ps, or last; but he acknowledged to
have written what was taken from the forehead first. This gave Agnes
the opportunity of reading each slip as she laid it in her lap, and
of announcing what she read as though it were written on the _next_
slip on her forehead.

One evening, when Master Lewis and the boys were talking of the
historical places they expected to visit, Agnes approached pleasantly
and said, "I have a conundrum for you."

"What is it?" asked Master Lewis.

"What was Joan of Arc made of?"

The boys were unable to guess.

"Suppose you tell us the story of Joan of Arc, Master Lewis," said
Wyllys. "Then, perhaps, we will be able to decide."

"Yes, please," said Agnes. "I should be delighted to hear the story."

"As we expect to visit Rouen, where the Maid of Orleans"--

"I think she was Maid of"--said Tommy Toby. "I will tell you after the
story."

Then Master Lewis related the story of the unfortunate shepherd girl.

STORY OF JOAN OF ARC.

"Jeanne d'Arc, known in history as the Maid of Orleans, was born in
the pleasant village of Domremi, near the borders of Lorraine. Her
parents were peasants, and Jeanne was their fifth child. Her education
was very limited, and she spent her early years as a shepherdess.

"Her soul was full of romance and poetic inspiration, and she led a
dreamy life among the flocks.

"The neighborhood of Domremi abounded in superstitions. Stories of
fairies and demons, beautiful legends of the Virgin, and the mediaeval
traditions of the saints were the themes of fireside hours, and Jeanne
drank deeply into the spirit of these wonderful myths.

"At the age of thirteen, she began to see visions and to dream
dreams. She fancied that angel voices whispered in her ear, and that
celestial lights flashed before her eyes.

"'At the age of thirteen,' she said, in her defence before the judge
who condemned her to death, 'I heard a voice in my father's garden at
Domremi, proceeding from the right on the side of the church,
accompanied with a great light. At first I was afraid, but presently
found that it was the voice of an angel, who has protected me ever
since, who has taught me to conduct myself properly, and to frequent
the church. It was Saint Michael.'

"She continued to hear strange voices. Her father said,--

"'Heed them not, Jeanne, it is but a fancy.'

"In this state of enthusiasm, she passed some five years among the
vine-clad hills of Domremi, her heart estranged