The goats had whiled away the hours of their imprisonment by chewing up the cushions of the pony cart.
Jules turned pale with fright.

Knowing so little of the world, he judged all grown people by his knowledge of Henri and Brossard.

"Oh, what will they do to us ?" he gasped.
"Nothing at all," answered Joyce, bravely, although her heart beat twice as fast as usual as monsieur's accusing face rose up before her.
"It was all my fault," said Jules, ready to cry.

"What must I do ?" Joyce saw his distress, and with quick womanly tact recognized her duty as hostess.

It would never do to let this, his first Thanksgiving Day, be clouded by a single unhappy remembrance.