"But it's just there I've got to go, ma'am; and me and Maurice are a
little French boy and girl. We'll be sure to feel all right in
France; and when we get to the Pyrenees we'll feel at home. 'Tis
there our father lived, and our own mother died, and me and Maurice
were born there. I don't see how we can help being at home in the
Pyrenees."

"That may be, child; and it may be right to send a letter to yer
people, and if they wants you two, and will treat you well, to let
you go back to them. But to have little orphans like you wandering
about in France all alone, ain't to be thought on, ain't to be
thought on, Cecile."

"But whether my people write for me and Maurice or not, ma'am, I
must go," said Cecile in a low, firm voice. "I must, because I
promised--I promised one that is dead."

"Well, my darling, how can I help you if you won't _conwide_ in
me? Oh, Cecile! you're for all the world just like what Susie was;
only I hopes as you won't treat us as bad."

"Susie was the girl who slept in our little bedroom," said Cecile.
"Was she older than me, ma'am? and was she yer daughter, ma'am?"

"No, Cecile. Susie was nothink to me in the flesh, though, God
knows, I loved her like a child of my own. God never gave me a bonnie
girl to love and care for, Cecile. I had one boy. Oh! I did worship
him, and when Jesus tuk him away and made an angel of him, I thought
I'd go near wild. Well, we won't talk on it. He died at five years