One fine November morning in 1827, Old Albert Farly prepared his wagon and team for the long ride to Lachine and back. The hens clucked in the yard as the rising autumn sun burned orange through the cold fog hanging over the river, struggling to melt scattered patches of frost that had settled on the yellowing grass overnight. The clear slate-blue sky overhead promised a splendid day for travelling.
Old Albert whistled a merry tune as he pushed open the barn door that morning. The fields of Île Dupas had yielded up a rich harvest, and the year’s work had resulted in bounteous winter stores for him and his entire family. The grain had been milled, the hams smoked and the preserves laid up. It was time for a great feast to celebrate the family’s good fortune. And, to make the event even more festive, today he would travel all the way to the brewery in Lachine to buy two kegs of October beer.
He brought out his draught pair – the spirited all-black Percheron Tempête and her daughter Tonnerre, dark gray with a black mane and matching tail. Backing them into position to pull the wagon, he heard his wife calling, as she hurried toward him with several articles in her hands, “Albert! Don’t forget your great coat! And a muffler! And you must wear a touque or you’ll freeze that bald head of yours!” Albert, paying attention to the task at hand, managed only a loud grunt in reply. He attached the pole straps, and then hitched the traces to the palonnier, before turning to his wife, “Josette, it will be a beautiful day today. There is no need for all of this.”
“Albert,” she said quietly, in that particular way that defeated all hope of resistance, “You are 72 years old. You must take care of yourself, or you will catch your death. I insist or I will lay myself down in front of the horses and prevent you from leaving at all!” Albert, knowing full well she would do just that if provoked, put on the great coat, wrapped the muffler around his neck, and pulled the bright red touque down over his ears. “May I leave now Josette?” His wife smiled, kissed him on the nose and turned to go back to the house, laughing as she went.
Old Albert climbed onto the wagon and sat next to the basket of traveling provisions his good wife had packed for him, pausing for a moment to fill his pipe from his tobacco pouch. He lit the pipe, took hold of the reins, and with a call of “Allez, hue Tempête! Hue Tonnerre!” he set off on his journey.
At the end of the lane, he made a right turn onto the range road toward the farm of his oldest son, Young Albert. His chest swelled with contentment as he travelled the road through the fertile fields he and his sons had worked for so many years. He was proud to pass on such a fine seigneurie to them. And he was gratified to know that they too would prosper on his father’s island, as he had.
In only a few minutes, he came to the lane that led to Young Albert’s house. Making his way along the narrow path, he could see the smoke of the cooking fire curling from the chimney, and as he drew closer, the appetizing aroma of frying bacon nearly caused him to forget he had already eaten his breakfast. His son’s family, all thirteen of them, were up and about, and the farmstead bustled with activity as they finished their morning meal and prepared for the day. Young Albert greeted his father from the doorway, “Bonjour, Papa! Comment ça va?”
“Ça va bien,” Old Albert replied.
“What brings you out so early, and with your wagon?” the younger man continued.
Old Albert set the brake and descended, responding as he approached the door, “I am on my way to Lachine to fetch October beer. I came to see if you or one of the boys might accompany me.” His grandson Hyacinth appeared in the doorway and pushed his way through, running to greet his aging grandfather.
By this time, Hyacinth had grown into quite a fine young man – quick-witted, hardworking, and strong. He threw his arms around the old man’s shoulders and drew him close, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek. Then he turned back to his father. “May I go with Pepére to Lachine, Papa?” he asked. “I can drive the team for him, and make certain he returns safely.”
“Lachine is a long way off, Papa,” Young Albert observed.
“I have been to Lachine before!” retorted the old man, “Why not today? The weather is beautiful, and we should be home in time for supper tomorrow.” And so, the matter was resolved.
Hyacinth and Old Albert clambered up onto the footboard and sat side by side on the wooden bench. Hyacinth took the reins and expertly turned the wagon around in a tight semi-circle as his grandfather re-lit his pipe. With a sharp snap of the leather, they were off to Lachine.
Verse II
As they set out, Hyacinth turned to wave, calling, “Mama! Prepare extra supper for me tomorrow!” When they got to the bottom of the lane, they turned right and headed toward the stone bridge that carries the road over a narrow part of the river into Berthierville. In the center of town they met the old King’s Highway and, turning left, headed to Montréal.
