the
shady porch, making tea for some old neighbor who had dropped in to
spend the afternoon with her. Or she was asleep in her armchair by the
western window, her Bible in her lap and a smile on her sweet, kindly
face. How dreary and empty the days must seem to poor old Number
Thirty-one, with none of these things to brighten them.

Joyce could scarcely keep the tears out of her voice while she talked.
Later, when Sister Denisa came back, Joyce was softly humming a
lullaby, and Number Thirty-one, with a smile on her pitiful old face,
was sleeping like a little child.

"You will come again, dear mademoiselle," said Sister Denisa, as she
kissed the child good-by at the door. "You have brought a blessing, may
you carry one away as well!"

Joyce looked inquiringly at madame. "You may come whenever you like,"
was the answer. "Marie can bring you whenever you are in town."

Joyce was so quiet on the way home that madame feared the day had been
too fatiguing for her. "No," said Joyce, soberly. "I was only thinking
about poor old Number Thirty-one. I am sorrier for her than I was for
Jules. I used to think that there was nothing so sad as being a little
child without any father or mother, and having to live in an asylum.
I've often thought how lovely it would be to go around and find a
beautiful home for every little orphan in the world. But I believe, now,
that it is worse to be old that way. Old people can't play together, and
they haven't anything to look forward to, and it makes them so
miserable to remember all the things they have had and lost. If I had
enough money to adopt anybody, I would adopt some poor old grandfather
or grandmother and make'm happy all the rest of their days."

CHAPTER VIII.

CHRISTMAS PLANS AND AN ACCIDENT.

That night, when Marie came in to light the lamps and brush Joyce's hair
before dinner, she had some news to tell.

"Brossard has been sent away from the Ciseaux place," she said. "A new
man is coming to-morrow, and my friend, Clotilde Robard, has already
taken the position of housekeeper. She says that a very different life
has begun for little Monsieur Jules, and that in his fine new clothes
one could never recognize the little goatherd. He looks now like what he
is, a gentleman's son. He has the room next to monsieur's, all freshly
furnished, and after New Year a tutor is coming from Paris.

"But they say that it is pitiful to see how greatly the child fears his
uncle. He does