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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2016 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates 
 
 https://archive.org/details/storyofcecilhisdOOmill 
 

THE STORY 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY JAMES MILLER, 
 
 (SUCCESSOR TO C. S. FRANCIS & CO.,) 
 
 522 BROADWAY. 
 
 MDCOOLXV. 
 
 % 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S62, 
 
 By JAMES MILLER. 
 
 Ir the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for 
 the Southern District of New York. 
 
 > 
 
 I 
 
 0 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The beautiful little story of Cecil the Orphan, was 
 originally published in French. It has enjoyed 
 great popularity, and is, deservedly, a favorite 
 volume with the young, on both sides of the 
 Atlantic. The attention of the Editor was first 
 drawn to it, as contributed by a friend to the 
 columns of a religious journal under his charge. 
 He was struck with the peculiar simplicity and 
 truthfulness of the narrative, and the attractive 
 style in which it illustrates the value of moral and 
 religious principle in the young. As the different 
 chapters passed through the press, a few alterations 
 were made, in order to adapt the story more fully 
 to the class of readers for whom the republication 
 was made. 
 
 In tracing the course of little Cecil through the 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 many trials he was called to encounter, the young 
 reader will not fail to notice his sincere trust in the 
 protection and guidance of his heavenly Father, to 
 whom his prayers were constantly addressed. He 
 loved God, and never forgot to pray to him in his 
 troubles, nor to thank Him for the mercies bestowed 
 upon him. He loved to act uprightly and to show 
 kindness to his fellow men, generously forgiving, 
 and even aiding his worst enemy. And the bless- 
 ing of God attended him. In answer to his prayers 
 he received strength to act virtuously and nobly 
 in the most trying circumstances. Friends were 
 raised up to him on every hand. Fortune smiled 
 upon him. He was blessed with happiness, and 
 lived and died in favor with God and man. May 
 all who read these pages imitate his example, and 
 after a life spent under the blessing of God, and 
 amidst the love and respect of their fellow-men, 
 in usefulness and honor, be blessed with a happy 
 and peaceful death. May they love and serve that 
 blessed Redeemer, through whom we receive all 
 u the means of grace and the hope of glory.” 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter Page. 
 
 L Tlie Death of Mr. Thomas , . , 7 
 
 II. The Heir and the Orphan . .12 
 
 III. The Turleries ... . . 19 
 
 IY. The Awaking of Cecil . . . .25 
 
 Y. The Wounded Little Dog . . . 32 
 
 YI. Two Cents’ Worth of Bread . .41 
 
 YII. A Name for the Dog .... 48 
 
 YIII. The Invalid 62 
 
 IX. The Workmen 68 
 
 X. The Architect who is looking for a Groom . 74 
 
 XI. A Promenade in Paris . . . . 81 
 
 XII. The First Lesson in Industry . . 89 
 
 XIII. The Remnants of the Chicken — The Piece 
 
 of Bread and the Glass of Water . 95 
 
 XIY. What, became of the Remnants of Chicken, 
 the Piece of Bread, and the Glass of 
 Water ....... 102 
 
 1 * 
 
6 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter. Page 
 
 XV. The Little Schoolmaster . . . 110 
 
 XVI. The Little Schoolmaster loses his Scholars 11*7 
 
 XVII. The Two Strangers 123 
 
 XVIII. The Poor Blind Man . . . .128 
 
 XIX. The Little Musician . . . .139 
 
 XX. The Tract of Land . . .151 
 
 XXI. The Pair of Pigeons 163 
 
 XXII. The Ten Francs begin to gather Interest 172 
 
 XXIII. The Robbers and the National Guard . 184 
 
 XXIV. How Ten Francs, without being put out at 
 
 Interest, can Increase to a large Capital 193 
 
 XXV. An Agreeable Surprise . . . 202 
 
 XXVI. In which something is told about Fox . 212 
 XXVII. The Beggar on the Champs Ely sees . 218 
 
 XXVIII. What brings Prosperity and what Misfor- 
 tune 225 
 
 XXIX. The Placard 234 
 
 XXX. A Disappointment 240 
 
 XXXI. The Printers and the Hundred Francs . 250 
 
 XXXII. A New Project 256 
 
 XXXIII. The Post-Office . . . . . 263 
 
 XXXIV. The Answer to Fox’s Letter . . .266 
 
 XXXV. The Summons 271 
 
 XXXVI. The Conclusion . . 276 
 
CECIL. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE DEATH OF MR. THOMAS. 
 
 A long procession assembled itself in front 
 of a bouse in one of the principal streets in 
 Bordeaux. It was the hour at which the 
 master of that mansion was to be transported 
 to the last home that should ever shelter his 
 earthly remains. 
 
 The coffin, with its sombre velvet pall, was 
 borne by the friends of the deceased. Imme- 
 diately after them walked a tall and extremely 
 pale young man, who was followed by a crowd 
 of persons apparently but little impressed by 
 
8 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 the solemnity of the moment. At some dis- 
 tance behind the procession, a child, about 
 twelve years of age, running with feeble and 
 irregular steps, vainly endeavored to keep up 
 with the rest of the people. lVot one of that 
 long train paid the least attention to him, 
 although he was weeping so violently, that 
 even the long bright ringlets that fell in golden 
 
 o o o o 
 
 showers about his sickly countenance, were 
 profusely moistened with his tears. 
 
 The burial ground was soon reached, and 
 the usual ceremonies performed. The clergy- 
 man, in making a short, eulogistic discourse, 
 pronounced Mr. Thomas, (who had been a 
 wealthy merchant,) to have lived a most 
 righteous and praiseworthy life, and faithfully 
 to have discharged the duties of a good son, 
 husband, and father. The last short prayer 
 was uttered, and the crowd withdrew. The 
 weeping child alone remained beside the grave ; 
 and, kneeling on the moist earth, he exclaimed 
 
THE DEATH OF MR. THOMAS. 
 
 9 
 
 with emotion : “ Uncle ! dear uncle ! shall I 
 never see you again ?” 
 
 “ Are you not going away with the rest of 
 them, my little friend?” said the sexton, 
 kindly touchi-ng the child on the shoulder. 
 
 The boy looked up without replying. 
 
 “ Is it your father, my dear, who has just 
 been buried ? ” 
 
 “ No, Sir, it was my uncle, my dear uncle ! ” 
 “ But you have a father ? ” 
 
 “ No, Sir, he was dead before I can remem- 
 ber.” 
 
 “ And your mother ? ” 
 
 “She is dead too.” 
 
 “ But you remember her, do you not ? ” 
 
 “ No, Sir ; I was so very little when she 
 died ! ” replied the child. “ I only remember 
 a large white bed on which she was lying, 
 and my uncle, my good uncle, standing beside 
 the bed, holding my mother’s hand ! And 
 then he said he would take care of little 
 
10 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 Cecil — Cecil, that is I, you know Then 
 he took me home, and I lived with him, but 1 
 never saw my dear mother again.” 
 
 “ And you, I suppose, are your uncle’s 
 heir? ” asked the sexton. 
 
 “ What is an heir 1 55 inquired Cecil. 
 
 “ I mean, everything which was your un- 
 cle’s now belongs to you.” 
 
 “To me? .yes, but to his son, also.” 
 
 “ Ah ! then he has a son ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, did you not see him ? ” 
 
 “ Now I remember that I did. He is a tall 
 young man, is he not, with a dark skin, but 
 very pale ? He told me to call upon him to- 
 morrow with my account. He did not look 
 very amiable, that cousin of yours : and I am 
 sure he shed no tears.” 
 
 “ Oh ! that is because he is too big to cry ; 
 only children cry ; ” replied Cecil, wiping his 
 own eyes. “ My cousin is a man ; he has 
 travelled all over the world ; he has been to 
 
THE DEATH OF MR. THOMAS. 
 
 11 
 
 Paris with my uncle, and he staid there three 
 
 months, and- but how dark it is getting ! 
 
 I must go home, or Augustus will be angry 
 with me.” 
 
 “ Whc is Augustus, my dear ? ” 
 
 “ My cousin, Sir ; and my poor uncle said 
 that now he was to be my father and my 
 uncle too.” 
 
 “ Poor child ! ” exclaimed the sexton, as 
 Cecil hastened from him, but paused when 
 he had retreated a few steps, to take one more 
 farewell of his uncle’s grave. “Poor child ! I 
 do not much admire this new protector of 
 yours ! ” 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE HEIR AND* THE ORPHAN. 
 
 As the churchyard was situated at some dis- 
 tance from the house which had belonged to 
 Mr. Thomas, it was quite dark before Cecil 
 reached his home. His first inquiry was after 
 his cousin. 
 
 “ He has retired to the chamber of our 
 deceased master / 5 replied one of the domes- 
 tics, “ and he gave orders that nobody should 
 disturb him . 55 
 
 “ Then good night, John , 55 said Cecil, tak- 
 ing up a candle, “ I am going to bed — going 
 to bed without kissing my uncle for good 
 night ! Oh, John, I cannot bear to think of 
 that ! 55 
 
THE HEIR AND THE ORPHAN. 
 
 13 
 
 “ What can you expect, master Cecil ? ” 
 said the ancient domestic, brushing the cuff 
 of his coat over his eyes. “ We must all die ! 
 It is very bard for you — this great affliction — 
 but then you have a cousin left ! Humph ! a 
 cousin ! Poor child ! You won’t find that 
 much ! ” muttered John between his teeth. 
 
 Cecil, as he was retiring to his chamber, 
 was forced to pass the door of his uncle’s 
 room. He could not help pausing, and he 
 perceived a light gleaming through the crevices 
 of the door. 
 
 “ Augustus is there,” said he to himself 
 “and no doubt weeping. Oh! it would be 
 some consolation if I could see even him /” 
 With this reflection, he tapped gently at the 
 door. 
 
 “ Who is there ? ” demanded a rough voice. 
 
 “ It is I, cousin, I, Cecil ! Pray let me in ? ” 
 
 “ Leave me alone, and go to bed !” replied 
 
 Augustus, authoritatively. 
 
 2 
 
14 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 Cecil dared not reply, but involuntarily his 
 eye sought the key-hole, for he was curious 
 to know what his cousin could be doing. The 
 child looked first towards the bed, expecting 
 to find Augustus there, upon his knees ; but 
 the bed was unmade, without covering, and 
 nobody was beside it. He looked to the 
 other side of the room — there stood his cousin 
 before an open secretary. In his hand he 
 held a red portfolio, from which he drew 
 several sheets of paper, and after reading 
 them flung them into the fire. 
 
