CHRISTMAS.



against the face of his stern old kinsman.
Not a word was said, but in that silent
caress every barrier of coldness and reserve
was forever broken down between them. So
the little Prince came into his kingdom,-the
kingdom of love and real home happiness.

  It is summer now, and far away in the little
brown house across the seas Joyce thinks of
her happy winter in France and the friends
that she found through the gate of the giant
scissors. And still those scissors hang over
the gate, and may be seen to this day, by any
one who takes the trouble to walk up the hill
from the little village that lies just across the
river Loire, from the old town of Tours.



THE END.



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