Little Jeanne of France

It was only natural for Auntie to suppose this because Jeanne loved and caressed each new garment that Auntie made. She seemed always so happy to put them on.

But here is a secret: Jeanne never once thought about those clothes after she took them off. She liked her little gingham dresses just as well.

In fact, Jeanne would not have cared one bit what she wore, if only she could have played. Auntie Sue did not know that.

CHAPTER VII

MAJOR d'ARTROT

One morning Major d'Artrot (där-trō) received a letter from an old friend. It was a good friend: Madame Villard. Madame Villard wrote that she expected to spend a night at the Major's inn.

A tiny tumbled farm was Major d'Artrot's Inn. Before the war it had been his fine and prosperous home. But the Major had been obliged to turn his home into a hotel. For the war had made him a poor man.

Fighting and scenes of horror had taken place on that peaceful farm. It had been occupied by the Germans. Later a terrible battle, one of the famous battles of the Argonne, had been fought there.

In the Major's garden stands the "Bloody Tree." The name is enough to tell what happened beneath its tall branches. A pole with wires still stands outside the Major's house. It is a telegraph pole raised by the American soldiers during the war. When the war was over, people came to see the Major's farm. People were curious, interested. There was the cellar where some poor souls had lived for weeks, listening to the booming of the battles in the woods near-by.

There were the German helmets captured during that last battle. There were many, many reasons why travelers were drawn to Major d'Artrot's farm. So Major d'Artrot turned his house into a hotel. One of his dearest friends was Madame Villard. She had helped make life easier for the Major and for his little brood.

During the long years following the death of her son, the Major had tried to help the stricken mother in her search for her lost granddaughter.

He had at last gathered for her the information that on that famous march an old peasant had been seen with a baby. Some one had seen him. But he had fallen on the weary march. They knew that.

But they did not know about the baby. Nobody could tell Madame Villard what had happened to the baby.

To-day the Major received Madame Villard's letter.

"Poor Madame!" he sighed, as he finished reading. "She does not give up hope, even through all these years."

And he thought of the little black figure which soon would step from the big, glossy car. She would take what comfort this poor family could provide. She would make happy the Major's children with gifts and toys. Her simple room would be generously paid for.

Then Madame would leave them, and to the near-by cemetery she would go. She would visit it, before starting the journey homeward to Paris and to her little Margot. Usually these visits of Madame Villard occurred after a tour of the country. Those tours took her into very many villages of France, and always for the same purpose – always for a possible sign, a tiny clue of her lost grandchild.

"Madame is here," called the Major's youngest. "The big bright car is outside. See! Madame is coming in."

A flock of eager youngsters gathered about the little lady. She kissed them all and then sat down in the coolness of the Major's hallway.

"I have traveled far," she told the Major, after they were settled comfortably. The Major's children were outside in their arbor opening wonderful packages.

The Major's children were not starved for play. True, Madame Villard was the only one who gave them shop toys. But their playthings were the brooks of the forest, the little farm animals, and sticks and stones.

Happy little d'Artrots! The Major did not worry because they were so poor. They had plenty of time for play.

"Through Verdun (vĕr-dŭn´) and Reims (rēmz) and the valley of the Meuse (mūz) I have traveled, dear Major d'Artrot," said Madame Villard. "My travels have now become a habit. There is surely no more hope. But on and on I go."

Major d'Artrot took her hand. "You must not say that, dear Madame," he answered. "There is always hope. And remember what joy you bring with your visits to us. We are always so glad to see you."

Madame thanked the Major and smiled.

"You are kind," she said. "I am always happy here with you and with your little dear ones. But this time my visit is to be short. I must leave for Paris to-morrow."

"So soon? That is a pity," the Major said.

"No," smiled Madame Villard. "My little Margot's birthday is coming soon. I have promised to return and see to a very important part of her celebration."

Madame Villard's eyes were now twinkling. "Can you guess what that very important part might be for a young miss and her birthday?"

"No, I am afraid I do not know," the Major said.

"Well, dear Major, the young miss is to have a party frock which Grandmother will give her. Now do you admit that is a most important part of any young lady's birthday celebration?"

"Yes," laughed Major d'Artrot, "very important and serious!"

Then Major d'Artrot pulled a little card out of his pocket and showed it to Madame.

"And since Mademoiselle (mȧd-mwȧ-zĕl´) Margot is to have a beautiful frock," he said, "why do you not take her to this old friend of mine who makes some of the loveliest frocks in Paris?"

Madame Villard read the card and then looked up at the Major questioningly.

He continued, "Suzanne Moreau lived in the village adjoining my farm before that village was destroyed by the enemy. She was a demure little dressmaker, and we knew her, my wife and I, as a kindly and lonely soul. Now as you see by this card, she has established a fashionable children's shop in your Paris. She is still a kindly, modest little woman. Her whole life is centered in that small niece of hers, Jeanne, who is called the 'Little Model.' Have you, perhaps, heard of her?"

Madame Villard nodded and looked again at the card.

"Auntie Sue's Shop," she read.

"Yes, indeed," she answered, "I have heard. But Margot and I have never been to the shop. Now since I know that they are friends of yours, we will surely go."

"Ah, you are kind," said the Major. "Auntie Sue deserves what little one can do to help. She is struggling alone and works very hard. I assure you, dear Madame Villard, that she is a most deserving and honest person."

"I believe that," smiled Madame, patting the Major's hand. "For to be a friend of yours, one is obliged to be deserving, honest, and kind."