The journey was uneventful, and they made good speed, passing through Lanoraie, Lavaltrie and St. Sulpice before arriving at Repentigny in time to eat their mid-day meal. After a short ride on the ferry to Pointe-aux-Trembles, they made their way along the Rue Notre Dame into the city, which was by that time teeming with noise and traffic and activity of every kind.
Hyacinth’s face beamed as he maneuvered the old wagon along the cobbled street. Although born and raised on a farm, Hyacinth loved the energy of the city, and enjoyed visiting whenever he could. And he was especially joyful to spend two days with his grandfather, who for his part appreciated the young man’s company on his errand.
The sun was low, casting long shadows by the time Hyacinth drew the wagon up to the door of the office at the Dawes Brewery in Lachine. Old Albert climbed down and strode inside. In short order the business was concluded, and Old Albert emerged with another man, who pointed to a large wood-framed building behind the office.
Albert climbed back up onto the wagon, and instructed Hyacinth to drive it around to the back of that building, where they met an enormous bearded man, to whom Albert handed a slip of paper. The bearded man disappeared into the warehouse, and soon returned with another man, each of them rolling a wooden barrel up a ramp, onto an elevated platform, and into the back of Old Albert’s wagon.
With the cargo safely secured under a tarpaulin, Hyacinth turned the wagon back onto the main road, heading north on their return journey. “I have a favorite place we can stop to have supper and pass the night before we start back for home tomorrow,” Old Albert told his grandson. “They always serve a hearty meal, and the accommodations are comfortable but not too expensive.”
Steering the wagon east toward the city, Hyacinth noticed a large wooden cross hard by the side of the road, painted deep red. He had seen it in the shadows as they passed by the spot earlier, giving it no thought. But as he saw it again on their return, standing blood red in the early-evening sun, it aroused his curiosity. “I wonder why that cross stands there?” he asked his grandfather, not expecting him to answer.
But answer he did. “It marks the spot of a terrible offense by an evil abomination,” Old Albert replied. “That cross marks the place where my grandmother was murdered.” Hyacinth’s jaw dropped in disbelief, and he let out a small gasp upon hearing the response. He’d had no idea there was a murder in the family. Questions filled his mind, but his grandfather said no more.
At that very moment, a gusty breeze began to blow upon their backs, and dark, low clouds moved in above them from the west, turning the sky angry and black. Soon after, as they entered the city, the gloomy sky opened up, releasing a sudden downpour of icy wind-driven rain. Fortunately, as it were, they were not far from their destination – the venerable Auberge leChiend’Or, where they would take their supper and spend the night.
Passing again the splendid Notre Dame Cathedral, they made the right turn into Place Jacques Cartier. Hyacinth immediately saw the large black sign, with its yellow-gilt profile of a sitting dog, and turned the wagon through the open archway into the courtyard that led to the stables. After paying the stable boy a little extra to ensure Tempête and Tonnerre were well treated, and fed oats instead of hay, they entered the inn, shaking off their coats and wringing the rain out of their touques.
There were already several guests in the tavern – a half dozen or so seated in front of a blazing fire upon which a fresh log had just been placed. An older gentleman wearing a threadbare military jacket was telling a story of his exploits against the Americans at the Battle of Québec those many years ago. Old Albert and Hyacinth sat down at a table apart from the others, ate their supper and secured a room for the night.
The group at the fireplace continued to regale one another with stories of past adventures, each a bit more fantastic and exciting than the last. Seeing that Albert and his young companion had completed their meal, the old soldier called out to them, “Mes amis! Come join us here and warm yourselves. You are still soaked through from the rain!” They happily took him up on the offer, crossed the room to the hearth and made the customary introductions.
Hyacinth pulled over a chair from a nearby table. Old Albert took a vacant place on the wooden settle, packed his pipe and lit it. The rest remained quiet. Apparently, it would be Albert’s turn to take up the evening’s entertainment.
Just then, a long, crackling thunderclap rolled to a booming crescendo directly overhead, briefly drowning out the howl of the storming wind and the beating of the rain against the roof. When the rumble of thunder had passed, Old Albert spoke, “So, I suppose as the most recent to join this fine group of fellow travelers, it falls upon me to tell the next tale, eh?”
