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.
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