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THE GIANT SCISSORS
Works of
ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON
The Little Colonel Series
(Trade Mark, Reg. U. S. Pat. Of.)
Each one vol., large 12mo, cloth, illustrated
The Little Colonel Stories .
(Containing in one volume the three stories, "The
Little Colonel," "The Giant Scissors," and "Two
Little Knights of Kentucky.";
The Little Colonel's House Party .
The Little Colonel's Holidays
The Little Colonel's Hero
The Little Colonel at Boarding-School
The Little Colonel in Arizona
The Little Colonel's Christmas Vacation
The Little Colonel: Maid of Honor
The Little Colonel's Knight Comes Riding
Mary Ware: The Little Colonel's Chum .
Mary Ware in Texas ......
The above n vols., boxed with The Little Colonel Good
Times Book, as a set of 12 vols
$1.50
1.50
1.50
1.50
1.50
1.50
1.50
1.50
1.50
1.50
1.50
18.00
The Little Colonel Good Times Book . . . . 1.50
The Little Colonel Doll Book ....'. 1.50
Illustrated Holiday Editions
Each one vol., small quarto, cloth, illustrated, and printed in
colour
The Little Colonel $1.25
The Giant Scissors . . . . . . 1.25
Two Little Knights of Kentucky . . . . 1.25
Big Brother . . . . . . . 1.25
Cosy Corner Series
Each one vol., thin 12mo, cloth, illustrated
The Little Colonel ....
$.50
The Giant Scissors
.50
Two Little Knights of Kentucky
.50
Big Brother .....
.50
Ole Mammy's Torment .
.50
The Story of Dago ....
.50
Cicely . .....
.50
Aunt 'Liza's Hero ....
.50
The Quilt that Jack Built
.50
Flip's "Islands of Providence"
.50
Mildred's Inheritance
.50
Other Books
Joel: A Boy of Galilee .
$1.50
In the Desert of Waiting
.50
The Three Weavers
.50
Keeping Tryst ....
.50
The Legend of the Bleeding Heart .
.50
The Rescue of the Princess Winsome
.50
The Jester's Sword
.50
Asa Holmes .....
1.00
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
53 Beacon Street Boston, Mass.
JUL1S.
THE GIANT SCISSORS
BY
ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON
AUTHOR OF " THE LITTLE COLONEL,"
"BIG BROTHER," "OLE MAMMY'S
TORMENT," ETC.
Illustrate bg
ETHELDRED B. BARRY
BOSTON
L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
PUBLISHERS
\ \
Copyright, 189$
BY L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
All rights reserved
Fourteenth Impression, June, 1908
Fifteenth Impression, September, 1909
Sixteenth Impression, January, 1911
CON EN' S
CHAPTER PAGE
I. IN THE PEAR-TREE . . . .11
II. A NEW FAIRY TALE .... 26
III. BEHIND THE GREAT GATE ... 47
IV. A LETTER AND A MEETING ... 65
V. A THANKSGIVING BARBECUE ... 80
VI. JOYCE PLAYS GHOST .... 100
VII. OLD "NUMBER THIRTY-ONE" . . 120
O>
VIII. CHRISTMAS PLANS AND AN ACCIDENT . 139
IX. A GREAT DISCOVERY . . . .155
X. CHRISTMAS 174
PAGE
JULES ........ Frontispiece
WHERE JOYCE LIVED 17
'"HE IS STOPPING AT THE GATE'" . . . .21
THE KING'S SONS 27
"HE CUT IT LOOSE AND CARRIED IT HOME" . . 39
THE PRINCESS 41
"HE LAID HIS HEAD ON THE SILL" . . . . 56
"IT FELL TO THE FLOOR WITH A CRASH" . . 6l
OUT WITH MARIE 67
"HE CAME TOWARDS HER WITH A DAZED EXPRES-
SION ON HIS FACE 75
INITIAL LETTER 80
A LESSON IN PATRIOTISM 89
TRYING TO READ 95
"<OH, IF JACK COULD ONLY SEE IT!'" . . . 108
ix
X ILLUSTRATIONS.