“We have all taken our turn, good sir! Some more than others!” replied a well-dressed corpulent gentleman seated next to the old soldier, turning to the latter with a wide toothy grin and clapping him on the back. Hyacinthe was confident his grandfather would not shrink from the task. He knew from experience that Old Albert was a master raconteur and would certainly surpass any stories told so far.
“Well then, as you wish," Old Albert replied agreeably. "I will tell a tale of local history. It is a sad story that touched my family, and in the telling I will answer a question my young grandson asked me this very afternoon.” Drawing on his pipe again, he began.
Verse III
“Those of you who are familiar with this place may be acquainted with le croix rouge that stands alongside the highway to Lachine,” Old Albert suggested, surveying his audience. Several of the group nodded their heads, while Hyacinth, his interest instantly awoken, pulled his chair a bit closer. “You may have heard stories about it,” Old Albert continued. “You may think you know its history. Well, I am here now to tell you the real account, and I do not care if you believe it or not. I know the true history of that red cross.
“The truth of the matter was told to me in this very room nearly fifty years ago, by Monsieur Alphonse Bellehumeur when he was Commander of the city guard. At the time of the occurrences I am about to relate, he was Sergeant of the Guard and witnessed much of the affair with his own eyes. The rest he heard with his own ears when it was told to him by those who were present during the tragic events. He told me the true details that were left out of the official records and all but forgotten.
“The tale takes place in the time of the old French régime, before the English came. In those days there were only a few farms cut out of the woods south of the city walls, along the King’s Highway to Lachine. One of them was a rundown place owned by an elderly widower named Guillaume Lévesque. He was a very aged man, and his neighbors would often visit him, as he had no family in the area.
“Among those neighbors was my grandmother, Marie Bastien, who lived several arpents to the east with her second husband, Jean Favre, on a tidy farm that sloped gradually from the road all the way down to the river. Monsieur Favre was a conscientious man who, in addition to working his farm, was also employed as the jardinière responsible for maintaining the St. Joseph Orchard. They had two daughters who lived there with them – Josette, who was fourteen at the time, and her older sister Charlotte, who was sixteen.” He paused, adding with a glance toward his grandson, “The same age as you are now Hyacinth!”
“As I said,” Old Albert continued, “these neighbors, and others, would frequently visit with old Monsieur Lévesque, to keep him company and assist him with his needs when they could. One day, though, the old farmer was not at home when they called. Neither was he there the next day, nor the next. The authorities were notified and a search was conducted, but they could find no trace of the old man and he was never heard from again.
“Several weeks later, candlelight and the glow of a fire were seen in the old farmer’s cottage, and smoke rose once again from the chimney, causing the neighbors to believe the old man had returned. But when they went to visit him, they were met at the door not by Monsieur Lévesque, but rather by a rough stranger.
“‘What do you want?’ he barked.
“‘PardonMonsieur,’ the neighbors replied, ‘we thought Monsieur Lévesque had returned, and came to visit him.’
“‘He will not be returning,’ the stranger responded. ‘He’s gone to live with his daughter in Verchères. That’s where he wrote me a deed to this farm.’ The stranger retreated into the cottage and returned after a few minutes with a piece of paper. ‘See? Right there. That’s his signature.’ The paper was plain enough: Monsieur Lévesque had sold his farm to this Monsieur Jean-Baptiste Goyer. The visiting neighbors had no way of knowing the document was a forgery. So, they apologized for disturbing the man and returned to their homes.
“It was just at that time when the small troubles started – not anything that would alarm one right away – but a series of little things like a chicken missing from a hen house, or an old dog that did not return home one night. It was not until the howling started that the people of the area began to take the situation more seriously.
“Everyone heard it. Off in the woods, the long low bay of a wolf echoed through the silent forest night after night. It was not the chorus of a wolf pack that many of them had heard before. Rather, it was the solitary cry of a single lonely beast calling out in the darkness.
“The level of concern rose even more when two of Monsieur Tancrede’s spring lambs were found dead – mauled and half eaten by some ferocious animal. Yet there was no trace of the predator to be found, only the results of its attack.
“The habitants were justifiably alarmed. They notified the city guard, who made several attempts to locate and kill the offending creature. But each time they came away empty handed, unable to find even any tracks of the malicious beast in the muddy snow of the forest floor.
