Time goes on, and as the sun sinks lower, more and more children leave the park. The Guignol plays are over for the day. The men who make them are packing to go.

Now everyone is gone but Jeanne. Jeanne and the Pierrot are alone. The little girl goes up to the puppet.

"They have forgotten you, Pierrot," she says softly, "but maybe they do not care."

Then Jeanne sits down on a bench with Pierrot in her arms.

"But come, come. You must not mind, Pierrot, if they do not love you.

You must not mind if they throw you aside and clap for Guignol. See! I love you very much. And even if you do wear shabby clothes and your paint is dull, that does not matter."

Jeanne rocks the Pierrot. It grows dark in the Champs Elysees.

"You must not mind. See, Pierrot!" she says. "See my dress and coat and cap? They are as shabby as yours. But I do not mind. You see, we are both the same. But I feel sorry because you do not dance more and because you are never the hero of the plays. Guignol is an awkward, clumsy fellow. It is you who are my hero, Pierrot."

As she talks, Jeanne's voice grows soft and drowsy. Jeanne's head nods, and her eyes close. A soft breeze begins to stir in the trees. Jeanne is asleep.

CHAPTER IX

AN ADVENTURE IN THE BOIS

Jeanne and Pierrot were walking through the Bois de Boulogne (bwa' d?

boo'-lon'). That is a beautiful wood in Paris where children and grown people play and walk and go boating on silvery lakes.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE BOIS DE BOULOGNE]

Jeanne and Pierrot walked in the Bois (bwa), hand in hand. Pierrot was not crying any more, though it had taken Jeanne a long time to soothe him. She told him of the many stories she would make up. She told him of the many fine adventures he would have as the hero of these stories.

Jeanne now had a story in her mind. And she was taking Pierrot to a quiet spot where she could tell him about it.

"Sit here beside me, Pierrot," she said at last.

They had found a sylvan dell that might have been in the heart of fairy-land, instead of in the heart of a big city like Paris.

"Now, listen, Pierrot," said Jeanne. "I am going to tell you a very fine story. You and I shall be the actors in it. I shall be Joan of Arc and you shall be my knight.

"You know that Joan of Arc was only a little girl when she heard the call to save her country. She rode a big horse at the head of an army.

"She marched against the enemy with a sword in her hand. But my story says that without her brave knight she could not have won the battle."

Pierrot's shirt puffed out. His little clown cap went up in the air--puff!--and came down again on his head. He was very proud indeed.

Jeanne was pleased because she had made him happy.

"Now see! We shall begin our story and I am hearing the call."

Jeanne stood; but first she picked up a long stick from the ground. The stick turned into a sword--a glittering sword.

Jeanne was dressed in shining steel armor. Pierrot's tiny clown suit changed to a coat of mail. They were ready for the battle.

"Forward, my brave men of France," called Joan of Arc. And the little puppet saluted Jeanne. But Jeanne cried, "My horse! Where is my horse?"

A large statue appeared before them. It was the iron statue of a horse.

It was twice the size of a real horse.

Jeanne tried to mount. She could not. She was too small. The horse was too high. But Pierrot mounted. With a graceful leap, he was upon the charger's back. Then down he flew and offered Jeanne his hand. Up flew the puppet, and Jeanne flew with him.

They sat upon the iron charger. Slowly he moved his joints, and then off, off he galloped with the little girl and the puppet.

All the time Jeanne was brandishing her sword. She was Joan of Arc and she was riding at the head of her army of France as Joan of Arc had done long, long ago.

"Wait, wait!" called a voice. A policeman was running after them through the Bois. "Stop! You have stolen a statue from the park. Bring back the iron horse!"

He was so little--that policeman--and the horse was so big that they did not mind him.

"He is only a policeman," said Jeanne to Pierrot. "He is always clubbed and kicked in the Guignol plays."

Pierrot laughed, and pop!--part of his armor burst!

"Oh, he is a wicked, wicked policeman," said Jeanne. "The children always hate him in the Guignol plays."

So away from the policeman they galloped.

But wait! Look! The policeman has grown, and he is now as tall as the horse! The club he carries has grown, too, and he clubs the iron horse.

It makes a terrible noise, and the horse stops.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

"Wake up, little one!" says a gruff voice.

Jeanne opens her eyes and looks into the face of a policeman standing over her in the park. She has been asleep on the bench, with the little puppet Pierrot in her arms.

It is very dark in the park. It is night.

"Come," says the policeman. "Tell me where you live, little one."

Oh, the terrible policeman of the Guignol plays! Jeanne remembers how the children hate him, and she tries to run away.

But the policeman catches hold of her arm. It seems to Jeanne that his face is kind.

"Come, little one! Do not be afraid of me. I am the friend of the children. Tell me where you live and let me take you home," he says.

It was very dark in the park, but as they walked through the city streets, the lights made everything as bright as day.

Jeanne and the policeman and Pierrot came to the door of Auntie Sue's Shop. When the policeman handed Jeanne to Auntie Sue, the little girl could not help wondering why the children hate the policeman in the Guignol plays.