 Cecil looked to see if his cousin was weep- 
 ing, but no — his eyes were employed in a 
 different manner. Cecil left the door, and 
 retiring to his room, went to bed ; but he 
 continually kept asking himself what his cousin 
 could have been doing, and how he could 
 possibly help weeping. 
 
 The next morning, when he came down 
 stairs, he found Augustus finishing his breakfast, 
 
THE HEIR AND THE ORPHAN. 
 
 15 
 
 “ You did not wait for me ? ” said Cecil, 
 timidly. 
 
 “ Do you suppose I am made to wait?” 
 replied Augustus, rudely. 
 
 Cecil seated himself at table, and rang the 
 little bell that stood beside his plate. 
 
 “Why do you ring?” demanded Augustus. 
 
 44 For my breakfast: there is nothing left,” 
 said Cecil, surveying the empty table. 
 
 A servant entered. Augustus addressed 
 him before Cecil could speak. 44 Let this 
 child eat in the kitchen ; and remember that 
 in future you receive orders from me alone.” 
 
 44 In the kitchen ! what does this mean ? ” 
 questioned Cecil, in surprise. 
 
 44 It means that I am master here — the 
 only master, and that you — you are nobody ! ” 
 answered Augustus. * 
 
 44 1 ? Am I not your cousin ? ” said Cecil, 
 innocently, and as though he feared he should 
 receive a reply in the negative. 
 
16 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “ Listen to me, Master Cecil ; you are 
 twelve years old, and ought to understand me. 
 Your father died and left nothing— so did your 
 mother — therefore, you have nothing ! ” 
 
 “ But you are rich, cousin ? You have 
 money enough for both ? ” 
 
 “You will find yourself much mistaken, 
 my young gentleman. I have money for 
 myself, but none for you ; do you hear?” 
 
 “ Now you are joking with me, cousin ! Do 
 you mean that at this table there will no longer 
 be a seat for me — that I shall not have a room 
 in this house ? ” 
 
 “ The house is mine, Master Cecil ! You 
 should think me very good to argue thus with 
 a mere child ; but I wish you to understand, 
 that my father, when he was master, did what 
 ne pleased, and therefore he chose you to re- 
 main here — now that I am master, I do what 
 T please, and I choose you to find some other 
 home.” 
 
THE HEIR AND THE ORPHAN. 
 
 17 
 
 “Some other home! Where can I go ? 
 Where would you have me go ? ” 
 
 “ Where you please — I care not where ? ” 
 
 • Cecil burst into tears, and approaching his 
 cousin with clasped hands, said tremblingly, 
 “ Oh ! where can I go, dear cousin ? What 
 will become of me ! I am such a mere child, 
 as you said — and so feeble — so often sick ! I 
 should die of hunger if you turned me away. 
 And what would people say of you, if you 
 let your poor little cousin die in the streets ? 
 Why, the very boys would throw stones at 
 you, as you passed along ! ” 
 
 Whether it was owing to this very natural 
 remark of his cousin’s, or some belter feelin^ 
 that at that moment inspired him, we cannot 
 say ; but Augustus remained silent and lost in 
 thought for some time. At length he looked 
 at Cecil, and said with affected kindness — 
 
 “ You are right Cecil ; you ought not to 
 
 2 * 
 
18 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 leave my protection. To-morrow I am going 
 to Paris, and yon shall go with me.” 
 
 “ What ! to Paris? I shall see Paris? 
 I?” 
 
 “ Yes, Cecil ; that is, if you are a very 
 good boy.” 
 
 “Oh! dear, good Augustus ! how kind you 
 are — you were only playing with me just now ; 
 were you not ? ” And Cecil approached his 
 cousin with open arms, and would have em- 
 braced him ; but Augustus pushed him away, 
 although not angrily, and said — 
 
 “ Very good, very good ; now send for 
 your breakfast ! ” 
 
 “ Oh ! I am not at all hungry,” replied 
 Cecil, shaking his head mournfully ; “ I could 
 not eat now — my heart is too full ? ” 
 
 “ Then eat when you please,” replied 
 Augustus, as he rose and left the room. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE TUILERIES. 
 
 On the first of August, in the year 1836, a 
 dark looking young man, and a fair and deli- 
 cate child, alighted from a diligence at the 
 usual stopping place in Paris. 
 
 “ Oh ! how tired I am, Augustus,” sdd the 
 child to the young man ; “ I have not slept 
 for the last three nights.” 
 
 “ Wait here until I come back,” said Augus- 
 tus ; and he entered the office and demanded 
 of the clerk, “ At what hour does the diligence 
 leave for Bordeaux ? ” 
 
 “ At six o’clock, sir.” 
 
 “ Is there a vacant seat ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, sir, there is one.” 
 
 “ Reserve it for me.” 
 
20 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 ‘•For whom, cousin?” exclaimed Cecil, 
 who had followed Augustus un perceived. 
 
 “ That does not concern you,” replied Au- 
 gustus, much provoked at finding his cousin 
 so near him. He placed the money for the 
 seat on the desk, and received in exchange a 
 small piece of paper; then, taking Cecil bv 
 the hand, he said — 
 
 “ Come along,” and they went on their 
 way. 
 
 “ Where are we going?” asked Cecil. 
 
 “ To the Tuileries, to set my watch,” 
 replied Augustus. 
 
 “ Oh ! I remember when my poor uncle 
 used to tell me about his travels, he said the 
 first thing he always did, on arriving in Paris, 
 was to go to the Tuileries, to regulate his 
 watch. Poor uncle ! I can never think of 
 him without crying.” 
 
 “Be quiet, will jou,” said Augustus roughly, 
 taking Cecil’s hand as he was wiping away his 
 
THE TUILERIES. 
 
 21 
 
 rears. The child was frightened at the harsh 
 tone of his cousin, but soon became distracted 
 by the numerous and magnificent shops they 
 passed, and said in astonishment to himself, 
 “ What a beautiful and splendid city is Paris ! ” 
 
 The two travellers arrived at the Tuileries 
 just as the gates were thrown open. Nobody 
 was yet promenading there, and Augustus led 
 Cecil to one of the most retired walks, and 
 made him sit down beneath a chesnut tree, the 
 (thick foliage of which shaded them from the 
 sun. 
 
 “ Are you hungry ? ” he inquired. 
 
 “ Yes,” replied Cecil. 
 
 “ Eat then,” said Augustus, handing him a 
 couple of pears from his pocket, and a small 
 piece of bread. 
 
 46 Are we going to stay here long ? ” asked 
 Cecil while he was eating. 
 
 “ Are you not satisfied here ? ” returned his 
 
 cousin. 
 
22 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “ Perfectly so, Augustus ; but to tell the 
 truth, I am more sleepy than hungry .” 
 
 And in a few minutes, Cecil’s eyes half 
 closed', and his lovely head fell first on one 
 side, then on the other. The quiet of this 
 beautiful garden, the delightful shades, the 
 clear basins of water in which white swans 
 and golden fish were playing, all appeared to 
 invite repose. 
 
 “ It is easy to gratify you,” said Augustus. 
 “ You could not have a more beautiful place in 
 which to rest than this — lie down, and sleep.” 
 “ And what will you do, meanwhile ? ” 
 asked Cecil. 
 
 “ Oh ! ” said Augustus, evidently embar- 
 rassed, “ I have my portable writing-desk 
 in my pocket, and I will amuse myself by 
 taking notes. But what book is that you are 
 putting under your head for a pillow ? ” 
 
 “It is Robinson Crusoe, my poor uncle’s 
 last gift. Have you read it, Augustus ? ” 
 
THE TUILERIES 
 
 23 
 
 " No ; go to sleep ! ” said Augustus, roughly. 
 Cecil replied, opening the book, “ It is the 
 history of a poor forsaken child on a desert 
 island ; read it, Augustus, while I sleep ; it 
 will amuse you.” 
 
 No — yes,” said Augustus, taking the book 
 from Cecil, and again repeating, “ go to sleep.” 
 He glanced over the book. 
 
 “ Read — read it — it will interest you,” re- 
 peated Cecil, yawning and rubbing his eyes 
 u Poor Robinson ! Imagine, Augustus, a child 
 about my age, cr a little older, I believe — 
 alone, entirely alone, on a desert island — but 
 the desert island was not so fearful as the 
 mere fact of being alone. By-the-by, Au- 
 gustus,” added Cecil, laughingly, “ do nbt 
 run away from me, while I am asleep — for I 
 should not care to be in Robinson’s plight, 
 I ! — a funny idea, is not ? ” 
 
 And half laughing, half yawning, Cecil felt 
 instantly into a sweet slumber. With a con- 
 
24 
 
 CECIL 
 
 strained effort avoiding to glance at his little 
 
 o o 
 
 cousin, Augustus took a port-folio of paper 
 from his pocket, and making the Life of 
 Robinson Crusoe serve as a desk, began to 
 write. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE AWAKING OF CECIL. 
 
 The sun was setting when Cecil awoke. The 
 first sound that struck his ear was the palace 
 clock ; he counted seven. 
 
 “ Seven o’clock!” exclaimed he compla- 
 cently stretching his arms. “ I have had a 
 good sleep ; ” and slowly opening his eyes he 
 looked around in astonishment. 
 
 He had forgotten his journey — his arrival. 
 Everything around him appeared strange ; but 
 presently he recovered himself. “Oh, I am 
 in Paris — Augustus ! ” 
 
 Not seeing his cousin where he had left 
 him, he started up to seek him. 
 
 “ Why, where can he be ? That is a good 
 
 3 
 
26 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 joke ! he has hidden himself to frighten me ! ,; 
 and with the happy thoughtlessness of his age, 
 he unconcernedly amused himself looking at 
 the objects around. 
 
 The garden was hardly less quiet than be- 
 fore he fell asleep. A few persons were still 
 walking about, and some sitting on the chairs. 
 
 Cecil waited patiently until he heard the 
 clock strike half past seven ; then seeing that 
 his cousin had not come, he began to walk 
 up and down, without yet being the least 
 suspicious. 
 
 “ I have slept twelve hours,” thought he, 
 counting with his fingers. “ Augustus must 
 have been weary and has gone somewhere 
 else. He is so selfish- — perhaps he has dined 
 without me — it would be just like him. When 
 he is hungry he does not care whether others 
 eat or not ; and when his appetite is gratified, 
 he thinks of nobody else — but I am hungry 
 notwithstanding,” added he aloud. 
 
 i 
 
THE AWiYKING OF CECIL. 
 