“Nevertheless, the howling in the night continued, as did the depredation of the local livestock. Monsieur Lavalier lost one of his sows and several piglets. After that, Monsieur Babin discovered the remains of his ram partly devoured in the corner of its pen.
“The following week, Monsieur Favre awoke to find one of his cows slaughtered in his barn – torn to pieces and with its entrails strewn about. It could not be overlooked that whatever vicious creature had done the horrible deed was able both to open the barn door to get at the cows, and to close it again upon departing. After that, people were afraid to go outside at all after dark, even to their own barns!
“Sergeant Bellehumeur and the city guard came out again and again, always with the same result – no sign of a wolf, no tracks, and nothing to show for their effort. So the local farmers took it upon themselves to protect their farms, standing armed guard in small groups. But still the mysterious howling could be heard from deep in the dark woods nearly every night. And the habitants never knew what revolting sight might be revealed come the light of day.
“Occasionally, yet infrequently, the new neighbor Monsieur Goyer would join in the watch, although his contribution consisted primarily of standing in front of his cabin with an old rusty musket in his arms. He never joined the other men as they patrolled in small parties of two and three. Many of the other farmers thought it curious, though, that when Monsieur Goyer stood watch, there would be no howling from the woods, and no livestock would be lost on those nights.
“Others observed that Goyer’s farm had not been attacked by the nocturnal beast, although it was certainly true he had no animals on his farm that might attract the predator’s attention. Nevertheless, the tongues began to wag and soon everyone was even more suspicious of their new neighbor than they had been before.
“After more than a month of living in fear, with no prospect of relief from their torment, the men of the area determined it was time to call the priest. And so, one afternoon they sent for Father Larochelle to counsel them. When he arrived, they all gathered at the home of Jean Favre and described in detail to the clergyman the mysterious happenings of the previous weeks.
“Père Maurice, as he was known, became ashen-faced as he listened to the men tell of their experiences. When they were finished, he cast his eyes downward, pausing to collect his thoughts. Before speaking, he made the sign of the cross, after which all of the men did the same. ‘I am afraid great danger has come to your neighborhood,’ the priest began. ‘What you have described to me has the appearances of a diabolical force.’ The good cleric then suggested that all of the farmers place a crucifix above their barn door, to protect their stock from harm. Surely no demonic creature would pass over a threshold protected by the Holy Cross!
“So all the farmers followed Father Larochelle’s suggestion and set small crucifixes over the doorways of their barns. The remedy seemed effective, as far as it went. From that time forward, no more of the animals were slaughtered in the night. But still the ominous howling continued, now louder and longer into the night, and intermixed with extended periods of ferocious barking and savage growls.
“And as time passed the baleful sounds moved ever closer to their homes. No longer did the mournful laments emanate from deep in the forest. Now they could be heard from just at the edge of the woods. And sometimes a dark shadowy figure might be seen in the moonlight, loping through the far reaches of their fields. But every time they went to look, their investigations revealed nothing, no trace of anything at all.”
Verse IV
Old Albert noticed the innkeeper had returned to the room and called out, “Monsieur Aubergiste! Un verre Jamaique, s'il vous plaît! And a butter toddy for my grandson.” As he waited for the man to return, Old Albert tapped his pipe against the sole of his shoe, drew out his tobacco pouch and dipped the pipe into it, pressing fresh aromatic tobacco into the bowl with his thumb. He lit the pipe just as the innkeeper came back with two cups on a tray, and before resuming his tale he took a long sip of sweet dark rum.
Clearing his throat, Old Albert continued, “Late one evening in mid-May, at nearly nine o’clock, there came a loud knock upon the door of Jean Favre’s house. It was young Charlotte who ran from the back of the house to answer the door. When she opened it, she saw no one there, until Monsieur Goyer stepped out of the shadows, startling her. ‘Papa!’ she exclaimed, ‘It is Monsieur Goyer!’
“‘Go back with your Mama, Charlotte,’ Monsieur Favre responded, walking to the door with a candle. Seeing Goyer standing there he asked, ‘What can I do for you at this late hour, Monsieur?’
“‘May I come inside?’ Goyer responded.
“Monsieur Favre hesitated, but then stepped back, gesturing with his hand, ‘Well yes, come in. But what brings you out so late at night?’
“‘Tomorrow I am going to Longue-Pointe to buy some wheat,’ said Goyer. ‘I came to ask if I should buy you some at the same time.’
