sheet is Madame Greville's, and I've got to stuff that hair back in the
mattress to-night."

Monsieur gave them to her, still too astonished for words. He had never
before heard any child speak in such a way. This one seemed more like a
wild, uncanny little sprite than like any of the little girls he had
known heretofore. Before he could recover from his bewilderment, Joyce
had gone. "Good night, monsieur," she called, as the gate clanged
behind her.

CHAPTER VII.

OLD "NUMBER THIRTY-ONE."

No sooner had the gate closed upon the subdued little ghost, shorn now
of its terrors, than the old man strode forward to the place where
Brossard crouched in the straw, still crossing himself. This sudden
appearance of his master at such a time only added to Brossard's fright.
As for Jules, his knees shook until he could scarcely stand.

Henri, his curiosity lending him courage, cautiously opened the kitchen
door to peer out again. Emboldened by the silence, he flung the door
wide open, sending a broad stream of lamplight across the little group
in the barnyard. Without a word of greeting monsieur laid hold of the
trembling Jules and drew him nearer the door. Throwing open the child's
blouse, he examined the thin little shoulders, which shrank away as if
to dodge some expected blow.

"Go to my room," was all the old man said to him. Then he turned
fiercely towards Brossard. His angry tones reached Jules even after he
had mounted the stairs and closed the door. The child crept close to the
cheerful fire, and, crouching down on the rug, waited in a shiver of
nervousness for his uncle's step on the stair.

Meanwhile, Joyce, hurrying home all a-tingle with the excitement of her
adventure, wondered anxiously what would be the result of it. Under
cover of the dusk she slipped into the house unobserved. There was
barely time to dress for dinner. When she made her appearance monsieur
complimented her unusually red cheeks.

"Doubtless mademoiselle has had a fine promenade," he said.

"No," answered Joyce, with a blush that made them redder still, and that
caused madame to look at her so keenly that she felt those sharp eyes
must be reading her inmost thoughts. It disturbed her so that she upset
the salt, spilled a glass of water, and started to eat her soup with a
fork. She glanced in an embarrassed way from madame to monsieur, and
gave a nervous little laugh.

"The little mademoiselle has been in mischief again," remarked