleasure of their Christmas stockings +without her, a great wave of homesickness swept over her, and she lay +back on the pillow with that miserable, far-away feeling that, of all +things, makes one most desolate. + +Then she heard the rapid "tick, tick, tick, tick," of the little watch, +and was comforted. She had not realized before that time could go so +fast. Now thirty seconds were gone; then sixty. At this rate it could +not be such a very long time before they would be packing their trunks +to start home; so Joyce concluded not to make herself unhappy by longing +for the family, but to get as much pleasure as possible out of this +strange Christmas abroad. + +That little watch seemed to make the morning fly. She looked at it at +least twenty times an hour. She had shown it to every one in the house, +and was wishing that she could take it over to Jules for him to see, +when Monsieur Ciseaux's carriage stopped at the gate. He was on his way +to the Little Sisters of the Poor, and had come to ask Joyce to drive +with him to bring his sister home. + +He handed her into the carriage as if she had been a duchess, and then +seemed to forget that she was beside him; for nothing was said all the +way. As the horses spun along the road in the keen morning air, the old +man was busy with his memories, his head dropped forward on his breast. +The child watched him, entering into this little drama as +sympathetically as if she herself were the forlorn old woman, and this +silent, white-haired man at her side were Jack. + +Sister Denisa came running out to meet them, her face shining and her +eyes glistening with tears. "It is for joy that I weep," she exclaimed, +"that poor madame should have come to her own again. See the change that +has already been made in her by the blessed news." + +Joyce looked down the corridor as monsieur hurried forward to meet the +old lady coming towards them, and to offer his arm. Hope had +straightened the bowed figure; joy had put lustre into her dark eyes and +strength into her weak frame. She walked with such proud stateliness +that the other inmates of the home looked up at her in surprise as she +passed. She was no more like the tearful, broken-spirited woman who had +lived among them so long, than her threadbare dress was like the elegant +mantle which monsieur had brought to fold around her. + +Joyce had brought a handful of roses to Sister Denisa, who caught them +up with a cry of pleasure, and held them against her face as if they +carried with them some sweetness of another world. + +Madame came up then, and, taking the nun in her arms, tried to thank her +for all that she had done, but could find no words for a gratitude so +deep, and turned away, sobbing. + +They said good-by to Sister Denisa,--brave Little Sister of the Poor, +whose only joy was the pleasure of unselfish service; who had no time to +even stand at the gate and be a glad witness of other people's Christmas +happiness, but must hurry back to her morning task of dealing out coffee +and clean handkerchiefs to two hundred old paupers. No, there were only +a hundred and ninety-nine now. Down the streets, across the Loire, into +the old village and out again, along the wide Paris road, one of them +was going home. + +The carriage turned and went for a little space between brown fields and +closely clipped hedgerows, and then madame saw the windows of her old +home flashing back the morning sunlight over the high stone wall. Again +the carriage turned, into the lane this time, and now the sunlight was +caught up by the scissors over the gate, and thrown dazzlingly down into +their faces. + +Monsieur smiled as he looked at Joyce, a tender, gentle smile that one +would have supposed never could have been seen on those harsh lips. She +was almost standing up in the carriage, in her excitement. + +"Oh, it has come true!" she cried, clasping her hands together, "The +gates are really opening at last!" + +Yes, the Ogre, whatever may have been its name, no longer lived. Its +spell was broken, for now the giant scissors no longer barred the way. +Slowly the great gate swung open, and the carriage passed through. Joyce +sprang out and ran on ahead to open the door. Hand in hand, just as when +they were little children, Martin and Desire, this white-haired brother +and sister went back to the old home together; and it was Christmas Day, +in the morning. + + * * * * * + +At five o'clock that evening the sound of Gabriel's accordeon went +echoing up and down the garden, and thirty little children were +marching to its music along the paths, between the rows of blooming +laurel. Joyce understood, now, why the room where the Christmas tree +stood had been kept so carefully locked. For two days that room had been +empty and the tree had been standing in Monsieur Ciseaux's parlor. +Cousin Kate and madame and Berthe and Marie and Gabriel had all been +over there, busily at work, and neither she nor Jules had suspected what +was going on down-stairs. + +Now she marched with the others, out of the garden and across the road, +keeping time to the music of the wheezy old accordion that Gabriel +played so proudly. Surely every soul, in all that long procession filing +through the gate of the giant scissors, belonged to