and soon after ten o'clock they once more stepped out into the
streets. The sun was shining, and Maurice's spirits were high. But
Cecile, who had the responsibility, felt sad and anxious. She was
footsore and very tired, and she knew no more than yesterday where or
how to get a night's lodging. She saw plainly that it would not do,
with all that money about her, to venture into a penny lodging; and
she feared that, even careful as they were, the ten shillings would
soon be spent; and as to her other gold, she assured herself that she
would rather starve than touch it until they got to France. The aim
and object then of her present quest must be to get to France.

Where was France? Her father said it lay south. Where was south? The
cabby, when she asked him, said he could not tell her, for he did not
know jography. What was jography? Was it a thing, or a person?
Whoever or whatever it was, it knew the way to France, to that haven
of her desire. Cecile must then endeavor to find jography. But where,
and how? A church door stood open. Some straggling worshipers came
out. The children stood to watch them. The door still remained open.
Taking Maurice's hand, Cecile crept into the silent church; it felt
warm and sheltered. Toby slipped under one of the pews; Cecile and
Maurice sat side by side on a hassock. Maurice was still bright and
not at all sleepy, and Cecile began to think it a good opportunity to
tell him a little of the life he had before him.

"Maurice," she said, "do you mind having to walk a long way, having
to walk hundreds and hundreds of miles, and do you mind having to
keep on walking for days and weeks?"

"Yes," said Maurice. "I don't like walking; I'd rather go back to
our old court."