She thought that Jeanne was sad because, each day, she would have to take off those lovely clothes and put on her own simple little dresses.
It was only natural for Auntie to suppose this because Jeanne loved and caressed each new garment that Auntie made. She seemed always so happy to put them on.
But here is a secret: Jeanne never once thought about those clothes after she took them off. She liked her little gingham dresses just as well.
In fact, Jeanne would not have cared one bit what she wore, if only she could have played. Auntie Sue did not know that.
CHAPTER VII
MAJOR d'ARTROT
One morning Major d'Artrot (där-trō) received a letter from an old friend. It was a good friend: Madame Villard. Madame Villard wrote that she expected to spend a night at the Major's inn.
A tiny tumbled farm was Major d'Artrot's Inn. Before the war it had been his fine and prosperous home. But the Major had been obliged to turn his home into a hotel. For the war had made him a poor man.
