had been left from supper. He broke off great pieces of each in eager
haste. Then he found a crock of goat's milk. Lifting it to his mouth, he
drank with big, quick gulps until he had to stop for breath. Just as
he was about to raise it to his lips again, some instinct of danger made
him look up. There in the doorway stood Brossard, bigger and darker and
more threatening than he had ever seemed before.

[Illustration: "IT FELL TO THE FLOOR WITH A CRASH."]

A frightened little gasp was all that the child had strength to give. He
turned so sick and faint that his nerveless fingers could no longer hold
the crock. It fell to the floor with a crash, and the milk spattered all
over the pantry. Jules was too terrified to utter a sound. It was
Brossard who made the outcry. Jules could only shut his eyes and crouch
down trembling, under the shelf. The next instant he was dragged out,
and Brossard's merciless strap fell again and again on the poor
shrinking little body, that writhed under the cruel blows.

Once more Jules dragged himself up-stairs to his cot, this time bruised
and sore, too exhausted for tears, too hopeless to think of possible
to-morrows.

Poor little prince in the clutches of the ogre! If only fairy tales
might be true! If only some gracious spirit of elfin lore might really
come at such a time with its magic wand of healing! Then there would be
no more little desolate hearts, no more grieved little faces with
undried tears upon them in all the earth. Over every threshold where a
child's wee feet had pattered in and found a home, it would hang its
guardian Scissors of Avenging, so that only those who belong to the
kingdom of loving hearts and gentle hands would ever dare to enter.