"I'll do more than that, my little lamb; and ain't it enough to
break one's heart to hear the poor innocent, and she taking it so
calm and collected-like? Now, Cecile, tell me have you any friends in
London?"

"I once met a girl who sat on a doorstep and sang," answered Cecile.
"I think she would be my friend, but I don't know where she lives."

"Then she ain't no manner of good, deary. Jane Parsons can do better
for you than that. Now listen to what I has got to say. You get up
and dress, and wake Maurice and get him dressed, and then you,
Maurice, and Toby slip downstairs as soft as little mice; make no
noise, for ef _she_ woke it 'ud be all up with us. You three
come down to the kitchen, and I'll have something hot for you to
drink, and then I'll have the pony harnessed to the light cart, and
drive you over to F--- in time to catch the three o'clock mail train.
The guard'll be good to you for he's a friend of mine, and I'll have
a bit of a note writ, and when you get to London the guard'll put you
in a cab, and you'll drive to the address written on the note. The
note is to my cousin, Annie West, what was Jones. She's married in
London and have one baby, and her heart is as good and sweet and soft
as honey. She'll keep you for a week or two, till 'tis time for you
to start into France. Now be quick up, deary, and hide that purse in
yer dress, werry safe."

"Oh, Jane, what a beautiful, beautiful plan! And will Maurice's
half-sovereign help us all that much?"

"The half-sovereign won't have nothing to say to it; 'tis Jane
Parsons' own work, and her own money shall pay it. You keep that