CHAPTER VIII

THE GUIGNOL

Auntie Sue watched Jeanne as she skipped along to school. There could not possibly have been a happier skip. There could not possibly have been a happier little face than the one Auntie Sue had just kissed.

But yet as Jeanne turned the corner, Auntie Sue felt something sad inside of her.

Something said to her, "She is not really happy. Other children are happy, but Jeanne is not a child. She is a puppet – a puppet."

Suzanne rushed into the shop and tried to shut out those thoughts. And Jeanne skipped along to school.

Strange to say, Jeanne was thinking of puppets, too. But she was not thinking of them in the same way as was Auntie Sue.

She was thinking of the puppet show in the park. This puppet show is called a Guignol (gēn´-yōl) in France and the park where it is played is the Champs Elysées.

On nearly every corner of this beautiful park is a Guignol. Where there is no Guignol, there is a swing, or there are donkeys to ride or goat carts. Children are amused in Paris.

Jeanne often passed the park, but the amusements there were not for her. Jeanne had no time for Guignols and donkeys and goat carts. Jeanne had to go to school and from school to help Auntie in the shop.

The donkeys and swings and other amusements did not attract Jeanne so much. But oh, how she loved the Guignol! Very often she would stop outside the tall gates and watch for ever so short a time.

And when the children cried out, "There he is! There he is!" as they do when the wicked policeman pops up his puppet head, Jeanne would shout with them.

She loved those silly little puppets. She knew them all just by passing them each day.

There was Guignol, the bad boy. He was the one all the children loved. There was the policeman; and how they hated him! There was a funny lady with a wobbly hat, which was always knocked off; and her hair would all fall down.

There were others. There was a pale, very pale boy they called Pierrot (pyĕ-rō´) which, in French, means "clown."

Jeanne felt sorry for him because he was very old and paintless and torn. They never gave him a fresh coat of paint nor mended his suit. Poor Pierrot!

Jeanne knew those stories by heart, too. There was the story of the milkman. The bad boy drinks all the milkman's milk, while sending him on useless errands.

There was "The Mattress," the story in which Guignol has a dream right up on the tiny stage. Guignol, by the way, is just like our American Punch, a puppet of the Punch and Judy show.

There were a few other stories, but they were always the same. Jeanne thought of many new stories. She wondered why the children didn't grow tired of having the same stories all the time. Jeanne could make up others – and she did – while she skipped to school. She made them up while she walked about the shop showing Auntie's little models.

To-day was a very fine day. When school was over, Jeanne found a group of children in bright-colored clothes, watching the Guignol. How sweet and pretty they looked sitting under the trees in their dainty clothes!

Jeanne leaned against a tree. It was early yet. She might watch one Guignol play.

The play was "The Thief." Guignol gives a lady a rose. She puts it in her hair under the large, floppy hat.

Then Guignol dances for her. It is a clumsy dance, and he trips. The children laugh. He gallops clumsily off the stage. Pierrot tiptoes in from the other side.

Jeanne leans forward eagerly. Has Pierrot a new suit, new paint? No, he is shabby and pale. Ah, poor Pierrot! But he dances on tiptoes, so light is he.

His dance is elfin and gay. The lady watches. She is enchanted. Pierrot flits about the stage. Then, when his dance is at an end, he snatches the rose from the lady's hair. The lady's wobbly hat falls off. The lady's wobbly hair falls down. She is a sorry sight.

But who is that entering on the side? It is Guignol! He marches up to Pierrot, and there is a fight. The children scream. The children cry out. Pierrot is losing.

"Ah, Guignol! Guignol!" the children cry.

Their hero is winning.

Pierrot is thrown, and he lands far away from the stage. He lands on the ground, but the children do not mind.

They are all absorbed in Guignol – their Guignol. He is kissing the lady now.

But not for long are they happy. The alligator comes gliding upon the stage. There is another battle, and Guignol vanquishes the alligator.

Then indeed is Guignol a hero. The curtain falls to the pleased applause of the young audience.

Only Jeanne has noticed Pierrot. He lies in a heap on the ground. Nobody has come to fetch him.

Time goes on, and as the sun sinks lower, more and more children leave the park. The Guignol plays are over for the day. The men who make them are packing to go.

Now everyone is gone but Jeanne. Jeanne and the Pierrot are alone. The little girl goes up to the puppet.

"They have forgotten you, Pierrot," she says softly, "but maybe they do not care."

Then Jeanne sits down on a bench with Pierrot in her arms.

"But come, come. You must not mind, Pierrot, if they do not love you. You must not mind if they throw you aside and clap for Guignol. See! I love you very much. And even if you do wear shabby clothes and your paint is dull, that does not matter."

Jeanne rocks the Pierrot. It grows dark in the Champs Elysées.

"You must not mind. See, Pierrot!" she says. "See my dress and coat and cap? They are as shabby as yours. But I do not mind. You see, we are both the same. But I feel sorry because you do not dance more and because you are never the hero of the plays. Guignol is an awkward, clumsy fellow. It is you who are my hero, Pierrot."

As she talks, Jeanne's voice grows soft and drowsy. Jeanne's head nods, and her eyes close. A soft breeze begins to stir in the trees. Jeanne is asleep.

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!"

CHAPTER XII

AT AUNTIE SUE'S SHOP

"The people are waiting! Hurry, Jeanne!" called Auntie to the little girl at the back of the screen.

Jeanne sat with Pierrot before her, and both were dressed in splendor. The little girl had on a new frock of Auntie Sue's.

Her dark hair made a charming frame for her little oval face under the yellow poke bonnet, of old-fashioned shape. She wore an old-fashioned dress. It was yellow, with hand-painted flowers and a velvet bow.