The Gate of the Giant Scissors

  CHAPTER IX.

  A GREAT DISCOVERY.

  "Only two more nights till Christmas eve, two more nights, two morenights," sang Joyce to Jules in a sort of chant. She was sitting besidehis bed with a box in her lap, full of little dolls, which she wasdressing. Every day since his accident she had been allowed to make himtwo visits,--one in the morning, and one in the afternoon. They helpedwonderfully in shortening the long, tedious days for Jules. True, MadameGreville came often with broths and jellies, Cousin Kate made flyingvisits to leave rare hothouse grapes and big bunches of violets;Clotilde hung over him with motherly tenderness, and his uncle lookedinto the room many times a day to see that he wanted nothing.

  Jules's famished little heart drank in all this unusual kindness andattention as greedily as the parched earth drinks in the rain. Still,he would have passed many a long, restless hour, had it not been forJoyce's visits.

  She brought over a photograph of the house at home, with the familyseated in a group on the front porch. Jules held it close while sheintroduced each one of them. By the time he had heard all aboutHolland's getting lost the day the circus came to town, and Jack'staking the prize in a skating contest, and Mary's setting her apron onfire, and the baby's sweet little ways when he said his prayers, orplayed peek-a-boo, he felt very well acquainted with the entire Warefamily. Afterward, when Joyce had gone, he felt his loneliness more thanever. He lay there, trying to imagine how it must feel to have a motherand sisters and brothers all as fond of each other as Joyce's were, andto live in the midst of such good times as always went on in the littlebrown house.

  Monsieur Ciseaux, sitting by his fire with the door open between the tworooms, listened to Joyce's merry chatter with almost as much interest asJules. He would have been ashamed to admit how eagerly he listened forher step on the stairs every day, or what longings wakened in hislonely old heart, when he sat by his loveless fireside after she hadgone home, and there was no more sound of children's voices in thenext room.

  There had been good times in the old Ciseaux house also, once, and twolittle brothers and a sister had played in that very room; but they hadgrown up long ago, and the ogre of selfishness and misunderstanding hadstolen in and killed all their happiness. Ah, well, there was much thatthe world would never know about that misunderstanding. There was muchto forgive and forget on both sides.

  Joyce had a different story for each visit. To-day she had just finishedtelling Jules the fairy tale of which he never tired, the tale of thegiant scissors.

  "I never look at those scissors over the gate without thinking of you,"said Jules, "and the night when you played that I was the Prince, andyou came to rescue me."

  "I wish I could play scissors again, and rescue somebody else that Iknow," answered Joyce. "I'd take poor old Number Thirty-one away fromthe home of the Little Sisters of the Poor."

  "What's Number Thirty-one?" asked Jules. "You never told me about that."

  "Didn't I?" asked Joyce, in surprise. "She is a lonely old woman thatthe sisters take care of. I have talked about her so often, and writtenhome so much, that I thought I had told everybody. I can hardly keepfrom crying whenever I think of her. Marie and I stop every day we gointo town and take her flowers. I have been there four times since myfirst visit with madame. Sometimes she tells me things that happenedwhen she was a little girl here in France, but she talks to me oftenestin English about the time when she lived in America. I can hardlyimagine that she was ever as young as I am, and that she romped with herbrothers as I did with Jack."

  "Tell some of the things that she told you," urged Jules; so Joyce beganrepeating all that she knew about Number Thirty-one.

  It was a pathetic little tale that brought tears to Jules's eyes, and adull pain to the heart of the old man who listened in the next room. "Iwish I were rich," exclaimed Joyce, impulsively, as she finished. "Iwish I had a beautiful big home, and I would adopt her for mygrandmother. She should have a great lovely room, where the sun shinesin all day long, and it should be furnished in rose-color like the onethat she had when she was a girl. I'd dress her in gray satin and softwhite lace. She has the prettiest silvery hair, and beautiful dark eyes.She would make a lovely grandmother. And I would have a maid to wait onher, and there'd be mignonette always growing in boxes on thewindow-sill. Every time I came back from town, I'd bring her a presentjust for a nice little surprise; and I'd read to her, and sing to her,and make her feel that she belonged to somebody, so that she'd be happyall the rest of her days.

  "Yesterday while I was there she was holding a little cut glassvinaigrette. It had a big D engraved on the silver top. She said that itwas the only thing that she had left except her wedding ring, and thatit was to be Sister Denisa's when she was gone. The D stands for boththeir names. Hers is Desire. She said the vinaigrette was too preciousto part with as long as she lives, because her oldest brother gave itto her on her twelfth birthday, when she was exactly as old as I am.Isn't Desire a pretty name?"

  "Mademoiselle," called Monsieur Ciseaux from the next room,"mademoiselle, will you come--will you tell me--what name was that?Desire, did you say?"

  There was something so strange in the way he called that name Desire,almost like a cry, that Joyce sprang up, startled, and ran into the nextroom. She had never ventured inside before.

  "Tell me again what you were telling Jules," said the old man."Seventy-three years, did you say? And how long has she been backin France?"