 27 
 
 “ I have been watching you while you 
 slept, for a long time, my little boy/’ said a 
 fat gentleman in a blue overcoat, a sword 
 hanging at his side, and a three-cornered hat 
 on his heac^. “ How does it happen that you 
 are here all alone ? ” 
 
 “ I am waiting for my cousin, sir,” answered 
 Cecil meekly. 
 
 “ And are you sure he will return, my little 
 one ? ” 
 
 “ Why, how could he do otherwise, sir ? he 
 knows that I never was in Paris before, and 
 cannot find my way anywhere?” 
 
 “ And is he familiar with the place ? ” 
 
 “ Oh ! perfectly, sir. He was here last 
 year with his father, my poor uncle, and he 
 staid here three whole months. If one cannot 
 become familiar with Paris in three months, 
 he never will at all.” 
 
 The gentleman smiled and said: “ And 
 
28 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 you intend waiting here until your cousin 
 returns, do you ? ” 
 
 “ I must, sir ; where would you have me 
 go?” 
 
 “ And suppose your cousin does not come 
 until after the gates are closed ? For notwith- 
 standing he has lived three months in Paris, 
 he may very easily lose his way.” 
 
 “Oh! what shall I do, sir? I suppose ] 
 must sleep here alj night,” replied Cecil, 
 whose face now expressed great sadness and 
 resignation. 
 
 “But you cannot do that, my little one; 
 for when the drum beats every one must leave 
 the garden.” 
 
 “ Oh ! sir, I pray you if my cousin has 
 not arrived then, that you will let me stay 
 here.” 
 
 “I am overseer of the Tuileries, my little 
 friend, and my duty is to make you leave 
 
THE AWAKING OF CECIL. 
 
 29 
 
 instead of letting you remain here/’ replied 
 the gentleman ; “ but since your cousin has 
 lived in Paris for some time, he ought to 
 know the regulations, and will no doubt come 
 for you before the hour of closing the gates 
 arrives.” 
 
 With these words he went away. Cecil’s 
 heart was full of fear and trouble. 
 
 “ Oh ! ” said he, with a mournful look, and 
 without noticing that a crowd of lichly dressed 
 people were assembling in the gardens, “ If 
 my cousin does not return — if he has lost his 
 way, as the gentleman said — what will become 
 of me? Where shall I go? — and then I am 
 hungry ! I shall die of hunger! But Augustus 
 will return ; if he gets astray he can inquire 
 the road ; he knows I will be lost without him. 
 If I were not so hungry, I could wait patiently. 
 Perhaps if I read, the time will not appear so 
 long. 
 
 Then sighing deeply, Cecil took up his 
 
 3 * 
 
30 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 book ; but what was his astonishment when 
 a letter fell out of it ! He picked it up and 
 discovered that it was addressed to himself. 
 
 “ This is curious ? ” said he. 
 
 He opened the letter and read as follows 
 
 “ My dear cousin : — I am not rich enough 
 to support you; and I am too young to un- 
 dertake so great a responsibility as that of 
 bringing up such a little boy as you are — 
 besides you have no claim upon me. On the 
 contrary, you are indebted to me for the little 
 education you have received, for the clothes 
 you have on your back, and for your food 
 until now. 
 
 “ But I do not reproach you for all this ; 
 only leave me to myself for the future ; live 
 as you best can, and forget that you have a 
 cousin in the world. — Paris is not the desert 
 island you talked about a little while ago ; it 
 kS a large city full of resources ; you know 
 
THE AWAKING OF CECIL. 
 
 31 
 
 how to read, write, and calculate a little, and 
 with these acquirements you can get along. 
 
 06 Farewell, Cecil ; do not seek me, for when 
 you receive this letter, I shall already be far 
 away from Paris. Do not attempt to return 
 to my house ; it will be useless. I am master 
 there, and I have a right to receive whoever 
 pleases me, or to remove whoever displeases 
 me. It is clear I do not want you ; therefore 
 do not come. 
 
 “It is needless for me to sign this letter ; 
 you will easily guess the writer ; act as if I 
 were dead, and never inquire after me. Fare- 
 well, forever 1 ” 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE WOUNDED LITTLE DOG. 
 
 When Cecil had finished reading, he remained 
 for some moments like one petrified. Then 
 he took up the letter again, re-perused it with 
 great care, pondering over every sentence, and 
 seemed not to be able to comprehend that he 
 was really forsaken. But when he came to 
 the last words, “ Farewell, forever/’ he re- 
 peated them several times to himself, then 
 suddenly burst into tears. 
 
 Yes, he was indeed alone ; alone in the 
 world, and in the midst of this brilliant gar- 
 den of Paris ; for the sun had sunk below 
 the horizon, but it was not yet dark, and 
 the appearance of the Tuileries was at this 
 moment superb. Although Augustus said so 
 
THE WOUNDED LITTLE DOG. 
 
 33 
 
 positively in his letter that he would not come 
 back, Cecil could not believe that his only 
 remaining relative would show him so much 
 cruelty. 
 
 “ It would be so wicked ! ” said he, talking 
 to himself. “No! it is impossible that he 
 could act thus — he wishes to frighten me ! ” 
 And he did not dare to move from his place, 
 for fear that his cousin might return, and, not 
 finding him, would in reality leave the Tuileries 
 without him. 
 
 Cecil’s mind was now so full of anxiety that 
 he forgot his hunger ; he was absorbed in one 
 idea — he was alone ! What should he do, and 
 where should he go ? He could not remain all 
 his life in one place. He arose and walked 
 about. 
 
 “ The crowd was so dense, that every body 
 pushed him as he passed. In vain Cecil 
 sought for a friendly face amongst all these 
 people. He looked imploringly from one to 
 
34 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 another, but no eye turned towards him ; or, 
 if by chance, some one looked at him for a 
 moment, it was with an expression of so much 
 indifference and such want of feeling, that the 
 poor child was chilled through and through, 
 and the very drops of perspiration on his 
 forehead felt as though they were turned into 
 ice. Soon he turned away from those richly 
 dressed persons, and stopped before a group 
 of children. 
 
 They all had somebody with them, either a 
 nurse, a father, or a mother ; nobody seemed 
 alone in this immense and beautiful garden but 
 poor Cecil ! His heart sank within him at 
 every step ; yet he did not weep— he dared 
 not. Again he suffered the pangs of hunger, 
 and a momentary feeling of the baseness of his 
 cousin’s conduct made him exclaim : 
 
 “ God will punish him ! ” 
 
 These words made him remember the Al- 
 mighty, and he added: “ But the good God 
 
THE WOUNDED LITTLE DOG. 35 
 
 will not forsake me ; he will have pity on 
 me.” 
 
 Just then a dog covered with blood, and 
 moaning piteously, ran towards Cecil, and 
 sought shelter between his legs. 
 
 “ Get away from me,” said Cecil, angrily 
 pushing him with his foot ; but immediately 
 his conscience reproached, him. “ I prayed 
 God to 'have pity on me, and I have no pity 
 upon a poor beast ! ” And he took the dog 
 m his arms, and caressed it. 
 
 “ Oh ! it is your dog, little boy, is it ?” said 
 an old gentleman passing by — “ Keep him 
 with you, then, if you do not wisli him to be 
 killed ; he has just escaped from great danger. 
 Poor animal ! at every stroke of the bayonet, 
 with which the sentinel was endeavoring to 
 chase him out of the garden, I thought he 
 would die ; but he recovered himself bravely, 
 and sprang across the iron railing on the ter- 
 race. I advise you. my little friend, to fasten 
 
36 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 a string around his neck, if you wish to keep 
 them from killing him.” 
 
 “ But this dog is not mine, sir; I do not 
 know to whom he belongs,” replied Cecil. 
 “ He is wounded, and you ought to take him 
 to your house — for you , doubtless^, have a 
 home ! ” 
 
 The melancholy sigh which accompanied 
 these last words, could only be understood 
 by those who knew poor Cecil’s situation. 
 
 “Well, that’s a good one!” said the old 
 gentleman laughing. “ Certainly I have a 
 home, but I do not like dogs ; they distress 
 and annoy me ; they must alwaj^s be watched. 
 If you do not love them better than I do, my 
 little fellow, why all you have to do, is to let 
 this one go and take his chance ; his trouble 
 will soon be ended. If he escapes from the 
 sentinel’s bayonet, he will not from the poi- 
 sonous little balls of meat, which they throw 
 into the streets for vagrant dogs. That is a 
 
THE WOUNDED LITTLE DOG. 
 
 37 
 
 good one — take him home with me ! Children 
 think everybody wjll do just as they wish/’ 
 muttered the old gentleman as he went on his 
 way. 
 
 “ He is a selfish old man,” said Cecil, 
 caressing ^the dog, who gave utterance to a 
 sort of doleful, whining sound. “ Poor ani- 
 mal ! His foot is hurt. A blow from the 
 bayonet has torn off the skin, and the bone 
 is exposed.” 
 
 Cecil’s thoughts were now entirely occupied 
 with the poor dog, who had run to him for 
 protection. He carried his little burden to a 
 clear basin of water, and after having carefully 
 washed the wound, he tore off the corner 
 of his pocket-handkerchief and bound it up 
 The dog licked his hands and looked up to 
 him with an expression of so much gratitude, 
 that Cecil experienced a sweet satisfaction in 
 having dotfe a good act. The old gentleman’s 
 
 advice to fasten a string to the animal, now 
 
 4 
 
38 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 recurred to Cecil, and he took the rest of his 
 pocket-handkerchief and put it around the 
 dog’s neck. 
 
 If the people walking in the Tuileries had 
 thought a little less of themselves and a little 
 more of others, without doubt some of the 
 number would have been struck by the little 
 pantomime which was enacted at this moment, 
 between Cecil and his dog. They were both 
 seated on the grass, one in front of the other, 
 and gazing in each other’s face with an ex- 
 pression which was truly sad and touching. 
 
 The dog appeared to say: “You, who 
 have saved and protected me — do not aban- 
 don me ! ” 
 
 And in Cecil’s blue eyes might be read : 
 “ Poor animal, forsaken like me, what will 
 become of us both ? ” 
 
 And as if both were drawn together by the 
 same feelings, the child put his arms around 
 the dog’s neck, and the dog wagged his tail 
 
THE WOUNDED LITTLE DOG. 
 
 39 
 
 and licked the hand which caressed him. It 
 was a beautiful picture ! 
 
