Then Tyltyl threw himself sobbing into Light's arms. Once more, all his hopes were dashed to the ground. "Do not cry, my child," said Light. "You did not catch the one that is able to live in broad daylight.... We shall find him yet...." "Of course, we shall find him," said Bread and Sugar, with one voice. They were great boobies, both of them; but they wanted to console the boy. As for friend Tylo, he was so much put out that he forgot his dignity for a moment and, looking at the dead birds, exclaimed: "Are they good to eat, I wonder?" The party set out to walk back and sleep in the Temple of Light. It was a melancholy journey; all regretted the peace of home and felt inclined to blame Tyltyl for his want of caution. Sugar edged up to Bread and whispered in his ear: "Don't you think, Mr. Chairman, that all this excitement is very useless?" And Bread, who felt flattered at receiving so much attention, answered, pompously: "Never you fear, my dear fellow, I shall put all this right. Life would be unbearable if we had to listen to all the whimsies of that little madcap!... To-morrow, we shall stay in bed!..." They forgot that, but for the boy at whom they were sneering, they would never have been alive at all; and that, if he had suddenly told Bread that he must go back to his pan to be eaten and Sugar that he was to be cut into small lumps to sweeten Daddy Tyl's coffee and Mummy Tyl's syrups, they would have thrown themselves at their benefactor's feet and begged for mercy. In fact, they were incapable of appreciating their good luck until they were brought face to face with bad. Poor things! The Fairy Berylune, when making them a present of their human life, ought to have thrown in a little wisdom. They were not so much to blame. Of course, they were only following Man's example. Given the power of speaking, they jabbered; knowing how to judge, they condemned; able to feel, they complained. They had hearts which increased their sense of fear, without adding to their happiness. As to their brains, which could easily have arranged all the rest, they made so little of them that they had already grown quite rusty; and, if you could have opened their heads and looked at the works of their life inside, you would have seen the poor brains, which were their most precious possession, jumping about at every movement they made and rattling in their empty skulls like dry peas in a pod. Fortunately, Light, thanks to her wonderful insight, knew all about their state of mind. She determined, therefore, to employ the Elements and Things no more than she was obliged to: "They are useful," she thought, "to feed the children and amuse them on the way; but they must have no further share in the trials, because they have neither courage nor conviction."