Lydia laughed and held up her hands.
"Of all the babies, Cecile D'Albert, you beat them hallow," she
said. "No, no, I'll tell you nothing about the Union. You wait till
you see it. You're so queer, maybe you'll like it. There's no saying
--and Maurice'll get his share of the fire. Oh, yes, he'll get his
share."
"And Toby! Will Toby come too?" asked Cecile.
"Toby! bless you, no. There's a yard of rope for Toby. He'll be
managed cheaper than any of you. Now go, child, go!"
CHAPTER IX.
"THE ADVENT OF THE GUIDE."
Cecile crept upstairs again very, very slowly, and sat down by
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.
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