"'BROSSARD, BEWARE! BEWARE!'" . . . .115
"THE CHILD CREPT CLOSE TO THE CHEERFUL FIRE" 121
JOYCE AND SISTER DENISA 127
NUMBER THIRTY-ONE 134
" JULES CAME OVER, AWKWARD AND SHY" . . 14!
" SITTING UP IN BED WITH THE QUILTS WRAPPED
AROUND HIM" ..... 149
'"THAT'S NUMBER THIRTY-ONE'" . . . .161
"WALKING UP AND DOWN THE PATHS " . . . l66
"KEEPING TIME TO THE MUSIC " . ' . . l8o
" HE TOOK THE LITTLE FELLOW'S HAND IN HIS " . 185
THE GATE OF THE GIANT
SCISSORS.
CHAPTER I.
IN THE PEAR-TREE.
JOYCE was crying, up in old Monsieur Gre-
ville'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.
ii
12 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
No wonder, for she was only twelve years old,
and she had never been out of the little West-
ern 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 dis-
mal 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!
IN THE PEAR-TREE. 13
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 homesick-
ness 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 stand-
ing 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 chat
Joyce could see now, as she thought about it
with her eyes closed.
There was Holland swinging on the gate,
14 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 her-
self 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 awk-
ward 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
IN THE PEAR - TREE. I 5
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 tak-
ing my company with me. Will you let me
have Joyce for a year ? '
Jack and she stopped playing in sheer aston>
1 6 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
ishment, 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 sun-
shine of the whole home."
Then Joyce could see the little brown house
turned all topsy-turvy in the whirl of prepa-
ration 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, sad-
der than any tears.
Luckily the locomotive whistled just then.
WHERE JOYCE LIVED.
IN THE PEAR-TREE. ig
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 experi-
ences of the last three months in as many min-
utes. 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 Lom-
bardy poplars that lined the road, and in a dis-
tant field two peasants still at work reminded
2O THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
her of the picture of "The Angelus." They
seemed like acquaintances on account of the re-
semblance, 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
IN THE PEAR-TREE.
21
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
b i g scissors ! ' she
cried, so interested
that she spoke aloud.
" I must wait to see
if it opens."
There was some-
thing mysterious
about that gate across
the road. Like Mon-
sieur Greville's, it
was plain and solid,
r eaching as high as
the wall. Only the
lime-trees and the
second story win-
dows 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
22 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 cer-
tainly 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 neigh-
bors. The place was still owned by a descend-
ant 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 grav-
elled 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 admirjngly into the house.
She wished that she could grow up to look
IN THE PEAR-TREE. 2 3
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 mir-
ror 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 re-
flection of Joyce's rosy cheeks and straightfor-
ward 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
24 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
time in English, " crying because you are home-
sick. I wonder if it would not be a good occu-
pation 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 raptur-
ously 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
IN THE PEAR-TREE. 25
" 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 win-
dow-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 con-
tented 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 corn-
flowers, 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 hand-
some 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.
26
\ NEW FAIRY TALE.
To each of his other sons he gave a portioi
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 fol-
lowed. 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 ! '
28 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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. Forth-
with the grinning Jester began shrieking with
laughter, so that the bells upon his motley cap
were all set a-j angling.
" What now, Fool ? ' demanded the King.
" I did but laugh to think the sword of Ethel-
ried 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 com-
manded 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
A NEW FAIRY TALE. 2Q
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
3O THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 astonish
ment. 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 rum-
bling 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 ! "
A NEW FAIRY TALE. 31
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.
32 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
"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 unself-
ish 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
millstone.
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
A NEW FAIRY TALE. 33
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 steal-
ing 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 ;
34 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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.
A NEW FAIRY TALE. 35
" 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 pos-
sible. 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
36 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 shoul-
der, 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
A NEW FAIRY TALE.
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 some-
body.
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
38 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 morn-
ing the scissors became brighter and sharper,
until they finally began to open and shut ot
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 ot
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.
A NEW FAIRY TALE.
39
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.
4O THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 west-
ward. 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 rush-
ing out. They dared not meet in single combat,
this monster with the gnashing teeth, each one
of which was as big as a millstone.