 Though Cecil was twelve years old, he was 
 so small and delicate, that he looked at least 
 two or three years younger ; his countenance 
 was pale and sickly-looking ; his features were 
 fine and intellectual ; his mouth rather scorn- 
 ful, but in his face might be read the most 
 exquisite sensibility, the most tender and ele- 
 vated feelings. His eyes were of a clear blue, 
 with a sad and softly insinuating expression ; 
 his dress was neat, and even elegant ; his little 
 plaited shirt was trimmed with lace ; a silk 
 handkerchief was tied around his neck ; his 
 pantaloons were of nankin, his coat of fine 
 blue cloth ; his feet were neatly dressed with 
 nice and glazed shoes. He had the appear- 
 ance of a rich child, who was waiting for his 
 father or mother, from whom he had only 
 strayed for a moment. 
 
 The dog was a little black spaniel, with 
 
40 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 one white spot upon his breast, one on each 
 foot, and at the end of his tail ; his hair was 
 long and silky ; and his ears so long that they 
 almost swept the ground. 
 
 Cecil and his dog were still gazing at each 
 other, when the beating of the drums made 
 them start. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 TWO cents’ worth of bread. 
 
 It was the signal for closing the gates. Cecil 
 remembered the advice of the overseer of the 
 Tuileries, and taking his dog under his arm, 
 with his book and his cousin’s letter, he followed 
 •the crowd towards the gate, which opened m 
 Castiglione street. 
 
 “ I will have courage,” said he to himself, 
 while walking along. “ I am better off than 
 Robinson Crusoe. There was nothing in his 
 desert island ; but here there is every thing,” 
 added he, going down De la Paix street, 
 and gazing in astonishment at the windows 
 of the beautiful and brilliantly lighted shops. 
 “ Everything ! ” repeated he. “ If the desert- 
 ed island, on which Robinson was cast, had 
 4* 
 
42 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 been thus provided, truly, such a large volume 
 would not have been made of his misfortunes. 
 But I forgot that I was hungry, and have 
 only eaten a small piece of bread and two 
 pears, this morning.” 
 
 Just at this moment he passed by an eat- 
 ing-house, but he did not think of going in. 
 Brought up in the country, where the customs 
 were plain and old-fashioned, he had only 
 heard the Parisian eating-houses spoken of 
 as places where several persons met to dine* 
 together and make merry. He was sad and 
 lonely ; and anything like gaiety for the pre- 
 sent had no attraction for him ; so he walked 
 on. Next he came to a large hotel, the door 
 of which was open ; he stopped before it, and 
 looked wistfully into the court-yard. 
 
 “ If they see me, probably they will ask me 
 to come in,” he said; and unconsciously he 
 advanced a few steps. 
 
 Servants were running backwards and for- 
 
two cents’ worth of bread. 43 
 
 wards, some carrying dishes towards the steps; 
 others were currying horses and harnessing 
 them to the wagons ; but nobody noticed 
 Cecil ; nobody asked him to come in. In his 
 artlessness and ignorance of the world, he was 
 astonished. Then, supposing that this neglect 
 only arose from their not perceiving him, he 
 walked a few steps farther inside the court-yard. 
 
 An old woman, who was standing before a 
 door, above which was written, “ inquire of 
 . the door-keeper,” cried out to him : 
 
 ;c For whom are you looking, my little gen- 
 tleman ? ” 
 
 “ Nobody, my good woman,” replied Cecil, 
 delighted to have somebody notice him ; and 
 he walked directly up to her. 
 
 “ What do you want, then ? and why do 
 you come in ? ” continued the woman, so 
 sharply, that the poor child stumbled in re- 
 treating. But he quickly recovered himself 
 and took courage to say : 
 
44 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “ I thought seeing me there you would 
 invite me to come in, Madame.” 
 
 The woman opened her eyes and stared at 
 the child as if she did not understand what he 
 said. Cecil continued : 
 
 “ You see, Madame, that I am very tired 
 and hungry.” 
 
 “ Our house is not a public inn, for travel- 
 lers ; go further on, my little one ! Go ! I 
 tell you this is not the place you seek ! ” and 
 the woman accompanied her words with many 
 gestures ; but seeing that Cecil did not hasten 
 to obey her she took him by the shoulders, 
 and pushed him with great violence. 
 
 “ Oh ! ” said he, turning down the first 
 street he came to, “ what a rude woman !” 
 and walking on he arrived at a baker’s shop. 
 
 “ They will surely give me a piece of bread 
 here,” thought he, entering. A young girl was 
 seated behind the counter. 
 
 “ Miss,” said he hesitatingly, for the door- 
 
TWO cents’ worth of bread. 45 
 
 keeper’s behavior had made him mistrustful, — 
 “ will you give me a piece of bread ? ” 
 
 “ With pleasure, my little gentleman,” said 
 the girl, rising quickly; and taking down a 
 large loaf, she added, smiling kindly, “ But 
 before I cut it, tell me, how much do you 
 want ? ” 
 
 “ How much ! That is as you please, Miss,” 
 replied Cecil, gaily, and almost devouring the 
 bread, of which he was so much in need, with 
 his eyes. 
 
 “ Forsooth ! that is all the same to me my 
 little gentleman,” replied the girl. “ Do you 
 want two or three cents’ worth ? ” * 
 
 “ Do you mean to make me pay for it ? ” 
 inquired the child, with such ludicrous earnest 
 ness, that the girl burst out laughing. 
 
 “ Do you suppose that I am going to give 
 it to you for nothing ? ” 
 
 “ Amanda!” screamed a loud voice from 
 behind a grating, where Cecil perceived a fat 
 
46 
 
 CECLL. 
 
 woman writing on a large account book 
 — “ Why do you amuse yourself in that 
 manner with customers, instead of helping 
 them immediately to what they want ? Cut 
 two cents’ worth of bread for the child, 
 and if that is not enough, cut him four cents’ 
 worth.” 
 
 The girl obeyed. “ Here is two cents’ 
 worth,” said she, presenting him with the 
 bread with one hand, and holding out the 
 other for the money. 
 
 Cecil felt in his pocket, and blushed as he 
 drew out only one cent. It was all he had in 
 the world 
 
 “ That is all I have,” he said tremblingly, 
 his eyes filling with tears, and glancing at the 
 bread, which was not sufficient to satisfy his 
 appetite, and which he dreaded to see cut in 
 two 
 
 “ There, take it,” said the amiable girl, giv- 
 ing him the whole piece ; and looking fearfully 
 
TWO cents’ worth of bread. 47 
 
 towards the grating, she dropped Cecil’s cent 
 in the money drawer. 
 
 The poor child seized the bread, and seating 
 himself on the side-walk near the baker’s shop, 
 for he had not strength to go farther, he began 
 to eat with great eagerness. 
 
/ 
 
 ( . / • ) 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 A NAME FOR THE DOG, 
 
 Cecil was still eating, when by the reflection 
 of the lamps from the shop, he noticed the 
 dog, who was looking up to him in a most 
 expressive manner. At every mouthful he 
 swallowed, the dog would wag his tail, and 
 draw nearer to his new master; then seeing 
 there was nothing for him, he would sit down 
 again on his hind legs, and with his tongue 
 hanging out of his mouthy look so disappointed, 
 that Cecil was moved and exclaimed : 
 
 “ Poor animal ! he is hungry also. I have 
 not too much for myself, but no matter, we 
 will share it ; I have suffered enough from 
 hunger to-day not to have pity on others.” 
 
A NAME FOR THE DOG. 
 
 49 
 
 And after this reflection, with every mouthful 
 he ate himself, he gave one to the dqg. The 
 poor animal expressed his delight by jumping, 
 wagging his tail, and crouching at the feet of 
 
 O J O 
 
 his new master ; then standing on his hind 
 legs, his fore-feet elevated, he appeared ready 
 to dance the Cachucha. 
 
 Cecil encouraged him, and said: “ Give' me 
 your hand ! ” 
 
 The dog obeyed, first presenting one paw, 
 then the other, with such grace that Cecil was 
 enchanted. 
 
 “ What shall I call you ? ” said Cecil. 
 
 Cut the dog could not answer ; and he re- 
 commenced his tricks, barking, turning around, 
 and alternately presenting his paws and with- 
 drawing them. 
 
 “I wish very much to know your name, 
 my poor friend,” said Cecil, again speaking to 
 the dog as if he could understand him ; “ for 
 you are now my only companion — my com- 
 
50 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 panion in misfortune ; both of us wanderers in 
 this great city of Paris, as Robinson was on 
 his desert island ! I am Robinson, and you 
 are my man Friday. You are black like 
 him; but he could speak, and you cannot 
 say a word. Let me see ; will you answer 
 to the name of Friday ? No, you not under- 
 stand me. That is a pity ; for, besides you. 
 I have nobody here to whom I can talk. 
 Can this be a city, which so much resembles 
 a desert island ? I do not know to whom I 
 can apply for hospitality. The people will 
 perhaps make me pay for a bed, as they did 
 for the bread we have just been eating to- 
 gether. But I have no more money ; neither 
 have you — have you ? Poor friend ! you 
 cannot be of any use to me. I remember 
 the fable of the lion and the mouse, where 
 it is said, ‘ One has sometimes need of a 
 smaller than one’s self.’ But it does not 
 follow as a matter of course, that the one 
 
A NAME FOR THE DOG. 
 
 51 
 
 smaller than one’s self must be a dog. No 
 matter ; be quiet ! I will not forsake you. 
 I will take care of you and love you. I will 
 tell you my thoughts and you shall console 
 me. Meanwhile, I should like to find a name 
 for you. It troubles me not to know what to 
 call you. Wicked cousin, who left me all 
 alone ! Here it is night, and where can I 
 sleep? Fortunately it is not cold; but the 
 ground is hard. If I only had the ground 
 itself it would not be so bad. But these 
 paving stones are none of the softest ! 
 Where is Augustus, now ? No doubt, gone 
 back to Bordeaux ; for I remember his en- 
 gaging a seat in the diligence, which must 
 have been for himself. O, the unfeeling fel- 
 low ! Come nearer to me, little dog, that I 
 may tell you what my cousin did— but no, it 
 is too bad ! I will not tell anybody the 
 wickedness of my uncle’s son — my poor un- 
 cle, who was so good to me, and loved me so 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 
52 
 
 CECIL 
 
 much that Augustus was jealous ! Let us 
 talk of other things, my dog. Let us find a 
 name for you — that will make me forget my 
 grief. 5 ’ And with the versatility of spirit 
 natural to children of his age, Cecil tried 
 to recal all the names of dogs he had ever 
 heard. Then he pronounced them, one by 
 one, distinctly, all the while watching for the 
 slightest sign or movement of the dog’s ears, 
 which might express recognition. 
 
