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 long,’ There!  Did you hear that, Solomon Greville?  I said a rhyme right off without waiting to make it up.  Then the scissors would leap down and cut the misunderstanding or trouble or whatever it is, and the gate would fly open, and there the brother and sister would meet each other.  All the unhappy years would be forgotten, and they’d take each other by the hand, just as they did when they were little children, Martin and Desire, and go into the old home together,—­on Christmas Day, in the morning.”

Joyce was half singing her words now, as she rocked the cat back and forth in her arms.  “And then the scissors would bring Jules a magnificent big tree, and he’d never be afraid of his uncle any more.  Oh, they’d all have such a happy time on Christmas Day, in the morning!”

Joyce had fully expected to be homesick all during the holidays; but now she was so absorbed in other people’s troubles, and her day-dreams to make everybody happy, that she forgot all about herself.  She fairly bubbled over with the peace and good-will of the approaching Christmas-tide, and rocked the cat back and forth in the pear-tree to the tune of a happy old-time carol.

A star or two twinkled out through the gloaming, and, looking up beyond them through the infinite stretches of space, Joyce thought of a verse that she and Jack had once learned together, one rainy Sunday at her Grandmother Ware’s, sitting on a little stool at the old lady’s feet: 

“Behold thou hast made the heaven and the earth by thy great power and outstretched arm, and there is nothing too hard for thee.” Her heart gave a bound at the thought.  Why should she be sitting there longing for fairy tales to be true, when the great Hand that had set the stars to swinging could bring anything to pass; could even open that long-closed gate and bring the brother and sister together again, and send happiness to little Jules?

Joyce lifted her eyes again and looked up, out past the stars.  “Oh, if you please, God,” she whispered, “for the little Christ-child’s sake.”

When Joyce went back to the house, Cousin Kate sat in the drawing-room alone.  Madame had gone over to see Jules, and did not return until long after dark.  Berthe had been in three times to ask monsieur if dinner should be served, before they heard her ring at the gate.  When she finally came, there was such an air of mystery about her that Joyce was puzzled.  All that next morning, too, the day before Christmas, it seemed to Joyce as if something unusual were afloat.  Everybody in the house was acting strangely.