rolling over and over in an ecstasy of mirth on the short grass. "No,
I ain't christened Jography. My heyes! what a rum go that ud be! No,
no, little uns, yer humble servant have had heaps of names. In Lunnon
I wor mostly called Joe Barnes, and once, once, long ago, I wor
little Alphonse Malet. My mother called me that, but Jography 'ull
fit fine jest now. You two call me Jography, young uns."

"And please, Jography," asked Cecile, "are you going to stay in
France now you have come?"

"Well, I rather guess I am. I didn't take all the trouble to run
away to go back again, I can tell you. And now might I ax you what
you two mites is arter?"

In reply to that question Cecile told as much of her story as she
dared. She and Maurice were going down south. They wanted to find a
girl who they thought was in the south. It was a solemn promise--a
promise made to one who was dead. Cecile must keep her promise, and
never grow weary till she had found this girl.

"But I was puzzled," said Cecile in conclusion. I was puzzled just
now; for though me and Maurice are a little French boy and girl, we
don't know one word of French. I did not know how we could find
Lovedy; and I was wishing--oh! I _was_ wishing--that Jesus the
Guide was living down on earth, and that He would take our hands and
guide us."

"Poor young uns!" said the boy, "Poor little mites! Suppose as I
takes yer hands, and guides you two little morsels?"