onds seemed endless to Brossard. With a final
die-away moan Joyce glided towards the gate, delighted beyond measure
with her success; but her delight did not last long. Just as she turned
the corner of the house, some one standing in the shadow of it clutched
her. A strong arm was thrown around her, and a firm hand snatched the
lantern, and tore the sheet away from her face.

[Illustration: "BROSSARD, BEWARE! BEWARE!"]

It was Joyce's turn to be terrified. "Let me go!" she shrieked, in
English. With one desperate wrench she broke away, and by the light
of the grinning jack-o'-lantern saw who was her captor. She was face to
face with Monsieur Ciseaux.

"What does this mean?" he asked, severely. "Why do you come masquerading
here to frighten my servants in this manner?"

For an instant Joyce stood speechless. Her boasted courage had forsaken
her. It was only for an instant, however, for the rhyme that she had
made seemed to sound in her ears as distinctly as if Jules were
calling to her:

"Giant scissors, fearless friend,
Hasten, pray, thy aid to lend."

"I will be a fearless friend," she thought. Looking defiantly up into
the angry face she demanded: "Then why do you keep such servants? I came
because they needed to be frightened, and I'm glad you caught me, for I
told Jules that I should tell you about them as soon as you got home.
Brossard has starved and beaten him like a dog ever since he has been
here. I just hope that you will look at the stripes and bruises on his
poor little back. He begged me not to tell, for Brossard said you would
likely drive him away, as you did your brother and sister. But even if
you do, the neighbors say that an orphan asylum would be a far better
home for Jules than this has been. I hope you'll excuse me, monsieur, I
truly do, but I'm an American, and I can't stand by and keep still when
I see anybody being abused, even if I am a girl, and it isn't polite for
me to talk so to older people."

Joyce fired out the words as if they had been bullets, and so rapidly
that monsieur could scarcely follow her meaning. Then, having relieved
her mind, and fearing that maybe she had been rude in speaking so
forcibly to such an old gentleman, she very humbly begged his pardon.
Before he could recover from her rapid change in manner and her torrent
of words, she reached out her hand, saying, in the meekest of little
voices, "And will you please give me back those things, monsieur? The