cecile and maurice had not only gone to school by day, but at mr. danvers' express wish had for a short part of their stay in london attended a small and excellent night-school, which was entirely taught by deaconesses who worked under the good clergyman.
to this same night-school came, not regularly, but by fits and starts, a handsome lad of fourteen—a lad with brilliant black eyes, and black hair flung off an open brow. he was poorly dressed, and his young smooth cheeks were hollow for want of sufficient food. when he was in his best attire, and in his gayest humor, he came with a little fiddle swung across his arm.
but sometimes he made his appearance, sad-eyed, and without his fiddle. on these occasions, his feet were also very often destitute of either shoes or stockings.
he was a troublesome boy, decidedly unmanageable, and an irregular scholar, sometimes, absenting himself for a whole week at a time.
still he was a favorite. he had a bright way and a winsome smile. he never teased the little ones, and sometimes on leaving school he would play a bright air or two so skilfully and with such airy grace, on his little cracked fiddle, that the school children capered round in delight. the deconesses often tried to get at his history but he never would tell it; nor would he, even on those days when he had to appear without either fiddle, or shoes, or stockings, complain of want.
on the evening when cecile first went to this night-school, a pretty 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."
the tall lad sighed.
"la belle france!" he exclaimed with sudden fervor. he caught cecile's little hand and wrung it, then he hurried away.
after this he had once or twice again spoken to the children, but they had never got beyond the outside limits of friendship. and now behold! on this desolate sandy plain outside the far-famed town of calais, the poor little french wanderers, who knew not a single word of their native language, and the tall boy with the fiddle met. it was surprising how that slight acquaintance in london ripened on the instant into violent friendship.
maurice, in his ecstasy at seeing a face he knew actually kissed the tall boy, and cecile's eyes over-flowed with happy tears.
"oh! do sit down near us. do help us, we're such a perplexed little boy and girl," she said; "do talk to us for a little bit, kind tall english boy."
"you call me jography, young un. it wor through jography we found each other out. and i ain't an english boy, no more nor you are an english girl; i'm french, i am. there, you call me jography, young uns; 'tis uncommon, and 'ull fit fine."
"oh! then jography is a person," said cecile. "how glad i am! i was just longing that he might be. and i'm so glad you're french; and is jography your real, real name?"
"ain't you fit to kill a body with laughing?" said the tall lad, 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?"
"oh! will you, jography?—oh! will you, indeed? how i shall love you! how i shall!"
"and me too, and toby too!" exclaimed maurice. and the two children, in their excitement, flung their arms round their new friend's neck.
"well, i can speak french anyhow," said the boy. "but now listen. don't you two agree to nothink till you hears my story."
"but 'tis sure to be a nice story, jography," said maurice. "i shall like going south with you."
"well, sit on my knee and listen, young un. no; it ain't nice a bit. i'm french too, and i'm south too. i used to live in the pyrenees. i lived there till i was seven years old. i had a mother and no father, and i had a big brother. i wor a happy little chap. my mother used to kiss me and cuddle me up; and my brother—there was no one like jean. one day i wor playing in the mountains, when a big black man come up and axed me if i'd like to see his dancing dogs. i went with him. he wor a bad, bad man. when he got me in a lonely place he put my head in a bag, so as i could not see nor cry out, and he stole me. he brought me to paris; afterward he sold me to a man in lunnon as a 'prentice. i had to dance with the dogs, and i was taught to play the fiddle. both my masters were cruel to me, and they beat me often and often. i ha' been in lunnon for seven year now; i can speak english well, but i never forgot the french. i always said as i'd run away back to france, and find my mother and my brother jean. i never had the chance, for i wor watched close till ten days ago. i walked to dover, and made my way across in an old fishing-smack. and here i am in france once more. now little uns, i'm going south, and i can talk english to you, and i can talk french too. shall we club together, little mates?"
"but have you any money at all, jography?" asked cecile, puckering her pretty brows anxiously; "and—and—are you a honest boy, jography?"
"well, ef you ain't a queer little lass! i honest! i ain't likely to rob from you; no, tho' i ha'n't no money—but ha' you?"
"yes, dear jography, i have money," said cecile, laying her hand on the ragged sleeve; "i have some precious, precious money, as i must give to lovedy when i see her. if that money gets lost or stolen cecile will die. oh, jography! you won't, you won't take that money away from me. promise, promise!"
"i ain't a brute," said the boy. "little un, i'd starve first!"
"i believe you, jography," said cecile; "and, jography, me and maurice have a little other money to take us down south, and we are to stay in the smallest villages, and sleep in the werry poorest inns. can you do that?"
"why, yes, i think i can sleep anywhere; and ef you'll jest lend me toby there, i'll teach him to dance to my fiddling, and that'll earn more sous than i shall want. is it a bargain then? shall i go with you two mites and help you to find this ere lovedy?"
"jography, 'twas jesus the guide sent you," said cecile, clasping his hand.
"and i don't want to go to heaven just now," said maurice, taking hold of the other hand.