 The first name he thought of was Valiant, 
 implying no doubt that the dog was courage- 
 ous in fighting the wolves, which were very 
 numerous in the woods, surrounding Bordeaux 
 He repeated Valiant! Valiant ! several times, 
 varying the tone of his voice, but the spaniel 
 took no notice. 
 
 The dogs of Bordeaux being uppermost in 
 his mind, he called, in succession, “ Diana ! 
 Castor ! Pollox ! Beauty ! Turk ! Caesar ! ” 
 But none of these names appeared to belong 
 
A NAME FOR THE DOG. 
 
 53 
 
 to the little spaniel. Cecil thought, perhaps 
 the dogs in Paris had different names from 
 those in Bordeaux. 
 
 Immediately, his uncle’s journey to Paris 
 recurred to his mind ; for you must know, my 
 dear reader, that this journey had been the 
 most remarkable event in Mr. Thomas’s life ; 
 and from the time of its occurrence until his 
 death, two years afterwards, it had been 
 almost his only subject of conversation. 
 
 All the names of dogs that Cecil could 
 remember as connected with his uncle’s nar- 
 rations, were Moloch, Florence, and Tycho ; 
 but to none of these did the little spaniel 
 answer. 
 
 At this moment, a gentleman, in a blue 
 great coat and a three cornered hat, passed 
 by Cecil, whistling to a large grey hound, 
 which he called Fox. 
 
 The spaniel made one bound as if to ran 
 
 towards the gentleman, but immediately re- 
 
 5 * 
 
54 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 turned and crouched down at Cecil’s feet 
 with a joyful whine. 
 
 “Oh! your name is Foxl ” exclaimed 
 Cecil with pleasure. 
 
 The dog wagged hj s ta jj j n token of assent. 
 
 “ Well, Fox,” added he, “we have supped, 
 but we have had nothing to drink, and I am 
 very thirsty — are you thirsty ? ” 
 
 The dog, as if he understood, ran down a 
 street, continually looking back to see if his 
 master followed. The gentleman in the blue 
 great coat walked slowly behind them. 
 
 Fox conducted Cecil in this manner to a 
 place where several streets crossed, in the 
 middle of which rose a beautiful fountain. 
 Fox drank out of the basin, and Cecil from 
 one of the spouts. 
 
 “ Thank you,” said Cecil, “ I gave you 
 bread and you have given me water, so we 
 are quits. Now we will remain here and 
 sleep ; for I am weary.” 
 
A NA.ME FOR THE DOG. 
 
 55 
 
 Cecil bad laid himself down upon the 
 ground, when the gentleman in the great 
 coat, who had not lost sight of him for a 
 moment, approached, and said : 
 
 “ What are you doing there, all alone, and 
 at this hour ? Do you know that it is late, 
 my little friend ?” 
 
 “ You see, Sir, that I am playing with my 
 dog,” replied Cecil without moving. 
 
 “I thought you were a lost child,” said 
 the stranger, “.but I perceive by your dress 
 that I must be mistaken.” 
 
 Cecil, at the word lost , started involuntarily, 
 and yet refrained from making any exclama- 
 tion. When the gentleman had ceased speak- 
 ing, the child asked, with an air which might 
 have been taken for one of curiosity, but which 
 was really one of anxiety : 
 
 “ Wed 1 if I had been a lost child, what 
 would you have done, Sir ? ” 
 
56 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “ I should have asked you where you livet 
 and taken you home.” 
 
 “ You are very good, then,” said Cecil ris- 
 ing and approaching his interrogator. 
 
 “ It is my business to take care of lost 
 children.” 
 
 “ Your business to take home all the chil- 
 dren who lose their way ! What do you call 
 yourself?” exclaimed Cecil. 
 
 “ I am the Town Crier.” 
 
 “ Town Crier ! ” repeated Cecil. “ But I 
 thought, Sir, that some of these poor children 
 had no homes ! ” 
 
 C£ Then,” said the Town Crier, who was 
 amused by Cecil’s prattling, “ as all children 
 without homes are beggars, or vagrants, I take 
 them to prison.” 
 
 “ But could there not be some children who 
 had no home, and yet were neither beggars 
 nor vagrants, Sir? If for example, a little 
 boy were lost by his big cousin, who wished 
 
A NAME FOR THE DOG. 
 
 57 
 
 to get rid of him ? ” inquired Cecil, a little 
 agitated. 
 
 The Town Crier smiled and replied : 
 “ Then the big cousin must have been a 
 very bad cousin.” 
 
 “ But what if it was so, Sir ? ” 
 
 “ I should take the little cousin to prison, 
 because nobody is permitted to sleep in the 
 streets ; but the prison is neither very dark 
 nor very gloomy. Then, the little cousin 
 would be questioned ; if he had parents, they 
 would be written to, and asked if they would 
 own him ; if his parents would not own him, 
 the child would be placed in a house, where 
 very good care would be taken of him, and he 
 would be taught a trade.” 
 
 “ Would it not be like a prison there?” 
 asked Cecil. 
 
 “ Not at all, my little friend! At first he 
 could not go out ; he would not be free to do 
 as he chose ; and a little boy like you would 
 
58 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 not be allowed to have such a pretty dog for 
 a companion.” 
 
 Cecil thought a moment, then said : 
 
 “ It is not permitted to sleep in the streets ! ” 
 as if this had particularly struck him. “Well, 
 that is strange ! Poor forsaken Robinson, on 
 his desert island, had at least this liberty ! I 
 thank you, Sir, and bid you good evening,” 
 added he, taking his dog under his arm, and 
 walking away from the Town Crier. 
 
 “ No doubt,” thought Cecil, “ there are 
 other privileges in Paris for deserted children, 
 which should compensate for not being able 
 to sleep in the streets. But I at least am a 
 hundred times more perplexed here than was 
 ever Robinson Crusoe. Where shall I sleep ? 
 All the doors are closed, and if I knock, 1 
 shall perhaps be badly treated, as I was by the 
 door-keeper of the hotel near the Tuileries , 
 and I do riot like to be insulted ! If I could 
 find a deserted house, it would suit me admir- 
 
A NAME FOR THE DOG. 
 
 59 
 
 ably, and Fox also; would it not, my little 
 dog ? ” 
 
 Cecil looked up to see whether he had 
 strayed. He perceived on his right two 
 unfinished houses, and a scaffolding in front 
 of them, before which a small lamp was 
 burning, that emitted a black and disagree- 
 able smoke. 
 
 “Here is just the place for us ! ” exclaimed 
 he joyfully. “ Two houses without doors or 
 windows, and probably no tenants — nobody to 
 speak to us, or refuse us admittance ! Come 
 let us go in ! ” 
 
 But the poor child was deceived ; ffor he 
 had hardly advanced two steps under the 
 scaffolding when an enraged voice screamed 
 out, 
 
 “ Who is there ? ” 
 
 Cecil’s courage failed him. 
 
 “Somebody to turn me away again !” said 
 he sorrowfully. 
 
 ^ i 
 
60 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 The poor wanderer raised his tearful eyes 
 to heaven, and falling down on his knees, 
 with clasped hands, uttered these words : 
 
 cc Oh ! Almighty God, who art in heaven, 
 have pity on me ! What will become of me 
 if I can find neither a bed to lie on nor food 
 to eat ? Oh God ! give me strength and 
 instruction what to do. My poor uncle al- 
 ways told me that heaven would aid me. I 
 do not ask for better succour than from thee, 
 my heavenly Father ; but do not let them put 
 me in prison ! I have read of children who 
 worked to support their parents ; I wish for 
 nothing better than to work for myself; but 
 how shall I get employment? Oh! Almighty 
 Father, I place my trust in thee; have mercy 
 on the poor, forsaken child — another Robinson, 
 but a thousand times more to be pitied in 
 Paris', than the real Robinson on the desert 
 island.” 
 
 His prayer was here interrupted by the 
 
A NAME FOR THE DOG. 
 
 61 
 
 same voice, again calling out and still more 
 crossly, 
 
 “ Who is there ? ” 
 
 Fox answered by growling. 
 
'V 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE INVALID* 
 
 “ There is then, somebody here?” added the 
 voice, which was followed by the sound of an 
 approaching crutch ; and, in a moment, a crip- 
 ple, dressed in uniform, stood before Cecil. 
 “ It was you, you little urchin, making all that 
 noise, was it?” demanded the old soldier. 
 
 “ I did not think I made much noise,” said 
 Cecil, sorrowfully. 
 
 “ If it was not you it was your dog, then, 
 that awoke me from my sleep. One cannot 
 sleep quietly for a single hour in this Great 
 Louis street.” 
 
 “ Oh ! if you can sleep at all, you are very 
 fortunate ! ” exclaimed Cecil. 
 
THE INVALID. 
 
 63 
 
 “ But I tell you I cannot sleep. You see 
 very well that I cannot sleep, you little mon- 
 key. If I had a dog like yours I might sleep ; 
 for he would keep watch for me ; but the 
 street sweepers poisoned mine last week — - 
 my poor Austerlitz ! I had forgotten to muzzle 
 him ; and, in his old age, he had grown greedy. 
 I warned him repeatedly not to touch the 
 little meat-balls thrown about the streets, but 
 I might as well have talked to my wooden 
 leg. He did not heed me. He saw one of 
 the poisoned balls in his w&y and tasted it. 
 Poor Austerlitz ! he came and died in my 
 arms ! He was my friend, my only friend ! 
 We met each other, both wounded, in the 
 battle, after which I named him. I bound 
 up his wounds ; he licked mine ; and, from 
 that time, we have, as the song says, ‘ together 
 glided down the stream of life/ until last Fri- 
 day afternoon, at half-past three o’clock, when 
 Austerlitz died. Will you sell me your dog, 
 
64 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 my little monkey; or give it to me gather? 
 for it would be difficult to pay for it, as you 
 see my purse is at present empty. But give 
 him to me ; it would afford me much pleasure. 
 I will call him Austerlitz, and even a dog 
 should be proud of that glorious name. What 
 do you say ? ” 
 
 “ I say, Sir, that I will make you a pro- 
 position : this dog is not mine, and I can 
 neither give nor sell him to you ; blit if you 
 will let him and me sleep here with you, we 
 will both keep watch.” 
 
