There was a simultaneous and hearty laugh from the rough party. The
peasant proprietor's brow cleared. She uttered another exclamation
and darted into her kitchen, from which she returned in a moment with
two steaming bowls of hot and delicious soup. She also furnished Toby
with a bone.

Cecile, when they had finished their meal, paid a small French coin
for the food, and then the little pilgrims left the village.

"The sun is shining brightly," said Cecile. "Maurice, me and you
will sit under that sand hill for a little bit, and think what is
best to be done."

In truth the poor little girl's brave heart was sorely puzzled and
perplexed. If they could not speak to the people, how ever could they
find Lovedy? and if they did not find Lovedy, of what use was it
their being in France? Then how could she get cheap food and cheap
lodgings? and how would their money hold out? They were small and
desolate children. It did not seem at all like their father's
country. Why had she come? Could she ever, ever succeed in her
mission? For a moment the noble nature was overcome, and the bright
faith clouded.

"Oh, Maurice!" said Cecile, "I wish--I wish Jesus our Guide was not
up in heaven. I wish He was down on earth, and would come with us. I
know _He_ could speak French."

"Oh! that don't matter--that don't," answered Maurice, who, cheered
by his good breakfast, felt like a different boy. "I'll always just
take things, and then they'll know what I mean. The French don't