Among those who drew back were Ethel-
ried's brothers (the three that were dark and
the three that were fair). They would not
acknowledge their fear. They said, "We are
THE PRINCESS.
A NEW FAIRY TALE. 43
only waiting to lay some wily plan to capture
the Ogre."
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 wav-
ing 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
44 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 lamen-
tation, 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 h? was Prince Ethelried, but they
A NEW FAIRY TALE. 45
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."
46 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 peasar t's blouse
of blue cotton, several sizes too laige for his
thin little body.
47
48 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 stub-
born 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 sup-
per 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
BEHIND THE GREAT GATE. 49
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 Tour-
raine. 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.
5O THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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
"oom when the master went back to Algiers.
BEHIND THE GREAT GATE. 51
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 under-
stand 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 neigh-
bor's children or the kittens or any other young
thing that had life and sunshine ?
Brossard snapped his fingers at him some-
times 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 awk-
ward caress, and the only one, that his desolate
52 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 crea-
tures, 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, shiver-
ing 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
BEHIND THE GREAT GATE. 53
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
sou, 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, how-
ever, 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
54 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 win-
dows 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
BEHIND THE GREAT GATE. 55
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 spar-
row 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
THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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.
BEHIND THE GREAT GATE. 57
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
rah 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 :
58 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
" 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. Look-
ing 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
o
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 heart-
broken whisper : " Mother ! Mother ! Do you
know how hungry I am?"
BEHIND THE GREAT GATE. 59
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."
6O THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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
O O '
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
" IT FELL TO THE FLOOR WITH A CRASH."
r
BEHIND THE GREAT GATE. 63
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.
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 out-
cry. Jules could only shut his eyes and crouch
down trembling, under the shqlf. 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 ex-
hausted 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
64 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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
65
66 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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
OUT WITH MARIE.
UG
.8V
A LETTER AND A MEETING. 69
was a dreadful quarrel about some money. The son
that got the property told his brother and sister never
to darken his doors again.
" 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."
7O THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 any-
thing 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 Thanks-
giving Day. We will have to drop it from our calendar
A LETTER AND A MEETING.
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.
72 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
" 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 ap-
proaching," 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
A LETTER AND A MEETING. 73
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, sing-
ing 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 ? "
74 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 see-
ing by his wooden shoes and old blue cotton
blouse that he was only a little peasant watch-
ing 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 aston-
ishment. The little fellow had spoken in Eng-
lish. " Oh, you must be Jules," she cried.
" Aren't you ? I've been wanting to find you
for ever so long."
The boy seemed frightened, and did not
answer, only looked at her with big, troubled
eyes. Thinking that she had made a mistake,
" HE CAME TOWARDS HER WITH A DAZED EXPRESSION
ON HIS FACE."
A LETTER AND A MEETING. 77
.nat 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 ex-
pecting 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 remem-
bered 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
THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 wish-
ing 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 ma-
dame to ask Brossard to let you come over
sometime.'*
Jules watched her as she hurried away, run-
ning 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 long-
A LETTER AND A MEETING.
ingly 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.
HIS 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. In-
side 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 bloom-
ing in the garden, and there isn't a thing to
make it seem different from any other old
day/'
A THANKSGIVING BARBECUE. 8 1
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 Ga-
briel."
"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
?52 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 car-
riage, 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,
A THANKSGIVING BARBECUE. 83
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 : Mademoi-
selle 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 an-
nounced, gasping, as she sank down on the
ground beside him. " We're the only Ameri-
cans 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
84 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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?' 1
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
A THANKSGIVING BARBECUE. 85
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 ke 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 celebra-
tion 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 grin-
ning 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
5O THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 Thanks-
givingey," 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 sput-
tering 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 mov-
ing 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
A THANKSGIVING BARBECUE. 87
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 home-
sick 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
88 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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.
But it came to an end, as all beautiful things
A LESSON IN PATRIOTISM.
