When madame had explained that the little French children put out their shoes for Saint Noel to fill, instead of hanging stockings for Santa Claus, Joyce had been so charmed with the picture that she declared that she intended to follow the French custom herself, this year.
Now, even the picture looked different, since she had lost her joyful anticipations of Christmas.

"It is all No-el to me now," she sobbed.

"No tree, no Santa Claus, and now, since the money must go to pay for the goats' mischief, no presents for anybody in the dear little brown house at home,--not even mamma and the baby!" A big salty tear trickled down the side of Joyce's nose and splashed on her hand; then another one.

It was such a gloomy ending for her happy Thanksgiving Day.

One consoling thought came to her in time to stop the deluge that threatened.