She covered the top of the pasteboard head with it, and was so pleased
that she added long beard and fierce mustache to the already hideous
mouth. When that was all done she took it into a dark closet and lighted
the candle. The monster's head glared at her from the depth of the
closet, and she skipped back and forth in front of it, wringing her
hands in delight.
"Oh, if Jack could only see it! If he could only see it!" she kept
exclaiming. "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. Now he was scrubbing the back stairs. His brush bumped
noisily against the steps, and the sound of its scouring was nearly
drowned by the jerky tune which the old fellow sung through his nose as
he worked.
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