eft orders, strict
orders, for Jacques, Suzette's brother, not to do this, nor that, nor
the other--in fact, had forbidden so many things that poor little
Suzette knew not what was the thing he could do; nevertheless Jacques
insisted upon doing just as he pleased, and Suzette and he had a
quarrel. Suzette wished him to obey his grandmother; he called his
grandmother an old witch, and said Suzette was her cat, and that as for
voice and eyes, their cat had much finer ones. Then they had even worse
words, and she had pulled his hair, and he had banged the door, and said
he was going to drown himself; and he had come down to the pond, for she
had run after him, and she was sure--yes, positively sure--that her
brother was dead, and she should never see him again.

"But, Suzette," said Viola, "he may be hiding just to tease you."

"No, ma'm'selle, he has not wit enough for that; he has a tender heart,
and I was cruel to him, and of course being desolate from my unkindness,
he has effaced himself."-And then she burst out sobbing again.

"Oh, come, Viola," said I; "the child believes this to be true; let us
prove to her that it is not so. The pond is small; we will hunt high and
low for him. You take one bank, I will take the other, and between us
Jacques can not escape."

Aunt made a feeble expostulation about the train.

"The train, madame," said I, grandly, "can wait. When humanity demands
our time, there should be no thought of personal convenience. You see
this weeping girl, you hear what it is that causes her tears; how, then,
can you suggest to us the idea of evading responsibility?"

Then aunt feebly again murmured, "Dinner."

"Ah, then, ma chere tante, behold the immense luncheon Margot has
provided--good Margot, to whom we wish to render this service!" This was
from Viola; and all the while Suzette was sobbing.

"Adieu," I cried, tucking up my skirts, and running to the pond. Viola
followed me; but so lost was she in admiration of the water plants and
lilies, that had it not been for me she would have sat down and sketched
them whether Jacques drowned or not. I hurried her off, telling her the
child might be just at the last gasp, and we must hasten.

So Viola took one bank and I the other. Every other moment I shouted,
"Have you found him?"

"No-oo," came back to me.

"Neither have I," was my response.

I had a little ivory-handled riding-whip with me, and I began to beat
the bushes. Viola was now too f