“Monsieur Favre thought it strange that Goyer would venture abroad so late at night for such a prosaic errand, and during such dangerous times! But nonetheless he accepted Goyer’s offer, counted out twelve hundred sous from a drawer in a small cabinet next to the fireplace, placed the money in a coin purse and handed it to Goyer, ‘Bring me twelve bushels. This should cover the cost and leave you a little for your trouble.’
“Goyer took the money, but he did not leave. ‘What is it? Do you need more?’ asked Favre.
“‘Monsieur, you asked for more than I expected, and I do not have enough bags to carry that much wheat,’ Goyer replied.
“Jean Favre then took the candle, went up the ladder to the garret and threw down six cotton sacks. It was at that moment, as he was replacing the floorboards of the garret, that he was attacked without warning in a most violent and vicious manner. His attacker seized him by the neck and drove him from the ladder to the floor, extinguishing the candle. Growling and snarling in the darkness, the attacker tore at Favre’s throat with the ferocity of a wild animal.
“‘Oh my God!’ Favre cried out, ‘I am killed!’
“My grandmother heard all the commotion and called to her husband with alarm, asking what was wrong. It was Goyer who answered in a loud guttural voice, ‘Monsieur Favre has gone to his repose, Madame.’ Then, seizing a spade from behind the door of the entrance hall, Goyer went into the room where my grandmother and the girls were in their beds, and continued his murderous rampage.
“First, he dealt a mighty blow with the spade to my dear grandmother, causing her to cry out, ‘You are killing me! Why are you striking me?’ Goyer barked, ‘No, no. I am not killing you,’ as he struck her again, ‘It is the wolf that is killing you!’ She struggled with him, tearing the cuff from his coat-sleeve before escaping his grasp and running into the front room where her husband lay on the floor in a spreading pool of his own blood.
“Goyer followed right behind her, crashing through the darkness. With an inhuman growl he leapt upon my grandmother and tore out her throat as she crouched over her husband’s body. When she was dead, he turned and went back for Charlotte and Josette.
“Jean Favre, who was yet clinging to life, called out for his daughters to open the door and escape. Hearing this, Goyer returned to the front room and put an end to him, giving Charlotte enough time to open the window and flee to the orchard while Josette, too terrified to run, hid herself under a feather mattress.
“Goyer stormed blindly to the back of the house and, seeing the open window, dove headlong through it in pursuit of Charlotte. She heard him coming for her and doubled back to the side of the barn, before running to the neighboring farm of Monsieur Pelletier for help.
“After his unsuccessful pursuit of Charlotte, Goyer returned to the house. Safely hidden, Josette heard him force open the drawer of the cabinet in the front room where the money was kept, and then, moments later, she heard him go out the front door.
“Presently, Monsieur Pelletier arrived, along with a soldier who was billeted in his house and some others. They lit two candles and saw the mangled corpses of my grandmother and her husband lying stretched out on the floor and covered in blood. They saw the cabinet drawer rifled. Proceeding to the back of the house they rescued Josette from her hiding place and retrieved two sheets to cover the bodies.
“The alarm was sounded, and several local men, along with Sergeant Bellehumeur and a detachment of the city guard, responded to the call. After hearing from Charlotte and Josette what had transpired, the soldiers set out in pursuit of Goyer, intent on arresting him. When they arrived at his house and knocked upon his door, he answered them dressed only in a nightshirt. Upon questioning, accompanied by the application of a certain measure of physical force, he claimed he had been asleep in his bed for several hours.
“The soldiers searched Goyer’s cottage and found a brown serge overcoat, blood-smeared and with one of its sleeves torn at the cuff. They then searched his well and retrieved a purse containing a large sum of money, wrapped in a long narrow strip of wolf’s pelt.
“When confronted with the damning evidence, Goyer maintained his innocence, claiming never to have seen any of the items before. But when he saw the wolf’s pelt his eyes grew wide. With a great lunge he escaped the grasp of the soldiers and seized the strip of fur, wrapping it around his waist.
“Instantly, he was transformed into a monstrous beast – half man and half wolf – with thick gray fur, vicious fangs and sharp claws, standing upright against them, snarling ferociously as he looked for an avenue of escape.
