"It is better than any pumpkin head we ever made, and scary enough to throw old Brossard into a fit.

I can hardly wait until it is dark enough to go over." Meanwhile the short winter day drew on towards the close.

Jules, out in the field with the goats, walked back and forth, back and forth, trying to keep warm.

Brossard, who had gone five miles down the Paris road to bargain about some grain, sat comfortably in a little tobacco shop, with a pipe in his mouth and a glass and bottle on the table at his elbow.
Henri was at home, still scrubbing and cleaning.

The front of the great house was in order, with even the fires laid on all the hearths ready for lighting.