She had to begin again at the beginning, and speak very slowly, in order to make him understand that it was a feast day of some kind, and that he, Jules, was invited to some sort of a strange, wonderful entertainment in Monsieur Greville's garden.

"But Brossard is away from home," said Jules, "and there is no one to watch the goats, and keep them from straying down the road.

Still it would be just the same if he were home," he added, sadly.

"He would not let me go, I am sure.

I have never been out of sight of that roof since I first came here, except on errands to the village, when I had to run all the way back." He pointed to the peaked gables, adorned by the scissors of his crazy old ancestor.
"Brossard isn't your father," cried Joyce, indignantly, "nor your uncle, nor your cousin, nor anything else that has a right to shut you up that way.