before the little range. The bedroom beyond was as clean and neat as
the kitchen, and the tiny room where Cecile, Maurice and Toby were to
sleep, though nearly empty at present, would, Mrs. Moseley assured
them, make a sleeping chamber by no means to be despised by and by.

When they got into the house, Maurice ran all over it in fearless
ecstasies. Cecile sat on the edge of a chair, and Toby, after
sniffing at the cat, decided to make friends with her by lying down
in the delicious warmth by her side.

"What's yer name, dear heart?" asked Mrs. Moseley to the rather
forlorn-looking little figure seated on the edge of a chair.

"Cecile, please, ma'am."

"Cecil! That sounds like a boy's name. It ain't English to give boy
names to little girls. But then you're foreign, you say--French,
ain't it? I once knew a girl as had lived a long time in France and
loved it dearly. Well, well, but here's dinner ready; the potatoes
done to a turn, and boiled bacon and greens. Now, where's my good
man? We won't wait for him, honey. Come, Maurice, my man, I don't
doubt but you're rare and hungry."

"Yes," answered Maurice; "me and Cecile and Toby are very hungry. We
had bad food yesterday; but I like this dinner, it smells good."

"It will eat good too, I hope. Now, Cecile, why don't you come?"

Cecile's face had grown first red and then pale.