A THANKSGIVING BARBECUE. 9 1
must do. The bells in the village rang four,
and Prince Ethelried started up as Cinderella
must have done when the pumpkin coach dis-
appeared. 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 chew-
ing 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 recog-
92 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
nized 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, laugh-
ingly. " 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-
A THANKSGIVING BARBECUE. 93
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
madam e.
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
Glaus, Joyce had been so charmed with the
94 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
picture that she declared that she intended tc
follow the French custom herself, this year.
Now, even the picture looked different, since
she had lost her joyful anticipations of Christ-
mas. " 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 carne 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 grow-
ing chilly. Joyce picked up a book and tried
A THANKSGIVING BARBECUE.
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 swal-
lowed 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 ele-
gant, and more unap-
proachable than she
had ever been before.
At madame's en-
trance 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
THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
lump in her throat, and began her humble con
fession 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 goat-
herd. At the conclusion, she opened the hand-
kerchief 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 car-
riage-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
A THANKSGIVING BARBECUE. 97
came Berthe*, in her black dress and white cap,
holding a lamp high above her head, and screw-
ing 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 in-
stance."
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 fur-
nishings bought generations ago ; but only her
dressmaker and herself knew how many times
98 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 con-
sult 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
A THANKSGIVING BARBECUE. 99
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 chil-
dren 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, rio 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
100
JOYCE PLAYS GHOST. IOI
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 sym-
pathy 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
IO2 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 pun-
ishes me for the least thing. I had no break-
fast 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 sun-
rise 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 repeat-
ing as she ran. " Dear old Jack, beaten and
starved, without anybody to love him or say a
JOYCE PLAYS GHOST. IO3
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
IO4 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
now, so old that he must be sorry for the way
he acted when he was young. \Yhy, of course
he must be," she repeated, "or he never would
have brought vou here when you were left a
o j *
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 / 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
o
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
JOYCE PLAYS GHOST. IC>5
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 unbur-
dened 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 doinsr it,
O '
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
IO6 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 when-
ever 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, unti!
JOYCE PLAYS GHOST. IO/
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 after-
noon. 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
IO8 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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
the mattress," she said to
r conscience. " My ! This
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 al-
ready 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
JOYCE PLAYS GHOST.
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
I IO THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 for-
bidding 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
:be Dack stairs.
Without giving any warning of his arrival, he
motioned the man beside the coachman to fol-
low with his trunk, and silently :ed the way
up-stairs. When the trunk had been ?anstrapped
and the man had departed, monsieui 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.
JOYCE PLAYS GHOST. I I I
Henri finished his scrubbing and his song,
and, going down into the kitchen, began prep-
arations 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, sho 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 pro-
ceeded to strike a match to light the lantern.
The first one flickered and went out. The
second did the same. Brossard was calling
112 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 perform-
JOYCE PLAYS GHOST. 113
ance. Jules's cry gave her the cue, and the
courage to appear.
As the second blow fell across Jules's smart-
ing 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 some-
thing 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 wav-
ering, 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 glid-
ing back to utter one of those awful, sickening
114 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 th&
gate, delighted beyond measure with her suc-
cess ; 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.
It was Joyce's turn to be terrified. " Let me
go ! " she shrieked, in English. With one des-
'"BROSSARD, BEWARE! BEWARE!
JOYCE PLAYS GHOST. I \J
perate wrench she broke away, and by the light
of the grinning jack-o'-lantern saw who was her
raptor. 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 ser-
vants ? I came because they needed to be
frightened, and I'm glad you caught me, for I
told Jules that I should tell yv/u 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
Il8 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 aston-
ished for words. He had never before heard
any .child speak in such a way. This one
seemed more like a wild, uncanny little sprite
JOYCE PLAYS GHOST. 1 19
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 Bros-
sard'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
1 20
OLD " NUMBER THIRTY - ONE.'
121
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 Bros-
sard. 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.
122 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 un-
observed. There was barely time to dress for
dinner. When she made her appearance mon-
sieur 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 ma-
dame 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 mis-
chief 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
OLD "NUMBER THIRTY - ONE." 123
pulled his gray beard thoughtfully. Madame
threw up her hands at the end of each sen-
tence 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 mother-
less 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
124 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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
OLD "NUMBER THIRTY - ONE." 12$
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 \vrinkled old woman, in a
nodding white cap, who led them into a recep-
tion-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 morn-
ing, 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.