  Joyce began to answer his rapid questions, but stopped with a frightenedcry as her glance fell on a large portrait hanging over the mantel."There she is!" she cried, excitedly dancing up and down as she pointedto the portrait. "There she is! That's Number Thirty-one, her veryown self."

  "You are mistaken!" cried the old man, attempting to rise from hischair, but trembling so that he could scarcely pull himself up on hisfeet. "That is a picture of my mother, and Desire is dead; long dead."

  "'THAT'S NUMBER THIRTY-ONE.'"]

  "But it is _exactly_ like Number Thirty-one,--I mean Madame Desire,"persisted Joyce.

  Monsieur looked at her wildly from under his shaggy brows, and then,turning away, began to pace up and down the room. "I had a sister once,"he began. "She would have been seventy-three this month, and her namewas Desire."

  Joyce stood motionless in the middle of the room, wondering what wascoming next. Suddenly turning with a violence that made her start, hecried, "No, I never can forgive! She has been dead to me nearly alifetime. Why did you tell me this, child? Out of my sight! What is itto me if she is homeless and alone? Go! Go!"

  He waved his hands so wildly in motioning her away, that Joyce ran outof the room and banged the door behind her.

  "What do you suppose is the matter with him?" asked Jules, in afrightened whisper, as they listened to his heavy tread, back and forth,back and forth, in the next room.

  Joyce shook her head. "I don't know for sure," she answered,hesitatingly, "but I believe that he is going crazy."

  Jules's eyes opened so wide that Joyce wished she had not frightenedhim. "Oh, you know that I didn't mean it," she said, reassuringly. Theheavy tread stopped, and the children looked at each other.

  "What can he be doing now?" Jules asked, anxiously.

  Joyce tiptoed across the room, and peeped through the keyhole. "He issitting down now, by the table, with his head on his arms. He looks asif he might be crying about something."

  "I wish he didn't feel bad," said Jules, with a swift rush of pity. "Hehas been so good to me ever since he sent Brossard away. Sometimes Ithink that he must feel as much alone in the world as I do, because allhis family are dead, too. Before I broke my leg I was making him alittle Christmas tree, so that he need not feel left out when we had thebig one. I was getting mistletoe for it when I fell. I can't finish itnow, but there's five pieces of candle on it, and I'll get Clotilde tolight them while the fete is going on, so that I'll not miss the bigtree so much. Oh, nobody knows how much I want to go to that fete!Sometimes it seems more than I can bear to h
ave to stay away."

  "Where is your tree?" asked Joyce. "May I see it?"

  Jules pointed to the closet. "It's in there," he said, proudly. "Itrimmed it with pieces that Marie swept up to burn. Oh, shut the door!Quick!" he cried, excitedly, as a step was heard in the hall. "I don'twant anybody to see it before the time comes."

  The step was Henri's. He had come to say that Marie was waiting to takemademoiselle home. Joyce was glad of the interruption. She could not sayanything in praise of the poor little tree, and she knew that Julesexpected her to. She felt relieved that Henri's presence made itimpossible for her to express any opinion.

  She bade Jules good-by gaily, but went home with such a sober littleface that Cousin Kate began to question her about her visit. Madame,sitting by the window with her embroidery-frame, heard the account also.Several times she looked significantly across at Cousin Kate, over thechild's head.

  "Joyce," said Cousin Kate, "you have had so little outdoor exercisesince Jules's accident that it would be a good thing for you to runaround in the garden awhile before dark."

  Joyce had not seen madame's glances, but she felt vaguely that CousinKate was making an excuse to get rid of her. She was disappointed, forshe thought that her account of monsieur's queer actions and Jules'slittle tree would have made a greater impression on her audience. Shewent out obediently, walking up and down the paths with her hands in herjacket pockets, and her red tam-o'shanter pulled down over her eyes. Thebig white cat followed her, ran on ahead, and then stopped, arching itsback as if waiting for her to stroke it. Taking no notice of it, Joyceturned aside to the pear-tree and climbed up among the highest branches.

  The cat rubbed against the tree, mewing and purring by turns, thensprang up in the tree after her. She took the warm, furry creature inher arms and began talking to it.

  "Oh, Solomon," she said, "what do you suppose is the matter over there?My poor old lady must be monsieur's sister, or she couldn't have lookedexactly like that picture, and he would not have acted so queerly. Whatdo you suppose it is that he can never forgive? Why did he call me inthere and then drive me out in such a crazy way, and tramp around theroom, and put his head down on his arms as if he were crying?"

  Solomon purred louder and closed his eyes.

  "Oh, you dear, comfortable old thing," exclaimed Joyce, giving the cat ashake. "Wake up and take some interest in what I am saying. I wish youwere as smart as Puss in Boots; then maybe you could find out what isthe matter. How I wish fairy tales could be true! I'd say 'Giantscissors, 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 offwithout waiting to make it up. Then the scissors would leap down andcut the misunderstanding or trouble or whatever it is, and the gatewould 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 bythe hand, just as they did when they were little children, Martin andDesire, and go into the old home together,--on Christmas Day, inthe morning."

