see it before the time comes."

The step was Henri's. He had come to say that Marie was waiting to take
mademoiselle home. Joyce was glad of the interruption. She could not say
anything in praise of the poor little tree, and she knew that Jules
expected her to. She felt relieved that Henri's presence made it
impossible for her to express any opinion.

She bade Jules good-by gaily, but went home with such a sober little
face that Cousin Kate began to question her about her visit. Madame,
sitting by the window with her embroidery-frame, heard the account also.
Several times she looked significantly across at Cousin Kate, over the
child's head.

"Joyce," said Cousin Kate, "you have had so little outdoor exercise
since Jules's accident that it would be a good thing for you to run
around in the garden awhile before dark."

Joyce had not seen madame's glances, but she felt vaguely that Cousin
Kate was making an excuse to get rid of her. She was disappointed, for
she thought that her account of monsieur's queer actions and Jules's
little tree would have made a greater impression on her audience. She
went out obediently, walking up and down the paths with her hands in her
jacket pockets, and her red tam-o'shanter pulled down over her eyes. The
big white cat followed her, ran on ahead, and then stopped, arching its
back as if waiting for her to stroke it. Taking no notice of it, Joyce
turned aside to the pear-tree and climbed up among the highest branches.

The cat rubbed against the tree, mewing and purring by turns, then
sprang up in the tree after her. She took the warm, furry creature in
her arms and began talking to it.

"Oh, Solomon," she said, "what do you suppose is the matter over there?
My poor old lady must be monsieur's sister, or she couldn't have looked
exactly like that picture, and he would not have acted so queerly. What
do you suppose it is that he can never forgive? Why did he call me in
there and then drive me out in such a crazy way, and tramp around the
room, and put his head down on his arms as if he were crying?"

Solomon purred louder and closed his eyes.

"Oh, you dear, comfortable old thing," exclaimed Joyce, giving the cat a
shake. "Wake up and take some interest in what I am saying. I wish you
were as smart as Puss in Boots; then maybe you could find out what is
the matter. How I wish fairy tales could be true! I'd say 'Giant
scissors, right the wrong and open the gate that's been shut so lo