ound the big oak tree in the
Ancient Wood, called the "Fairies' Tree," which was the subject of many
a song and legend. But although she was as merry and light-hearted as
her other friends, yet she was more truly pious, for she loved to go to
mass and to hear the church bells echo through the quiet valley, and
often when her comrades were frolicking around the "Fairies' Tree" she
would steal off to place an offering on the altar of Our Lady of
Domremy. And too, her piety took a practical form as well, and when in
later years every act of hers was treasured up and repeated, those who
had known her in her early girlhood had many tales to tell of her sweet
help in times of sickness. It is said she was so gentle that birds ate
from her hand, and so brave that not the smallest animal was lost when
she guarded the flock.

"Her mother taught her all her store of learning; the Creed and Ave and
Pater Noster, spinning and sewing and household craft, while wood and
meadow, forest flowers and rushes by the river, bells summoning the soul
to think of God and the beloved saints from their altars, all had a
message for that responsive heart."

She herself has said, "I learned well to believe, and have been brought
up well and duly to do what a good child ought to do."

And too, her spirit responded throbbingly to the beauty and the mystery
and the wonder of that life which is unseen, as well as to all tales of
heroic deeds, and as she brooded on the sorrows of the Dauphin and of
her beloved France, her nature became more and more quick to receive
impressions which had no place in her routine of life, even though at
that time with great practical bravery she was helping the villagers
resist the invasions of bands of marauders. Then came a day when her
life was for ever set apart from her companions. With them she had been
running races in the meadow on this side of the Ancient Wood.
Fleet-footed and victorious, she flung herself down to rest a moment
when a boy's voice whispered in her ear, "Go home. Your mother wants
you."

True to her habit of obedience, Jeanne rose at once, and leaving the
merry company walked back through the valley to her home. But it was no
command from her mother which had come to her, and no boy's voice that
had spoken. In these simple words she tells the story: She says, "I was
thirteen at that time. It was mid-day in the Summer, when I heard the
Voice first. It was a Voice from God for my help and guidan