 “That will do, my fine little boy; that 
 will do! Come in ; the sleeping apartment is 
 fresh and clean ; the four walls will serve for 
 bed-curtains, and heaven for a ceiling. The 
 bed is not to be despised ; it is of granite, 
 which is very costly ; every thing is elegant, 
 and has never been used ; we may not always 
 have such good accommodations. Have you 
 supped? Are you thirsty ? Are you hungry ?” 
 
THE INVALID. 
 
 65 
 
 “ Alas ! ” said Cecil, ashamed of his dis- 
 tressed situation, “ since this morning I have 
 only eaten a little bread.” 
 
 “ Poor child ! ” said the old soldier, kindly ; 
 “ There ! take the remainder of this cold veal, 
 which was given to me by a charming little 
 girl who lives just by here ; and there is some 
 bread! But, bles^ me, when I have wine I 
 can never leave a drop ; it is a habit I got 
 into in the wars. If you want some water, I 
 believe there is some in the pitcher. 
 
 “ Did you wish to save some for to- 
 morrow?” interrupted Cecil, coloring at the 
 remark, and suddenly ceasing to eat. 
 
 “ Save some for to-morrow ! Nonsense ! 
 Eat away, my young hero! Old father La 
 Tuile i^ not sufficiently sure of seeing to- 
 morrow to lay up anything for the future. 
 Son of a soldier, and bcrn on the day of a 
 battle, I have grown up in the midst of battles, 
 
 doubting every day whether the next would 
 6 * 
 
66 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 not be my last. This leg has made me a 
 half-pay officer, and I am now numbered 
 among the king’s invalids. By the by, little 
 monkey, I am talking away like an old magpie, 
 without inquiring how such a nicely-dressed 
 and genteel little boy as you are, happen to 
 be wandering about the streets of Paris, dying 
 of hunger, and without a home?” 
 
 Cecil was preparing to gratify the old man’s 
 curiosity when a second thought made him 
 change his mind and he said, 
 
 “ I cannot tell you about it, Sir ; it is too 
 horrible.” 
 
 > “ Can it be possible that you have done 
 something horrible, with that sweet and sinless 
 face!” exclaimed father La Tuile. 
 
 “ It was not I, who did something horrible, 
 Sir ; it was my cousin. My cousin is the son 
 of my dead uncle, who was the best man on 
 earth ; and it would have grieved him so 
 much, if he knew that I told anybody of his 
 
THE INVALID. 
 
 67 
 
 son’s wickedness — it is on that account that I 
 cannot tell you about it, Sir.” 
 
 “ If they did not tell us our duty more 
 clearly in the regiment than you have related 
 the history of your cousin, there would be few 
 soldiers capable of fulfilling their trust. But 
 sleep will do you good — -so, good night.” 
 Saying these words, the cripple went be- 
 hind a little tent, ingeniously formed of linen 
 suspended on the beams of the unfinished 
 house. Cecil laid himself on a bundle of hay, 
 with Fox at his feet. A few minutes after- 
 wards Cecil’s troubles were lost in the sweet 
 and refreshing slumber W'hich visits the pillow 
 of youth and innocence. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE WORKMEN. 
 
 Cecil was awakened at daylight by Ins dog’s 
 loud barking; and starting up he beheld Fox 
 looking half threateningly, half fearfully at a 
 crowd of workmen. 
 
 “ Here — father La Tuile,” screamec one 
 of the workmen, “ what does all this mean ? 
 Who are these new tenants, who cannot wait 
 until a house is finished before they come to 
 occupy it ? ” 
 
 ~ “Well what is the matter?” said fathei 
 La Tuile, raising the cloth of his tent a little, 
 and looking towards Cecil, who still lay on 
 his straw bed. “ These new tenants ! I gave 
 them shelter, and where was the harm ? ” 
 
 “ There is no harm, father La Tuile, no 
 
THE WORKMEN. 
 
 69 
 
 harm at all , 55 replied the workman, who had 
 before spoken, and who appeared to be the 
 foieman. “ But allow me to say notwith- 
 standing, father La Tuile, that instead of 
 giving shelter to this little rogue, you might 
 better have taken him back to his parents, 
 who must be very uneasy on his account.” 
 
 “ I have no parents, Mr. Workman ! ” said 
 Cecil, rising and shaking off the bits of straw 
 from his hair. 
 
 “ No father nor mother ? ” inquired the 
 foreman. 
 
 “ I only had an uncle, and he is dead, Sir,” 
 said Cecil, wiping away a tear which rolled 
 down his cheek. 
 
 “ No father and no mother?” exclaimed 
 all the masons, surrounding the little deserted 
 child ; “ and no home, and you do not know 
 where to sleep at night? Where did your 
 uncle live ? What did he do ? Did he not 
 leave any property ? ” 
 
70 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 These questions followed one another in such 
 rapid succession, that Cecil had no opportunity 
 to reply. Father La Tuile interrupted them 
 all exclaiming — 
 
 “ If you ask so many questions at once how 
 do you expect the boy to answer them ? Now 
 listen, comrades, to his story.” 
 
 Cecil, who during all these questions had 
 appeared bewildered, now spoke : 
 
 “ I was born in Bordeaux. I arrived in 
 # 
 
 Paris yesterday morning. An hour afterwards 
 I was alone. Now 1 am a poor, forsaken child. 
 This is my history.” 
 
 “ Forsaken! By whom?” asked all the 
 masons at once. 
 
 “ I cannot tell you that, gentlemen, for it 
 would do him injury. If you should meet him 
 in the street, you would throw stones at him ; 
 and, besides, it would pain his father very much, 
 who was so good, and who is now in heaven 
 with the good God. No, I cannot tell you.” 
 
THE WORKMEN. 
 
 71 
 
 <( Well, this is a strange child,” said all the 
 men, looking at one another; “ he has been 
 ill-treated and abandoned, and he will not tell 
 by whom ! ” 
 
 “ Oh ! ” said one of the workmen, “ it is 
 because he has nothing to tell ; he is a little 
 rogue who has run away from his parents.” 
 
 “ And why should I have run away from 
 my parents ?” asked Cecil, the blood mounting 
 to his cheeks. 
 
 “ Because you did something naughty, and 
 were afraid of being whipped.” 
 
 “I wish that was the truth,” said Cecil. 
 %c Yes, I wish it were so. I would much 
 rather have a home to go to, with the chance 
 of getting a whipping as soon as I entered the 
 house, than not to have a home at all.” 
 
 “ Then why do you not tell the truth ? ” 
 
 “ Listen,” said Cecil, who, indignam 
 being misjudged, had become quite energetic 
 “ if you, or you, or you, Sir, had a brother, 
 
72 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 cousin, or any relation who had done a wick- 
 ed action, you would not tell of it, would 
 you ? ” 
 
 “ No/’ they all answered ; “ but we would 
 punish him for it.” 
 
 “ Very well ! I cannot punish him, because 
 I am smaller than he, — and besides, he is far 
 away ; but notwithstanding all that, I am his 
 victim.” 
 
 “ What can we do for him ? ” consulted 
 the men together. “ He probably does not 
 know where to get any breakfast this morning.” 
 
 cc That is very true,” said Cecil. 
 
 “ For his breakfast this morning, comrades’, 
 said one of the workmen to the others, “ let us 
 each give him a small portion of ours, and that 
 will make him a good meal.” 
 
 “ That is just like Bourguignon,” said his 
 neighbor ; “ he only thinks of the present mo- 
 ment * When the poor child has breakfasted 
 how is he to get any dinner or supper ! ” 
 
THE WORKMEN. 
 
 73 
 
 “We will give him some of ours again, 
 Poitevin,” said Bourguignon. 
 
 “ But we cannot provide for him always,” 
 replied Poitevin. “ If he were only strong 
 enough, he could commence an apprentice- 
 ship.” 
 
 “ True, we cannot provide for him always,” 
 repeated the invalid. “ If he were only big 
 enough, he could enter the army.” 
 
 “Well we must find out what he can do,” 
 replied the foreman. 
 
 But, just as they were preparing to examine 
 him, a wagon stopped before the house, from 
 which a gentleman alighted. The workmen 
 quickly dispersed, all of them seizing their 
 various tools, and in an instant they were 
 busily employed, leaving Cecil and his dog 
 to themselves. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE ARCHITECT WHO IS LOOKING FOR A 
 GROOM. 
 
 “ Not yet at work ? ” said the gentleman 
 from the wagon angrily, for he had not been 
 duped by the sudden industry of the workmen. 
 
 “ I will explain the whole affair to you, Mr. 
 Dumont,” replied the foreman. “We quite 
 forgot ourselves while listening to this poor 
 child, whose history is so interesting that he 
 has nearly made fools of us all, and set us 
 blubbering.” 
 
 “And pray what is his history?” questioned 
 Mr. Dumont, glancing at Cecil, who bashfully 
 hung down his head. 
 
 “We don’t exactly know, Sir; but it’s all 
 one — it’s very interesting, that I can tell you.” 
 
LOOKING FOR A GROOM. 
 
 75 
 
 At this juncture the old soldier stepped 
 forward, and said : “ Sir, when this good 
 
 man says he don’t know the child’s history, 
 he partly speaks the truth, and partly he does 
 not speak the truth. Take a pinch of snuff, 
 Sir ? What, you don’t make use of any ? 
 Ah ! I beg your pardon.” 
 
 He then in a few words explained in what 
 manner he had found the boy, and repeated 
 every thing which Cecil had told him, as well 
 as his reasons for not mentioning the name of 
 the relation, by whom he was abandoned. 
 
 “ Nonsense ! A parcel of lies ! A little 
 vagabond! A little hypocrite!” muttered 
 the architect, glancing suspiciously at the 
 child, who, to conceal his confusion, com- 
 menced caressing his dog. “ What is your 
 name?” demanded Mr. Dumont abruptly. 
 
 “ Cecil Fernand.” 
 
 “ And you have no father, no mother, no 
 relations, nobody to take care of you ? ” 
 
76 
 
 CECIL, 
 
 Cecil hid his face on the neck of the dog to 
 conceal the tears that sprang to his eyes. 
 
 “ And you were abandoned yesterday morn- 
 ing in the Tuileries, and you do not choose to 
 say by whom ? ” 
 
 Cecil shook his head mournfully. 
 
 “ What do you know how to do ? ” 
 
 “'Nothing, Sir/’ replied the child with a 
 sigh that was half a sob. 
 
