Maurice's side.

"Maurice, dear," she said to her little brother, "I ha' no good
news for you. Aunt Lydia won't allow no fire, and you must just get
right into bed, and I'll lie down and put my arms round you, and Toby
shall lie at your feet. You'll soon be warm then, and maybe if you're
a very good boy, and don't cry, I'll make up a little fairy tale for
you, Maurice."

But Maurice was sick and very miserable, and he was in no humor even
to be comforted by what at most times he considered the nicest treat
in the world--a story made up by Cecile.

"I hate Aunt Lydia Purcell," he said; "I hate her, Cecile."

"Oh, don't! Maurice, darling. Father often said it was wrong to hate
anyone, and maybe Aunt Lydia does find us very expensive. Do you
know, Maurice, she told me just now that our cousin in France has
never sent her any money all this time? And you know how reliable our
cousin always was; and Aunt Lydia says if the money does not come
soon, she will send us away, quite away to another home. We are to go
to a place called 'The Union.' She says it is not very far away, and
that it won't be a bad home. At least, you will have a fire to warm
yourself by there, Maurice."

"Oh!" said Maurice excitedly, "don't you _hope_ our cousin in
France won't send the money, Cecile? Couldn't you write, or get
someone to write to him, telling him not to send the money?"

"I don't know writing well enough to put it in a letter, Maurice,