126 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
Sister Denisa entered the room. She was a
beautiful woman, in the plain black habit and
white head-dress of a sister of chanty.
" 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 cheeri-
ness 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
JOYCE AND SISTER DENISA.
OLD 'NUMBER THIRTY - ONE. I2Q
like to go through the house while madame
is engaged ? ' asked the nun.
" 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
THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
room, and Joyce looked around eagerly. It
was crowded with old men. Some were sit-
ting 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 fore-
head 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."
OLD 'NUMBER THIRTY - ONE. 131
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 sway-
ing 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 ? '
132 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 shel-
ter and warmth ; but she is continually pining
for her old home surroundings. Will you not
come and speak to her in English ? She mar-
ried 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
OLD "NUMBER THIRTY- ONE. 133
in hiving no privacy. She must eat, sleep, and
live with a hundred other old women always
around her. She comes up here to bed when-
ever 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, grand-
mother," 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.
134 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
" 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, draw-
ing her eagerly nearer. "Ah," she cried, "you
speak the language that my husband taught
me to love, and the tongue my little children
OLD "NUMBER THIRTY - ONE." 135
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 birth-
day," 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 dis-
tressed ; 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 help-
less 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 ringers.
" I ought not to complain," said the tremb-
ling 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
136 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 out,
doors 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
OLD "NUMBER THIRTY - ONE." 137
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 peo-
ple can't play together, and they haven't any-
thing to look forward to, and it makes them so
138 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 grand-
father 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 1 he
lamps and brush Joyce's hair before dinner, : he
had some news to tell.
" Brossard has been sent away from the Zi-
seaux place," she said. " A new man is cc m-
ing to-morrow, and my friend, Clotilde Roba> d,
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 man-
ner, and it provokes monsieur to have the
139
I4O THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
little one tremble and grow pale whenever
speaks. Clotilde says that Madame Greville
told monsieur that the boy needed games am?
young companions to make him more lik*
other children, and he promised her that Mon
sieur 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, how-
ever, Joyce was far too much interested in some-
thing 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 Christ-
mas. At first she thought of taking only ma-
dame 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
CHRISTMAS PLANS AND AN ACCIDENT.
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 fasci-
nating bags.
" You would be lots of help,"' said Joyce, "if
you could come over every day, for there's all
142 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 3
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 foi
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
CHRISTMAS PLANS AND AN ACCIDENT. 143
dish. " It looks like Therese, the fishwoman,
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 Mar-
144 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
tin 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 any-
thing 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
CHRISTMAS PLANS AND AN ACCIDENT. 145
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 prom-
ised, " 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
140 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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.
CHRISTMAS PLANS AND AN ACCIDENT. 147
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 gath-
ered 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
148 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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.
''SITTING UP IN BED WITH THE QUILTS WRAPPED
AROUND HIM,"
CHRISTMAS PLANS AND AN ACCIDENT. 15!
J 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 house-
keeper, kindly, as she gave his head an affec-
tionate 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 cheeri-
ness there was in the ring of Henri's axe as he
chopped away at the stove-wood ! What friend-
liness 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
152 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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, impa-
tient 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 ex-
hausted 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
CHRISTMAS PLANS AND AN ACCIDENT. 153
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 awk-
ward 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
154 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 s
two more nights, two more nights," sang Joyce
to Jules in a sorf 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
'55
156 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 set-
ting 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
A GREAT DISCOVERY. 157
the stairs every day, or what longings wakened
in his lonely old heart, when he sat by his love-
less 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 misunderstand-
ing. 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
158 THE GATE OF TiE GIANT SCISSORS.
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
A GREAT DISCOVERY. 159
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
IOO THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
brother gave it to her on her twelfth birthday,
when she was exactly as old as I am. Isn't
Desir6 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."
c 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
" 'THAT'S NUMBER THIRTY-ONE.'"
R L
A GREAT DISCOVERY. 1 6
-
feet "That is a picture of my mother, and
Desire is dead ; long dead."
