Cecile, what did our stepmother give you to hide?"
"Oh, Maurice! I dare not tell you all. It is a purse--a purse full,
full of money, and I have to take this money to somebody away in
France. Maurice, you saw Aunt Lydia Purcell just now in the street,
and she saw me and you. Once she took that money away from me, and
Jane Parsons brought it back again. And now she saw us, and she saw
where we live. She looked at us as we came in at this door, and any
moment she may come here. Oh, Maurice! if she comes here, and if she
steals my purse of gold, I _shall die_."
Here Cecile's fortitude gave way. Still seated on the floor, she
covered her face with her hands, and burst into tears.
Her tears, however, did what her words could not do. Maurice's
tender baby heart held out no longer. He stood up and said valiantly:
"Cecile, Cecile, we'll leave our night's lodging. We'll go away.
Only who's to tell Mammie Moseley and Mr. Moseley?"
"I'll write," said Cecile; "I can hold my pen pretty well now. I'll
write a little note."
She went to the table where she knew some seldom-used note paper was
kept, selected a gay pink sheet, and dipping her pen in the ink, and
after a great deal of difficulty, and some blots, which, indeed, were
made larger by tear-drops, accomplished a few forlorn little words.
This was the little note, ill-spelt and ill-written, which greeted
Moseley on his return home that evening:
"Dear Mammie Moseley and Mr. Moseley: The little children you gave
so many nights' lodgings to have gone away.
Pages:
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156