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CHAPTER IX
AN ADVENTURE IN THE BOIS

Jeanne and Pierrot were walking through the Bois de Boulogne (bwä´ dẽ bo͞o´-lōn´). That is a beautiful wood in Paris where children and grown people play and walk and go boating on silvery lakes.

Jeanne and Pierrot walked in the Bois (bwä), hand in hand. Pierrot was not crying any more, though it had taken Jeanne a long time to soothe him. She told him of the many stories she would make up. She told him of the many fine adventures he would have as the hero of these stories.

Jeanne now had a story in her mind. And she was taking Pierrot to a quiet spot where she could tell him about it.

"Sit here beside me, Pierrot," she said at last.

They had found a sylvan dell that might have been in the heart of fairy-land, instead of in the heart of a big city like Paris.

"Now, listen, Pierrot," said Jeanne. "I am going to tell you a very fine story. You and I shall be the actors in it. I shall be Joan of Arc and you shall be my knight.

"You know that Joan of Arc was only a little girl when she heard the call to save her country. She rode a big horse at the head of an army.

"She marched against the enemy with a sword in her hand. But my story says that without her brave knight she could not have won the battle."

Pierrot's shirt puffed out. His little clown cap went up in the air – puff! – and came down again on his head. He was very proud indeed. Jeanne was pleased because she had made him happy.

"Now see! We shall begin our story and I am hearing the call."

Jeanne stood; but first she picked up a long stick from the ground. The stick turned into a sword – a glittering sword.

Jeanne was dressed in shining steel armor. Pierrot's tiny clown suit changed to a coat of mail. They were ready for the battle.

"Forward, my brave men of France," called Joan of Arc. And the little puppet saluted Jeanne. But Jeanne cried, "My horse! Where is my horse?"

A large statue appeared before them. It was the iron statue of a horse. It was twice the size of a real horse.

Jeanne tried to mount. She could not. She was too small. The horse was too high. But Pierrot mounted. With a graceful leap, he was upon the charger's back. Then down he flew and offered Jeanne his hand. Up flew the puppet, and Jeanne flew with him.

They sat upon the iron charger. Slowly he moved his joints, and then off, off he galloped with the little girl and the puppet.

All the time Jeanne was brandishing her sword. She was Joan of Arc and she was riding at the head of her army of France as Joan of Arc had done long, long ago.

"Wait, wait!" called a voice. A policeman was running after them through the Bois. "Stop! You have stolen a statue from the park. Bring back the iron horse!"

He was so little – that policeman – and the horse was so big that they did not mind him.

"He is only a policeman," said Jeanne to Pierrot. "He is always clubbed and kicked in the Guignol plays."

Pierrot laughed, and pop! – part of his armor burst!

"Oh, he is a wicked, wicked policeman," said Jeanne. "The children always hate him in the Guignol plays."

So away from the policeman they galloped.

But wait! Look! The policeman has grown, and he is now as tall as the horse! The club he carries has grown, too, and he clubs the iron horse. It makes a terrible noise, and the horse stops.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

"Wake up, little one!" says a gruff voice.

Jeanne opens her eyes and looks into the face of a policeman standing over her in the park. She has been asleep on the bench, with the little puppet Pierrot in her arms.

It is very dark in the park. It is night.

"Come," says the policeman. "Tell me where you live, little one."

Oh, the terrible policeman of the Guignol plays! Jeanne remembers how the children hate him, and she tries to run away.

But the policeman catches hold of her arm. It seems to Jeanne that his face is kind.

"Come, little one! Do not be afraid of me. I am the friend of the children. Tell me where you live and let me take you home," he says.

It was very dark in the park, but as they walked through the city streets, the lights made everything as bright as day.

Jeanne and the policeman and Pierrot came to the door of Auntie Sue's Shop. When the policeman handed Jeanne to Auntie Sue, the little girl could not help wondering why the children hate the policeman in the Guignol plays.

"Oh, Jeanne, my little one, ma chérie! Where have you been?" cried Auntie Sue.

It was quite evident that poor Auntie Sue had been worried ill. She caught the little dreamer and the puppet into her arms. She hugged them so tightly that Jeanne thought they would both be crushed. Jeanne was more concerned about Pierrot than about herself, though, for he was so little and frail.

Then Auntie put Jeanne to bed with Pierrot beside her, his face peering out from the covers.

And when Auntie had left them alone, Jeanne whispered to her little puppet friend, "Pierrot, the policeman shall not be bad in our stories! He is good, you see. In our stories you shall be the hero. The policeman shall be a kind man who loves children. Guignol shall be the wicked one, and you shall kick and beat him."

Pierrot did not move. Jeanne was awake now, you see. And puppets do not move by themselves when children are awake.

But Jeanne thought she saw his eyes twinkle and his nose wriggle just the least bit, before she popped off to sleep.

CHAPTER X
THE LIVE PUPPET

After Auntie left Jeanne and the Pierrot asleep in bed that night, she went into her own room and sat down by her little table. She shaded her eyes with her hands and thought very hard.

