"Oh, what if it were Jack!" she kept repeating as she ran. "Dear old
Jack, beaten and starved, without anybody to love him or say a kind
word to him." The mere thought of such misfortune brought a sob.

In a very few minutes Jules saw her coming across the field again, more
slowly this time, for both hands were full, and without their aid she
had no way to steady the big hat that flapped forward into her eyes at
every step. Jules eyed the food ravenously. He had not known how weak
and hungry he was until then.

"It will not be like this when your uncle comes home," said Joyce, as
she watched the big mouthfuls disappear down the grateful little throat.
Jules shrugged his shoulders, answering tremulously, "Oh, yes, it will
be lots worse. Brossard says that my Uncle Martin has a terrible temper,
and that he turned his poor sister and my grandfather out of the house
one stormy might. Brossard says he shall tell him how troublesome I am,
and likely he will turn me out, too. Or, if he doesn't do that, they
will both whip me every day."

Joyce stamped her foot. "I don't believe it," she cried, indignantly.
"Brossard is only trying to scare you. Your uncle is an old man now, so
old that he must be sorry for the way he acted when he was young. Why,
of course he must be," she repeated, "or he never would have brought you
here when you were left a homeless baby. More than that, I believe he
will be angry when he finds how you have been treated. Maybe he will
send Brossard away when you tell him."

"I would not dare to tell him," said Jules, shrinking back at the bare
suggestion.