“The oldest son, Mr. Martin Ciseaux, kept up the place for a long time, just as his father had done, but he never married.  All of a sudden he shut up the house, sent away all the servants but the two who take care of it, and went off to Algiers to live.  Five years ago he came back to bring his little grand-nephew, but nobody has seen him since that time.

“Clotilde says that an orphan asylum would have been a far better home for Jules (that is the boy’s name), for Brossard, the caretaker, is so mean to him.  Doesn’t that make you think of Prince Ethelried in the fairy tale?  ’Little and lorn; no fireside welcomed him and no lips gave him a friendly greeting.’

“Marie says that she has often seen Jules down in the field, back of his uncle’s house, tending the goats.  I hope that I may see him sometime.

“Oh, dear, the postman has come sooner than I expected.  He is talking down in the hall now, and if I do not post this letter now it will miss the evening train and be too late for the next mail steamer.  Tell mamma that I will answer all her questions about my lessons and clothes next week.  Oceans of love to everybody in the dear little brown house.”

Hastily scrawling her name, Joyce ran out into the hall with her letter.  “Anything for me?” she asked, anxiously, leaning over the banister to drop the letter into Marie’s hand.  “One, mademoiselle,” was the answer.  “But it has not a foreign stamp.”

“Oh, from Cousin Kate!” exclaimed Joyce, tearing it open as she went back to her room.  At the door she stooped to pick up a piece of paper that had dropped from the envelope.  It crackled stiffly as she unfolded it.

“Money!” she exclaimed in surprise.  “A whole twenty franc note.  What could Cousin Kate have sent it for?” The last page of the letter explained.

“I have just remembered that December is not very far off, and that whatever little Christmas gifts we send home should soon be started on their way.  Enclosed you will find twenty francs for your Christmas shopping.  It is not much, but we are too far away to send anything but the simplest little remembrances, things that will not be spoiled in the mail, and on which little or no duty need be paid.  You might buy one article each day, so that there will be some purpose in your walks into Tours.

“I am sorry that I can not be with you on Thanksgiving Day.  We will have to drop it from our calendar this year; not the thanksgiving itself, but the turkey and mince pie part.  Suppose you take a few francs to give yourself some little treat to mark the day.  I hope my dear little girl will not be homesick all by herself.  I never should have left just at this time if it had not been very necessary.”

Joyce smoothed out the bank-note and looked at it with sparkling eyes.  Twenty whole francs!  The same as four dollars!  All the money that she had ever had in her whole life put together would not have amounted to that much.  Dimes were scarce in the little brown house, and even pennies seldom found their way into the children’s hands when five pairs of little feet were always needing shoes, and five healthy appetites must be satisfied daily.