Sometimes she tells me things that happened
when she was a little girl here in France, but she talks to me oftenest
in English about the time when she lived in America. I can hardly
imagine that she was ever as young as I am, and that she romped with her
brothers as I did with Jack."
"Tell some of the things that she told you," urged Jules; so Joyce began
repeating all that she knew about Number Thirty-one.
It was a pathetic little tale that brought tears to Jules's eyes, and a
dull pain to the heart of the old man who listened in the next room. "I
wish I were rich," exclaimed Joyce, impulsively, as she finished. "I
wish I had a beautiful big home, and I would adopt her for my
grandmother. She should have a great lovely room, where the sun shines
in all day long, and it should be furnished in rose-color like the one
that she had when she was a girl. I'd dress her in gray satin and soft
white 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 on
her, and there'd be mignonette always growing in boxes on the
window-sill. Every time I came back from town, I'd bring her a present
just 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 happy
all the rest of her days.
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