Poor Auntie Sue was unhappy. There was a little voice inside of her that never would be still. This voice talked and talked and talked. No one could hear it but Auntie Sue. It was not a person, nor was it a fairy. Yet it was there, and it talked to Auntie Sue.

People call that voice Conscience. You see, many other people beside Auntie Sue have heard that voice. He is known to everyone who does wrong.

And Auntie Sue had done great wrong. Not knowing it, she had been doing a great wrong all these years she had kept Jeanne from her rightful home. And now that voice called Conscience was tormenting her.

To-night he was talking more loudly and more fiercely than he had ever talked before. As Auntie Sue sat before her little table, he did not leave her a moment's peace.

"You see what has happened," he said inside of Auntie Sue. "You see what you have done by keeping Jeanne from Madame Villard. She is starved for play.

"You have made her a poor little girl who has to work. If she lived in the lovely apartment house with her grandmother, she could play and play and play."

Suzanne clapped her hands over her ears to stop the voice. But Conscience came from her heart and did not need her ears to hear him.

He went right on, "What would that soldier say? What would the old man say? What would the grandmother say? And Major d'Artrot?"

"Oh, Major d'Artrot, my good, my honest friend!" sobbed Suzanne.

She thought of her only friend in all the world. She would never dare to confess to him what she had done!

She opened her drawer and looked at the picture in the locket. She read again the name and address which had been pinned to the baby's skirt so many years ago: "Madame Villard. Avenue Champs Elysées."

The face of Jeanne's father looked back at her. It seemed to her that his eyes were accusing her.

"You have kept her from her rightful home and from the pleasures of childhood," went on the voice. And the face in the locket seemed to agree with the voice.

"To-night the child stayed in the park with a puppet – the only play toy she has ever had. She fell asleep in front of the Guignol, where happy children go to clap and laugh. But you give Jeanne no time for play and laughter."

It was all true. But Suzanne knew that if Jeanne stopped showing the clothes she made, her audience would cease to be interested. If she did not draw her audience, she could not sell the clothes. And if she did not sell the clothes, she could not support Jeanne.

It was all quite terrible for Auntie Sue. And she dared not mention it to a soul. Nobody knew that Jeanne did not belong to her. Nobody knew Jeanne's story, not even the Major.

CHAPTER XI
LITTLE SPOILED MARGOT

"Grandmother! Grandmother! Home again! How glad I am!"

Little Margot threw herself into Madame Villard's arms, and the old lady hugged her close.

"Yes, my little Margot. Grandmother comes back for one splendid occasion!"

"Ah, my birthday," smiled Margot.

And then Grandmother and Margot planned for that birthday. It was strange how Margot did not like so many things.

When Grandmother mentioned a theater party, the little girl shook her dark head.

"No, it is not what I like," she said.

Then Grandmother suggested a trip to the zoo with a party of girls and boys.

"No, I do not like the zoo!" Margot pouted.

"A Guignol party, chérie?" asked Grandmother.

"Ah, no! They are so stupid!" complained Margot.

And Grandmother smiled and shook her head.

"My Margot is a little bit spoiled, perhaps," she observed.

Margot was not a little bit, but a great big bit spoiled. Grandmother and Mother had both spoiled her, from the day she was born.

Mother was nearly always with Father and Margot saw little of her. When they were together Mother would kiss and hug a great deal and sometimes she would cry. There were always gifts in Mother's room for Margot.

And when Mother brought her into Father's room, he, too, would pet and caress her and give her toys or candy. Poor, helpless Father! He loved to see his little girl. It made his dull eyes brighten when she came into the room.

He would say to Mother after Margot had left, "Has the sun gone under a cloud, Marie? It seems darker to me."

You see, he felt sunshine while his little daughter was there.

But the nurse would not allow frequent visits. Ah, Father might never be allowed to forget that bitter war!

So Grandmother played guardian to Margot. And a loving and indulgent guardian was she!

Margot could play from morning until night if she wanted to, except, of course, for school hours.

The nursery was filled with costly toys. They did not interest little Margot any more. There were so many of them.

In fact, little spoiled Margot was not interested in anything, because she had too much.

"Ah, well, chérie," said Grandmother, "you will think of something that Grandmother can do for your birthday. But to-morrow we shall go to buy the little party frock which I promised you."

Frocks were of no more interest to Margot than toys. She had too many of those, also. So she hardly listened to Grandmother's last remark.

"I am going to take you to a shop where a little girl shows clothes to the people who come to buy – a real little model. You might call her a live puppet. My chérie will enjoy that, will she not?" asked Grandmother eagerly, hoping to interest the child in a new pleasure.

Evidently the idea did bring with it something new and exciting to Margot.

For she turned and asked, "And does this little girl really walk about and pose, as people do on the stage?"

"Yes, chérie. So I hear," answered Madame Villard.

"A live puppet!"

Margot clapped her hands, and Grandmother was pleased to see her joy.

Then her face fell, she turned to Grandmother and said slowly, "Oh, what a lucky little girl she is!"