attention.

So when Joyce asked again, "What's the matter, Jules?" with so much
anxious sympathy in her face and voice, the child found himself blurting
out the truth.

"Brossard beat me again last night," he exclaimed. Then, in response to
her indignant exclamation, he poured out the whole story of his
ill-treatment. "See here!" he cried, in conclusion, unbuttoning his
blouse and baring his thin little shoulders. Great red welts lay across
them, and one arm was blue with a big mottled bruise.

Joyce shivered and closed her eyes an instant to shut out the sight that
brought the quick tears of sympathy.

"Oh, you poor little thing!" she cried. "I'm going to tell madame."

"No, don't!" begged Jules. "If Brossard ever found out that I had told
anybody, I believe that he would half kill me. He punishes me for the
least thing. I had no breakfast this morning because I dropped an old
plate and broke it."

"Do you mean to say," cried Joyce, "that you have been out here in the
field since sunrise without a bite to eat?"

Jules nodded.

"Then I'm going straight home to get you something." Before he could
answer she was darting over the fields like a little flying squirrel.