"But Cecile and me aren't going into no Union, wicked Aunt Lydia
Purcell!" he said.

"Heity-teity!" said Lydia, laughing at his little red face and
excited manner.

The laugh enraged Maurice, who had a very hot temper.

"I hate you, Aunt Lydia Purcell!" he repeated, "I hate you! and I'm
not going to be afraid of you. You said you'd give our Toby a yard of
rope; if you do you'll be a murderer. I think you're so wicked,
you're one already."

Those words, striking at some hidden, deep-seated pain in Lydia's
heart, caused her to wince and turn pale. She rose from her seat,
shaking her apron as she did so. But before she left the room she
cast a look of unutterable aversion on both the children.

Cecile now knew what she had before her. She, Maurice, and Toby had
just a month to prepare--just a month to get ready for the great task
of Cecile's life. At the end of a month they must set forth--three
pilgrims without a guide. Cecile felt that it was a pity this long
journey which they must take in secret should begin in the winter.
Had she the power of choice, she would have put off so weary a
pilgrimage until the days were long and the weather mild. But there
was no choice in the matter now; just when the days were shortest and
worst, just at Christmas time, they must set out. Cecile was a very
wise child for her years. Her father had called her dependable. She
was dependable. She had thought, and prudence, and foresight. She