" 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. Sud-
denly 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
1 64 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
sure," she answered, hesitatingly, " but I be-
lieve 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 some-
thing."
" 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. Some-
times 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
A GREAT DISCOVERY. 165
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 ex-
pected 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.
1 66 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
" 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 ex-
cuse 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.
A GREAT DISCOVERY.
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 ?
f said a rhyme right off without waiting to
make it up. Then the scissors would leap
1 68 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 bub-
bled 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
A GREAT DISCOVERY. 169
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 no tiling too Jiard for tJiee"
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
I/O THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 sur-
prise, 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 1 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."
A GREAT DISCOVERY. I /I
Joyce sank into a chair with a little gasp at
the suddenness of his news. She had not ex-
pected 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 hap-
pened out there, only that Aunt De'sire' 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
IJ2 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 cur-
tains 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
u
n
A GREAT DISCOVERY. 1/3
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 to-
wards 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, can-
dle 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
174
CHRISTMAS. 175
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 him-
self 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 micro-
scope 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 home-
sickness swept over her, and she lay back on
I/O THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
the pillow with that miserable, far-away feeling
ihat, 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 morn-
ing 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 te 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
CHRISTMAS.
busy with his memories, his head dropped for-
ward on his breast. The child watched him,
entering into this little drama as sympatheti-
cally 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 glisten-
ing 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.
THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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
CHRISTMAS. 1/9
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 sup-
posed 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
ISO THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 care-
fully 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 accordeon that
Gabriel played so proudly. Surely every soul,
in all that long procession filing through the
gate of the giant scissors, belonged to the
CHRISTMAS.
181
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 Nce'l 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 grand-
father and his father. Then Jules found that
1 82 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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 beau-
tiful and so strange.
Joyce flew here and there, helping to dis-
tribute the gifts, feeling her heart grow warmer
CHRISTMAS. 183
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 chil-
dren 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 accordeon 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.
184 THE GATE OF THE GIANT SCISSORS.
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."
" 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
CHRISTMAS.
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 vvalk up the hill
from the little village that lies just across the
river Loire, from the old town of Tours,
THE END.
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Kentucky," and " The Great Scissors," put into a single
volume.
THE LITTLE COLONEL'S HOUSE PARTY
(Trade Mark)
THE LITTLE COLONEL'S HOLIDAYS
(Trade Mark)
THE LITTLE COLONEL'S HERO
(Trade Mark)
THE LITTLE COLONEL AT BOARDING-
(Trade Mark)
SCHOOL
THE LITTLE COLONEL IN ARIZONA
(Trade Mark)
THE LITTLE COLONEL'S CHRISTMAS
(Trade Mark;
VACATION
THE LITTLE COLONEL, MAID OF HONOR
(Trade Mark)
THE LITTLE COLONEL'S KNIGHT COMES
(Trade Mark)
RIDING
MARY WARE: THE LITTLE COLONEL'S
CHUM (Trade Mark)
MARY WARE IN TEXAS
These eleven volumes, boxed as an eleven-volume set $16.50
A 1
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY'S
THE LITTLE COLONEL
(Trade Mark)
TWO LITTLE KNIGHTS OF KENTUCKY
THE GIANT SCISSORS
BIG BROTHER
Special Holiday Editions
Each one volume, cloth decorative, small quarto, $1.25
New plates, handsomely illustrated with eight full-page
drawings in color, and many marginal sketches.
IN THE DESERT OF WAITING: THE LEGEND
OF CAMELBACK MOUNTAIN.
THE THREE WEAVERS: A FAIRY TALE FOR
FATHERS AND MOTHERS AS WELL, AS FOR THEIR
DAUGHTERS.
KEEPING TRYST
THE LEGEND OF THE BLEEDING HEART
THE RESCUE OF PRINCESS WINSOME:
A FAIRY PLAY FOR OLD AND YOUNG.
THE JESTER'S SWORD
Each one volume, tall 16mo, cloth decorative . $0.50
Paper boards .35
There has been a constant demand for publication in
separate form of these six stories, which were originally
included in six of the " Little Colonel " books.