 “ Your parents, then, did not teach you . 
 anything ? ” 
 
 “Oh yes, Sir, that they did — a great many 
 things ! ” replied Cecil with animation. “ My 
 uncle had taught me to write, and I have 
 studied geography and arithmetic, and a little 
 Latin, and I have learned to play upon the 
 violin, and to dance — -and — 55 
 “ Your uncle, then, was rich ? ” 
 
 “ I do not know, Sir ; but the house was 
 full of fine things, and we never wanted any- 
 
LOOKING FOR A GROOM. 
 
 77 
 
 “ And your uncle is dead ? 55 
 Cecil bowed his head, for he could not 
 command his voice to reply. A momentary 
 silence ensued. The architect was atten- 
 tively scanning the delicate features and fragile 
 appearance of the young orphan. 
 
 “ How old are you ? 55 asked he, at length. 
 “ Twelve years old, Sir . 55 
 “ Can you ride on horseback ? 55 
 “ Yes, Sir , 55 replied Cecil proudly; “ with 
 stirrups and without stirrups. My uncle had 
 plenty of horses at his country-seat . 55 
 
 “ You are a fine looking little fellow ; you 
 would make an excellent groom. Will you 
 enter my service ? 55 
 
 “ No, Sir , 55 replied Cecil determinedly. 
 
 “ Hoity-toity ! And why do you object, 
 pray ? 55 
 
 “ Because I do not choose to be a servant . 55 
 “You do not, eh? I suppose you prefer 
 
 being a little lazy beggar ? 55 answered the 
 7 * 
 
78 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 architect in an angry tone. “ Very well ; be 
 off 1 ! Go about your business at once. And 
 take care that I don’t se^ eyes upon you again, 
 or I shall have you taken up as a vagrant, and 
 put into prison.” 
 
 “Oh, Sir,” said Cecil, clasping his hands 
 imploringly together, “ pray — for pity’s sake 
 do not do that! I am not lazy — I am not 
 a vagabond! I would not be your servant; 
 but if you will give me some work, I will do 
 what I can. I will carry stones, or lime ; I 
 will help the masons, and learn to be a mason 
 — but I cannot be your servant ; indeed, Sir, 
 I feel as though I ought not to be.” 
 
 “ You little fool ! It is much easier to be 
 a groom than a mason. A servant has very 
 little to do.” 
 
 “ I do not care for that, Sir. I cannot be 
 a servant.” 
 
 “ But you will have nothing to do but ride 
 behind my carriage, or on my horses.” 
 
LOOKING FOR A GROOM. 
 
 79 
 
 “Then I should only learn idle habits; and 
 I should be obliged to associate with the ser- 
 vants, which my uncle always forbade me to 
 do ; and I should become — no, no, Sir, I 
 cannot be your groom.” 
 
 “Enough said on that subject — go! be off! 
 And take care that I do not catch you. Do 
 you hear me ! Go ! I tell you.” 
 
 The architect lifted his cane with a menac- 
 ing air, and Cecil making a sign for the dog 
 to follow him, bowed to Mr. Dumont, and 
 said, with more dignity than could have been 
 expected from a child — 
 
 “ Do not strike me, Sir, I am not your 
 servant ; therefore you have no right to strike 
 me!” 
 
 Cecil had not walked a great distance before 
 a “hist! hist!” which proceeded from behind 
 him, made him turn his head. The old sol- 
 dier hobbled towards him and said, “ here is 
 some bread, which the workmen sent you. 
 
80 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 You are a noble boy — you spoke as a gen- 
 tleman’s son should have done. If you can’t 
 find a place to sleep in to-night, come back 
 here.” 
 
 “ I cannot do that,” said Cecil ; “ that 
 
 wicked man has threatened to have me taken 
 up — but I thank you from my heart.” 
 
 He took the enormous slice of brown bread, 
 which his friend offered him, and proceeded 
 on his way. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A PROMENADE IN PARIS. 
 
 Once more the young orphan found himself 
 alone in the streets of Paris. In one hand he 
 held the string which was fastened around his 
 dog’s neck, and in the other the slice of bread. 
 Beneath his arm he carried his little book con 
 taining the memoirs of Robinson Crusoe. 
 
 “ The first thing that Robinson did in his 
 desert island,” said Cecil to himself, “ was to 
 make the rounds and see where he was ; ” 
 and with these words he commenced eating 
 his bread, occasionally throwing small bits to 
 his dog, and gazing in at the window's of the 
 beautiful shops that he met at every step. 
 
 u Surely I shall never starve in this Paris, 
 where there are bakers and confectioners, and 
 
82 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 eating houses at every block. And as for a 
 place to sleep in, surely I can find lodgings, 
 where there are so many beautiful houses with 
 all the doors thrown invitingly open. As foi 
 the people, they don’t look much as if they 
 would eat me up, as poor Robinson Crusoe 
 feared the cannibals would eat him. Courage ! 
 courage ! ” And he stopped before a tailor’s 
 store. 
 
 The tailor, who happened to be standing in 
 front of his shop, looked at him, and said: “If 
 you w T ant any new clothes, young gentleman, 
 come in ; we keep a superior quality here.” 
 
 “ Thank you, Sir,” replied Cecil, delighted 
 with the courteous mien of the storekeeper, 
 “ my coat is quite new, but when it is worn 
 out I shall certainly come here.” 
 
 “ That is right ; we will suit you, my little- 
 friend ; no fear but we will suit you.” 
 
 Cecil walked a little further, and was stop 
 ped by a man who was selling canes. 
 
A PROMENADE IN PARIS. 
 
 83 
 
 “ Look at this cane, young Sir ; a little 
 cane would become you so well ! Try this 
 one — it is small and pliable, — it looks as if it 
 was made for you. You may have it for a 
 mere trifle — almost nothing.” 
 
 “ Thank you — thank you kindly,” replied 
 Cecil ; “ I will not take one to-day,” and he 
 passed on. 
 
 Emboldened by the pleasant manners of the 
 two merchants, he walked confidently into a 
 large hotel, for it was about mid-day, and the 
 sun pained his head. 
 
 “ What do you want here?” called out the 
 door-keeper. 
 
 “ The sun is very warm,” said Cecil, bow- 
 ing politely; “ could you not permit me to 
 rest here for a few moments ?” 
 
 “Be off with you, you little vagabond,” 
 replied the man, closing the door in the child’s 
 face. 
 
 Cecil was lost in wonder, and stood gazing 
 
84 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 at the closed door some minutes without seem- 
 ing to realize that it was really shut. “ No , 
 matter,” thought he at last, “ I shall not find 
 all the world in such a bad humor as this old 
 man.” 
 
 At a short distance from the hotel stood a 
 booth, the counter of which contained nume- 
 rous delicacies, and various enough in their 
 kinds to please every palate. On the step of 
 the booth stood a young man, who looked as 
 though he had not despised his own dainties. 
 Cecil stopped immediately in front of the man, 
 and looked up into his face without daring to 
 speak. 
 
 “ Do you want something to eat, my little 
 friend?” asked the man. 
 
 “Oh! yes, Sir; I have eaten nothing to- 
 day but a piece of bread this morning.” 
 
 “ Come in, come in,» and take a choice of 
 these niceties,” said the man, in the most 
 amiable manner possible. 
 
A PROMENADE IN PARIS. 
 
 85 
 
 “ But I must tell you beforehand,” said 
 Cecil, following the shop-keeper into the mid- 
 dle of his booth, “ that I have no money — not 
 a cent.” 
 
 “ Then, what business have you here ? ” 
 replied he, the smile instantly vanishing from 
 his countenance. 
 
 “ I am an unfortunate child, who has been 
 abandoned by his guardian in this city,” re- 
 plied Cecil ; “ I am tired, and warm, and 
 
 very hungry ” 
 
 “I am sorry for you,” answered the man 
 coolly. “ There is something for you — take 
 it — go, and don’t stop the passage.” 
 
 When Cecil saw the single cent which ac- 
 companied these words, his cheeks flushed, 
 and he could hardly restrain his indignation. 
 “ I am not a beggar, Sir ; I did not ask for 
 money,” said he. 
 
 “ You will get nothing here — so make your- 
 self scarce.” 
 
 8 
 
86 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 Cecil obeyed, and walked on ; but he was 
 so fatigued that his legs trembled beneath him, 
 and even the dog drooped his ears and let his 
 tail drop between his legs, while his tongue 
 hung from his mouth. 
 
 As he was traversing the Boulevards, which 
 is one of the widest and gayest streets in Paris, 
 Cecil observed a number of chairs standing 
 upon the side-walk beneath the shade of some 
 fine old trees. Hastily advancing towards 
 them, he threw himself upon the nearest one, 
 too exhausted, faint, and sick at heart, even 
 to look around him. 
 
 . M 
 
 Hardly was he seated before an old woman 
 placed herself in front of him, silently extend- 
 ing her hand. 
 
 “ What do you wish ? ” asked Cecil. 
 
 “ Two cents for your chair, to be sure ! 99 
 
 “ What ! you have fifty empty chairs here, 
 and you will not let me occupy one without 
 paying you ? ” 
 
Cecil, the old Chair- Woman, and the Chimney-Sweep. 
 

 V ' 
 
 
 
 
 
 « 
 
 «#% 
 
 / 
 
A PROMENADE IN PARIS. 
 
 87 
 
 “ Certainly not ; your two cents, if you 
 please, young inaster . 55 
 
 “ I have not two cents / 5 replied Cecil with- 
 out stirring. 
 
 “Then sit upon the ground / 5 said the wo- 
 man, shaking the chair upon which Cecil was 
 resting so violently, that he could with diffi- 
 culty retain his place. 
 
 “ You are not a good woman / 5 said Cecil 
 rising. 
 
 “ I am the mistress of these chairs / 5 replied 
 the woman, quietly seating herself in the very 
 chair Cecil had vacated. 
 
 “ Ha, ha, ha, he 5 s got no money, and he 
 sits down like a prince ! Come, and sit here, 
 little friend ; 55 said a childish voice, with a 
 very provincial accent. 
 
 Cecil turned round, and saw a little boy, 
 so begrimed with dirt, that he at first thought 
 he must be a negro. The urchin was seated 
 on the steps of a large eating house, and a 
 
88 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 young monkey rested on his shoulder. Cecil 
 was so tired that he gladly accepted the in- 
 vitation, and placed himself beside the boy. 
 Fox curled himself up between Cecil’s feet, 
 and the children soon entered into conversa- 
 tion. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE FIRST LESSON IN INDUSTRY. 
 
 “You look very tired, and quite down in the 
 mouth,” began the master of the monkey. 
 
 “ Oh ! if I was only in a desert island, like 
 Robinson Crusoe ! ” exclaimed Cecil. 
 
