young lady of twenty called her to her side, and asked her what she
would like best to learn?

"In this night-school," she added, "for those children at least, who
go regularly to day-school, we try as much as possible to consult
their taste, so what do you like best for me to teach you, dear?"

Cecile, opening her blue eyes wide, answered: "Jography, please,
ma'am. I'd rayther learn jography than anything else in all the world."

"But why?" asked the deaconess, surprised at this answer.

"'Cause I'm a little French girl, please, teacher. Me and Maurice
we're both French, and 'tis very important indeed for me to know the
way to France, and about France, when we get there; and Jography
tells all about it, don't it, teacher?"

"Why, yes, I suppose so," said the young teacher, laughing. So
Cecile got her first lesson in geography, and a pair of bold,
handsome black eyes often glanced almost wistfully in her direction
as she learned. That night, at the door of the night-school, the boy
with the fiddle came up to Cecile and Maurice.

"I say, little Jography," he exclaimed, "you ain't really French, be
you?"

"I'm Cecile D'Albert, and this is Maurice D'Albert," answered
Cecile. "Yes, we're a little French boy and girl, me and Maurice. We
come from the south, from the Pyrenees."