the kingdom of +loving hearts and gentle hands; for they were all children who passed +through, or else mothers who carried in their arms the little ones who, +but for these faithful arms, must have missed this Noel fete. + +Jules had been carried down-stairs and laid on a couch in the corner of +the room where he could see the tree to its best advantage. Beside him +sat his great-aunt, Desire, dressed in a satin gown of silvery gray that +had been her mother's, and looking as if she had just stepped out from +the frame of the portrait up-stairs. She held Jules's hand in hers, as +if with it she grasped the other Jules, the little brother of the olden +days for whom this child had been named. And she told him stories of his +grandfather and his father. Then Jules found that this Aunt Desire had +known his mother; had once sat on the vine-covered porch while he ran +after fireflies on the lawn in his little white dress; had heard the +song the voice still sang to him in his dreams: + + "Till the stars and the angels come to keep + Their watch where my baby lies fast asleep." + +When she told him this, with her hand stroking his and folding it tight +with many tender little claspings, he felt that he had found a part of +his old home, too, as well as Aunt Desire. + +One by one the tapers began to glow on the great tree, and when it was +all ablaze the doors were opened for the children to flock in. They +stood about the room, bewildered at first, for not one of them had ever +seen such a sight before; a tree that glittered and sparkled and shone, +that bore stars and rainbows and snow wreaths and gay toys. At first +they only drew deep, wondering breaths, and looked at each other with +shining eyes. It was all so beautiful and so strange. + +Joyce flew here and there, helping to distribute the gifts, feeling her +heart grow warmer and warmer as she watched the happy children. "My +little daughter never had anything like that in all her life," said one +grateful mother as Joyce laid a doll in the child's outstretched arms. +"She'll never forget this to her dying day, nor will any of us, dear +mademoiselle! We knew not what it was to have so beautiful a Noel!" + +When the last toy had been stripped from the branches, it was Cousin +Kate's turn to be surprised. At a signal from madame, the children began +circling around the tree, singing a song that the sisters at the village +school had taught them for the occasion. It was a happy little song +about the green pine-tree, king of all trees and monarch of the woods, +because of the crown he yearly wears at Noel. At the close every child +came up to madame and Cousin Kate and Joyce, to say "Thank you, madame," +and "Good night," in the politest way possible. + +Gabriel's accordion led them out again, and the music, growing fainter +and fainter, died away in the distance; but in every heart that heard it +had been born a memory whose music could never be lost,--the memory of +one happy Christmas. + +Joyce drew a long breath when it was all over, and, with her arm around +Madame Desire's shoulder, smiled down at Jules. + +"How beautifully it has all ended!" she exclaimed. "I am sorry that we +have come to the place to say 'and they all lived happily ever after,' +for that means that it is time to shut the book." + +"Dear heart," murmured Madame Desire, drawing the child closer to her, +"it means that a far sweeter story is just beginning, and it is you who +have opened the book for me." + +Joyce flushed with pleasure, saying, "I thought this Christmas would be +so lonely; but it has been the happiest of my life." + +[Illustration: "HE TOOK THE LITTLE FELLOW'S HAND IN HIS."] + +"And mine, too," said Monsieur Ciseaux from the other side of Jules's +couch. He took the little fellow's hand in his. "They told me about the +tree that you prepared for me. I have been up to look at it, and now I +have come to thank you." To the surprise of every one in the room, +monsieur bent over and kissed the flushed little face on the pillow. +Jules reached up, and, putting his arms around his uncle's neck, laid +his cheek a moment against the face of his stern old kinsman. Not a +word was said, but in that silent caress every barrier of coldness and +reserve was forever broken down between them. So the little Prince came +into his kingdom,--the kingdom of love and real home happiness. + + * * * * * + +It is summer now, and far away in the little brown house across the seas +Joyce thinks of her happy winter in France and the friends that she +found through the gate of the giant scissors. And still those scissors +hang over the gate, and may be seen to this day, by any one who takes +the trouble to walk up the hill from the little village that lies just +across the river Loire, from the old town of Tours. + + +THE END. + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gate of the Giant Scissors +by Annie Fellows Johnston + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS *** + +***** This file should be named 12176.txt or 12176.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/1/7/12176/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charlie Kirschner and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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