e my eyes away.
Now I saw Joan step forward to meet the man, though I believed my eyes
must be deceiving me. Then I saw him stop. He threatened her with his
ax, as if to warn her not to come further, but she paid no heed, but
went steadily on, until she was right in front of him--right under his
ax. Then she stopped, and seemed to begin to talk with him. It made me
sick, yes, giddy, and everything swam around me, and I could not see
anything for a time--whether long or brief I do not know. When this
passed and I looked again, Joan was walking by the man's side toward the
village, holding him by his hand. The ax was in her other hand.

One by one the boys and girls crept out, and we stood there gazing,
open-mouthed, till those two entered the village and were hid from
sight. It was then that we named her the Brave.

We left the black flag there to continue its mournful office, for we had
other matter to think of now. We started for the village on a run,
to give warning, and get Joan out of her peril; though for one, after
seeing what I had seen, it seemed to me that while Joan had the ax the
man's chance was not the best of the two. When we arrived the danger
was past, the madman was in custody. All the people were flocking to the
little square in front of the church to talk and exclaim and wonder over
the event, and it even made the town forget the black news of the treaty
for two or three hours.

All the women kept hugging and kissing Joan, and praising her, and
crying, and the men patted her on the head and said they wished she
was a man, they would send her to the wars and never doubt but that she
would strike some blows that would be heard of. She had to tear herself
away and go and hide, this glory was so trying to her diffidence.

Of course the people began to ask us for the particulars. I was so
ashamed that I made an excuse to the first comer, and got privately away
and went back to the Fairy Tree, to get relief from the embarrassment of
those questionings. There I found Joan, but she was there to get relief
from the embarrassment of glory. One by one the others shirked the
inquirers and joined us in our refuge. Then we gathered around Joan, and
asked her how she had dared to do that thing. She was very modest about
it, and said:

"You make a great thing of it, but you mistake; it was not a great
matter. It was not as if I had been a stranger to the man. I know him,
and have known him long; and he knows me,