JOEL: A BOY OF GALILEE: BY ANNIE FELLOWS
JOHNSTON. Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman.
New illustrated edition, uniform with the Little Colonel
Books, 1 vol., large 12ino, cloth decorative . $1.50
A story of the time of Christ, which is one of the author's
best-known books.
A 2
BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
THE LITTLE COLONEL GOOD TIMES
BOOK
Uniform in size with the Little Colonel Series . $1 .50
Bound in white kid (morocco) and gold . . 3.00
Cover design and decorations by Peter Verberg.
Published in response to many inquiries from readers
of the Little Colonel books as to where they could obtain
a " Good Times Book " such as Betty kept.
THE LITTLE COLONEL DOLL BOOK
Large quarto, boards $1.50
A series of "Little Colonel' dolls, -- not only the
Little Colonel herself, but Betty and Kitty and Mary
Ware, yes, and Rob, Phil, and many another of the well-
loved characters, - - even Mom' Beck herself. There are
many of them and each has several changes of costume, so
that the happy group can be appropriately clad for the
rehearsal of any scene or incident in the series.
The large, cumbersome sheets of most of the so-called
doll " books ' have been discarded, and instead each
character, each costume, occupies a sheet by itself, the
dolls and costumes being cut out only as they are wanted.
ASA HOLMES: OR, AT THE CROSS-ROADS. A sketch
of Country Life and Country Humor. By ANNIE
FELLOWS JOHNSTON.
With a frontispiece by Ernest Fosbery.
Large 16mo, cloth, gilt top $1.00
' Asa Holmes; or, At the Cross-Roads ' is the most
delightful, most sympathetic and wholesome book that
has been published in a long while." -Boston Times.
THE RIVAL CAMPERS; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF
HENRY BURNS. By RUEL PERLEY SMITH.
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . $1.50
A story of a party of typical American lads, courageous,
alert, and athletic, who spend a summer camping on an
island off the Maine coast.
THE RIVAL CAMPERS AFLOAT; OR, THE
PRIZE YACHT VIKING. By RUEL PERLEY SMITH.
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . $1.50
This book is a continuation of the adventures of " The
Rival Campers " on their prize yacht Viking.
A. 3
L. C. PAGE V COMPANY'S
THE RIVAL CAMPERS ASHORE
By RUEL PERLEY SMITH.
Square 12mo, cloth decorative, illustrated . . SI. 50
" As interesting ashore as when afloat." - The Interior.
THE RIVAL CAMPERS AMONG THE
OYSTER PIRATES; OR, JACK HARVEY'S ADVEN-
TURES. By RUEL PERLEY SMITH. Illustrated. $1.50
" Just the type of book which is most popular with lads
who are in their early teens." - The Philadelphia Item.
PRISONERS OF FORTUNE: A Tale of the Mas-
sachusetts Bay Colony By RUEL PERLEY SMITH.
Cloth decorative, with a colored frontispiece . $1.50
" There is an atmosphere of old New England in the
book, the humor of the born raconteur about the hero,
who tells his story with the gravity of a preacher, but with
a solemn humor that is irresistible." - Courier- Journal.
FAMOUS CAVALRY LEADERS. By CHARLES H.
L. JOHNSTON.
Large 12mo, With 24 illustrations . . . $1.50
Biographical sketches, with interesting anecdotes and
reminiscences of the heroes of history who were leaders
of cavalry.
" More of such books should be written, books that
acquaint young readers with historical personages in a
pleasant informal way." - N. Y . Sun.
FAMOUS INDIAN CHIEFS. By CHARLES H. L.
JOHNSTON.
Large 12mo, illustrated .... $1.50
In this book Mr. Johnston gives interesting sketches of
the Indian braves who have figured with prominence in
the history of our own land, including Powhatan, the
Indian Caesar; Massasoit, the friend of the Puritans;
Pontiac, the red Napoleon; Tecumser , the famous war
chief of the Shawnees; Sitting Bull, the famous war chief
of the Sioux; Geronimo, the renovoieO Apacne Chief, etc.,
etc.
A 4