“But there was nowhere to turn, and soon, with much effort, the soldiers subdued him once again and removed the magical belt from his waist, at which time he resumed his human form. That is when they finally realized that Monsieur Goyer was a loup garou!
“There are many ways to become a loup garou,” Old Albert explained, “But each requires one to renounce his Catholic faith by breaking Lent for seven years in a row, and to join in common purpose with Satan. In Goyer’s case it was the wearing of an enchanted belt that allowed him to transform into a wolf and back again.
“The soldiers placed Goyer in irons, and made certain his devilish belt remained well out of reach after that. They brought him into Montréal, and the following day he was put on trial for murder before the celebrated magistrate, Guiton de Monrepos. He was convicted upon the testimony of the two girls, as well as physical evidence consisting of the spade he used during his attack and the bloody brown serge coat and matching torn cuff.
“To this was added the circumstantial evidence provided by two neighboring habitants who were standing watch on the road, and saw Goyer running excitedly toward his house only moments after the murders took place. The matter of his brief escape and transformation into a wolf was also described during the trial by Sergeant Bellehumeur himself, but those details do not appear in the written record.
“During the trial, Goyer was subjected to severe tortures. Yet he maintained his innocence throughout, despite the overwhelming weight of the evidence against him. As I said, in the end, the King’s magistrate found Goyer guilty; imposing an extraordinary sentence that most certainly exceeded what might have been expected.
“Goyer was sentenced to be broken alive on the wheel in the ancient fashion, and then to be exposed for three days, after which he and all of his worldly possessions were to be burned to ashes. And though the records of the trial are silent on the matter, it cannot be doubted that the punishment Sieur de Monrepos meted out reflects an understanding that supernatural forces played a significant role in the whole affair.
“On the appointed day, at the appointed hour of noon,” Old Albert continued, “Goyer was brought in chains to the marketplace in Place Royale. A great crowd had gathered to look upon the face of one who could kill two such upright habitants, and to witness the execution of the brutal felon who had murdered their neighbors. A lone drum struck a slow deadly dirge as the convicted prisoner was led to the gallows at the center of the square.
“His wrists and ankles were securely tied to the rim of a wooden wheel, which was then mounted horizontally on a wooden stand. The executioner approached, wielding a heavy iron bar. He swung the bar down upon the condemned man, breaking first his left arm, and then his right. Goyer howled in pain. The executioner then brought the iron bar down again, and again, breaking each of Goyer’s legs below the knee. The convicted murderer screamed in his agony, calling out to Satan to rescue him from his fate.
“The executioner then shattered both of Goyer’s thighs, before sliding the iron bar under his back, and with a mighty upward thrust snapping his spine. Followed by a long procession of onlookers, the wheel, with Goyer’s broken but still living body tied to it, was then transported on a cart to a spot directly in front of his cottage, where all of his personal belongings had been heaped in a pile. Several men lifted the wheel off the cart and unceremoniously tossed it upon the pile.
“There he was left exposed to the elements to die. For three days his broken body remained there in the road for all to see. At first he screamed and moaned, calling to Satan for aid and comfort which never came. By the second day he was no more. On the third day his corpse and his possessions were put to the torch, and burned until nothing remained but a mound of ashes that swiftly blew away in the wind.
“And so to mark the spot, and to guard against the return of the satanic forces that had spread such evil among them, several of the neighbors erected a large wooden cross at the place. Years later – no one knows for certain when – the people noticed the cross had been painted dark red. Although there was much gossip about the dramatic change in the color of the marker, it was never discovered how it occurred. But since that time, for all these years it has been a strong tradition in the area to maintain le croix rouge as the landmark we see today.”
As Old Albert concluded his story, several of the group clapped their hands and congratulated him for his entertaining tale. Others scoffed and expressed their doubt that any such things could ever have taken place. To them Old Albert simply said, “Well you have no choice but to take my word for it – I told it as it was told to me!”
The following morning dawned bright and clear, as if the previous night’s storm had never occurred. Old Albert and Hyacinth ate a hearty breakfast and set out early for home. The city was much quieter at this hour than it had been when they arrived the previous day, and Hyacinth had time to reflect upon the strange and disturbing things he had learned the night before.
He looked over at his grandfather, wondering what other marvelous stories he might yet hear from him. Then he returned his attention to the road ahead, snapped the reins sharply and began to look forward to the extra-large supper that would be waiting for him at home.
