"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. Isn't there a field with a fence all around it, that you could
drive the goats into for a few hours?"
Jules shook his head.
"Well, I can't have my Thanksgiving spoiled for just a couple of old
goats," exclaimed Joyce. "You'll have to bring them along, and we'll
shut them up in the carriage-house. You come over in about an hour, and
I'll be at the side gate waiting for you."
Joyce had always been a general in her small way. She made her plans and
issued her orders both at home and at school, and the children accepted
her leadership as a matter of course. Even if Jules had not been willing
and anxious to go, it is doubtful if he could have mustered courage to
oppose the arrangements that she made in such a masterful way; but Jules
had not the slightest wish to object to anything whatsoever that Joyce
might propose.
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