  Joyce was half singing her words now, as she rocked the cat back andforth in her arms. "And then the scissors would bring Jules amagnificent 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 nowshe was so absorbed in other people's troubles, and her day-dreams tomake everybody happy, that she forgot all about herself. She fairlybubbled over with the peace and good-will of the approachingChristmas-tide, and rocked the cat back and forth in the pear-tree tothe tune of a happy old-time carol.

  A star or two twinkled out through the gloaming, and, looking up beyondthem through the infinite stretches of space, Joyce thought of a versethat she and Jack had once learned together, one rainy Sunday at herGrandmother 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 andoutstretched arm, and _there is nothing too hard for thee._" Her heartgave a bound at the thought. Why should she be sitting there longing forfairy tales to be true, when the great Hand that had set the stars toswinging could bring anything to pass; could even open that long-closedgate and bring the brother and sister together again, and send happinessto little Jules?

  Joyce lifted her eyes again and looked up, out past the stars. "Oh, ifyou please, God," she whispered, "for the little Christ-child's sake."

  When Joyce went back to the house, Cousin Kate sat in the drawing-roomalone. Madame had gone over to see Jules, and did not return until longafter dark. Berthe had been in three times to ask monsieur if dinnershould be served, before they heard her ring at the gate. When shefinally came, there was such an air of mystery about her that Joyce waspuzzled. All that next morning, too, the day before Christmas, it seemedto Joyce as if something unusual were afloat. Everybody in the house wasacting strangely.

  Madame and Cousin Kate did not come home to lunch. She had been toldthat she must not go to see Jules until afternoon, and the doors of theroom where the Christmas tree was kept had all been carefully locked.She thought that the morning never would pass. It was nearly threeo'clock when she started over to see Jules. To her great surprise, asshe ran lightly up the stairs to his room, she saw her Cousin Katehurrying across the upper hall, with a pile of rose-colored silkcurtains in her arms.

  Jules tried to raise himself up in bed as Joyce entered, forgetting allabout his broken leg in his eagerness to tell the news. "Oh, what do youthink!" he cried. "They said that I might be the one to tell you. She_is_ Uncle Martin's sister, the old woman you told about yesterday, andhe is going to bring her home to-morrow."

  Joyce sank into a chair with a little gasp at the suddenness of hisnews. She had not expected this beautiful ending of her day-dreams to bebrought about so soon, although she had hoped that it would be sometime.

  "How did it all happen?" she cried, with a beaming face. "Tell me aboutit! Quick!"

  "Yesterday afternoon madame came over soon after you left. She gave memy wine jelly, and then went into Uncle Martin's room, and talked andtalked for the longest time. After she had gone he did not eat anydinner, and I think that he must have sat up all night, for I heard himwalking around every time that I waked up. Very early this morning,madame came back again, and M. Greville was with her. They drove withUncle Martin to the Little Sisters of the Poor. I don't know whathappened out there, only that Aunt Desire is to be brought hometo-morrow.

  "Your Cousin Kate was with them when they came back, and they hadbrought all sorts of things with them from Tours. She is in there now,making Aunt Desire's room look like it did when she was a girl."

  "Oh, isn't it lovely!" exclaimed Joyce. "It is better than all thefairy tales that I have ever read or heard,--almost too good to betrue!" Just then Cousin Kate called her, and she ran across the hall.Standing in the doorway, she looked all around the freshly furnishedroom, that glowed with the same soft, warm pink that colors the heartof a shell.

  "How beautiful!" cried Joyce, glancing from the rose on thedressing-table to the soft curtains of the windows, which all openedtowards the morning sun. "What a change it will be from that big baredormitory with its rows of narrow little cots." She tiptoed around theroom, admiring everything, and smiling over the happiness in store forpoor old Number Thirty-one, when she should find herself in the midst ofsuch loveliness.

  Joyce's cup of pleasure was so full, that it brimmed over when theyturned to leave the room. Cousin Kate slipped an arm around her, andkissed her softly on the forehead.

  "You dear little fairy tale lover," she said. "Do you know that it isbecause of you that this desert has blossomed? If you had never made allthose visits to the Little Sisters of the Poor, and had never won oldMadame Desire's love and confidence by your sympathy, if you had nevertold Jules the story of the giant scissors, and wished so loud that youcould fly to her rescue, old monsieur would never have known that hissister is living. Even then, I doubt if he would have tak
en this step,and brought her back home to live, if your stories of your mother andthe children had not brought his own childhood back to him. He said thathe used to sit there hour after hour, and hear you talk of your life athome, until some of its warmth and love crept into his own frozen oldheart, and thawed out its selfishness and pride."

  Joyce lifted her radiant face, and looked towards the half openedwindow, as she caught the sound of chimes. Across the Loire came thedeep-toned voice of a cathedral bell, ringing for vespers.

  "Listen!" she cried. "Peace on earth,--good-will--oh, Cousin Kate! Itreally does seem to say it! My Christmas has begun the day before."