friends, and nobody ever heard of them again. Mrs. Moseley could not
watch the children all day; at last in her despair she determined to
appeal to her clergyman.

"I don't know what to make of the little girl," she said in
conclusion, "she reminds me awful much of Susie. She's rare and
winsome; I think she have a deeper nature than my poor lost Susie,
but she's lovable like her. And it have come over me, Mr. Danvers, as
she knows Susie, for, though she is the werry closest little thing I
ever come across, her face went quite white when I telled her about
my poor lost girl, and she axed me quite piteous and eager if her
name wor Lovedy Joy."

"Lovedy is a very uncommon name." said Mr. Danvers. "You had no
reason, Mrs. Moseley, to suppose that was Susan's name?"

"She never let it out to me as it wor, sir. Oh, ain't it a trial, as
folk _will_ be so close and _contrary_."

Mr. Danvers smiled.

"I will go and see this little Cecile," he said, "and I must try to
win her confidence."

The good clergyman did go the next afternoon, and finding Cecile all
alone, he endeavored to get her to confide in him. To a certain
extent he was successful, the little girl told him all she could
remember of her French father and her English stepmother. All about
her queer old world life with Maurice and their dog in the deserted
court back of Bloomsbury. She also told him of Warren's Grove, and of