 His new acquaintance burst into a fit of 
 laughter, and when his merriment subsided, 
 he said, “What do you want to be in a de- 
 sert island for? Do you want to starve to 
 death ? ” 
 
 “ Have you read Robinson Crusoe ? ” was 
 Cecil’s question, in reply. 
 
 “ I never read a line in my life — why, 
 I can’t read ? But what is this Robinson 
 Crusoe ? ” 
 
 “ This little book tells all about him. He 
 8 * 
 
 y 
 
90 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 was a little boy, who was left on a desert 
 island, all alone. 
 
 “ That was a pretty pickle to be in, cer- 
 tainly. And so, I suppose, he died ?” 
 
 “ No, he did n’t, though. He made out 
 very well, and he formed a colony, and be- 
 came a chief ; and he did a great many won- 
 derful things.” 
 
 “ Ah, now I understand it — it is a fairy 
 tale.” 
 
 “ No, it is not — it is a true story.” 
 
 “ But how can that be ? I know what a 
 desert island is well enough, for I heard a 
 man talking to my father about one. It is a 
 place where there is no houses and no people, 
 and how can one live where there are no 
 people ?” 
 
 “ But for all that, I would rather have been 
 abandoned on a desert island, where there are 
 no people, than in this great Paris where there 
 are so many cruel people.” 
 
THE FIRST LESSON IN INDUSTRY. 91 
 
 “ Ah, what nonsense you talk ! ” 
 
 “ Nonsense ! nonsense, indeed ! ” said Ce- 
 cil, rousing himself. “ If 1 was on a desert 
 island, like Robinson Crusoe’s, I could do 
 what I pleased — I could sit down where I 
 pleased — and sleep where I pleased — and eat 
 
 what I pleased — and ” 
 
 “ But what could you get to eat ? ” 
 
 “ Listen, and I will tell you all about it. 
 This Robinson Crusoe was left upon a desert 
 island, where he made himself a little grotto, 
 and slept quite well, I assure you ; and he 
 planted trees around his grotto — and he shot 
 birds, and made snares for rabbits — and fished 
 — and made himself clothes out of the skins 
 of wild beasts — and, one day, he found a 
 negro, and he made him his servant, and — 
 and — oh ! I would a thousand times rather 
 be on such an island than here — would not 
 you ? ” 
 
 “ No, that I would not. I like Paris.” 
 
92 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “ j\nd what do you like Paris for ? ” 
 
 “ Because, here one can work.” 
 
 “ Work ? work ? ” he repeated ; “ and can 
 you work ? ” 
 
 “ What a queer question ! How else could 
 Ilive?” 
 
 “ But what work can you do ? — you are 
 such a little fellow ! ” 
 
 “ Why, in the winter I sweep chimneys, 
 and in the summer I carry about this little 
 monkey, and I make him dance and cut up 
 capers — and — ” 
 
 “ But you sa\d work— how do you work 1 
 That is not working — but I am larger than 
 you, and I could work in earnest.” 
 
 “ To be sure ! ” 
 
 “But what could I do ? I could not sweep 
 chimneys : I should break my neck.” 
 
 “ I could teach you : but then you would 
 nave nothing to do in the summer, and you 
 are so nice and clean, I don’t believe your 
 
THE FIRST LESSON IN INDUSTRY. 93 
 
 mother would like to see you all smutted with 
 soot.” 
 
 “ Ah ! but I have no mother, and no father 
 neither,” replied Cecil, ready to burst into 
 tears. 
 
 “ Then why did you come to the city ? 
 Look at me — my father and mother are poor, 
 as poor as they can be, and they have ten 
 children : I am the second : my eldest bro- 
 ther is a boot-black ; ah ! he makes a deal of 
 money, I can tell you.” 
 
 “ And he gives you some ? ” 
 
 “ Not he ; but he sends money to my mo- 
 ther, and I make money for myself by my 
 little monkey.” 
 
 “ I wish I had a monkey,” said Cecil. 
 
 “ You have got a dog — but dogs are too 
 common now; they don’t do as well as mon- 
 keys. But you know you could beg.” 
 
 “ That I would not do for all the world!” 
 “Well, can’t you sing? This great house 
 
94 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 Dehind us is a coffee-house, and rich people 
 go there to dine. If you could only sing, 
 and were not afraid, you might make some 
 money in there. But, look ! that is my big 
 brother yonder. He wants me. Good by ! 1 
 I hope I shall see you again.” 
 
 The little boy got up, and, taking his mon- 
 key in his arms, was soon lost in the crowd, 
 and once more poor Cecil felt alone in the 
 world. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE REMNANTS OF THE CHICKEN THE PIECE 
 
 OF BREAD AND THE GLASS OF WATER. 
 
 For several hours Cecil sat motionless upon 
 the steps of the eating-house. At length one 
 of the waiters approached him and said, “ What 
 are you doing there little boy t ” 
 
 “ Nothing/’ replied Cecil, dblefully. 
 
 “ Then go about your business.” 
 
 “ But will you not let me rest here, Sir ? ” 
 said Cecil, in a tone of half querulous despair. 
 
 “ Certainly not. It is just the hour for 
 dinner, and we cannot permit the steps of 
 the house to be encumbered by lounging 
 children. Come, get up?” 
 
 Cecil rose — the dog did the same, and the 
 two wanderers, looking at each other with an 
 
96 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 air which seemed to say, “ wh^re shall we go 
 now ? ” walked away. 
 
 As though instinctively desirous of leading 
 the way, and of protecting his master, the 
 dog walked in front of Cecil. At last they 
 came to a coffee-house, before which the dog 
 paused, apparently to inhale the grateful odor 
 of the viands. Cecil followed his example. 
 Before the boy could foresee his dog’s inten- 
 tion, Fox threw himself against the half open 
 door, and disappeared in the long entry. 
 
 “Fox! Fox! where are you going?” 
 shouted Cecil ; but the dog did not return. 
 
 “ As soon as the people in this house see 
 poor Fox they will chase him out of doors ; 
 therefore I may as well wait for him here,” 
 thought Cecil, as he seated himself on the 
 door-step. 
 
 Meanwhile Fox had made his way to the 
 kitchen. He was so small and so black that 
 for some time he ran about unperceived, licking 
 
THE REMNANTS OF THE CHICKEN. 97 
 
 up the gravy that now and then flowed from 
 some carelessly-held dish, or appeasing his 
 hunger with small bits that had been flung 
 beneath the table. After a while, a little boy 
 who was assisting one of the cooks caught 
 sight of him. 
 
 “ Oh ! look at that pretty little dog ! ” ex- 
 claimed he. “ Where does he come from? 
 Here, doggie ! doggie ! ” 
 
 3 oo oo 
 
 Attracted by the childish voice, Fox leaped 
 upon the boy and fondly licked the hand 
 which caressed him. At that moment one 
 of the waiters placed upon the table a dish 
 which contained the remnant of a chicken, 
 saying, “throw that away and wash the dish.” 
 
 The little boy left the dog to obey the or- 
 der ; but Fox followed him, wagging his tail 
 and looking supplicatingly into his face, then 
 glancing sideways at the dish, and rubbing his 
 nose against the urchin’s hand. 
 
 “ Are you hungry, little dog ? ” said the 
 
 9 
 
98 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 boy, kindly, ana presenting the dish to him. 
 “ Here ! ” 
 
 The dog looked at the dish, then at the 
 boy, and waggec( his tail harder than before. 
 
 “ Take,” said the child, making an encour- 
 aging sign to the animal. 
 
 The dog seized the piece of chicken be- 
 tween his teeth and ran from the kitchen. 
 
 “ Well, where are you going?” cried the 
 boy ; “ Here ! here ! ” 
 
 But the dog did not return, and desirous as 
 was his new-found friend to follow him, he 
 dared not abandon his post, and commenced 
 washing the dishes. 
 
 He had just made a large pile of them, 
 when he felt something warm touching his 
 feet, and looking down, beheld the little dog 
 crouching beside him. 
 
 “Well! there you are!” said the delighted 
 boy. “ I suppose you want something more 
 to eat ? ” 
 
THE REMNANTS OF THE CHICKEN. 99 
 
 The dog, as though he comprehended him, 
 wagged his tail and looked up supplicatingly. 
 
 “ I have only got this piece of bread for 
 you, little dog ; will you have it ? ” 
 
 Fox caught at the offered bread, and again 
 escaped from the kitchen. 
 
 “ What a queer little animal ! ” exclaimed 
 the boy. “ I wonder where he goes to devour 
 what I give him.” 
 
 “ What are you talking to yourself about, 
 you little rascal ? ” demanded the head cook. 
 
 “ Oh ! Mr. Chipart, a moment ago such a 
 beautiful little black dog ran in here, and he 
 took the bits I gave him so politely ; but he 
 ran away to eat them- — I can’t think where.” 
 
 “ If he comes back,” said the cook, “ be 
 sure you tell me. I dote upon a handsome 
 dog.” 
 
 “ Oh ! here he is ! ” cried the boy in ec- 
 stacy. 
 
 “ Poor fellow ! poor fellow ! ” said the cook, 
 
 S 
 
100 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 eaving his work to take a nearer survey of 
 
 the dog, who held his mouth open as though 
 
 ready to take whatever might be offered to 
 
 him. “ Oh ! what a pretty fellow ! But he 
 
 hangs his tongue out of his mouth — he must 
 © © 
 
 be thirsty. Baptiste, give him a drink : take 
 good care of him. I must go back to my 
 fire — but take care of him, and see that he 
 don’t run away.” 
 
 “ Look, Mr. Chipart, he won’t drink,” said 
 Baptiste, pointing at Fox with his finger ; for 
 the dog was standing by the table, looking 
 from the water to the boy, and from the boy to 
 the water, as though he would beg him to do 
 something, which it was difficult to express. 
 
 “ Perhaps he wants to go and drink in the 
 secret corner where he eats — go carry the 
 water wherever he pleases, but be sure you 
 do not lose sight of him.” 
 
 When Fox saw the little boy take up the 
 Dowl he gave a leap for joy — ran towards 
 
THE REMNANTS OF THE CHICKEN. 101 
 
 the kitchen door, then back to the table 
 beside which Baptiste stood, and then flew 
 to the door again. Finding that the boy 
 followed him, he sprang into the entry and 
 led the way up the stairs, ever and anon 
 looking back to see if Baptiste was behind. 
 
 9 * 
 
I 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 WHAT BECAME OF THE REMNANTS OF CHICKEN, 
 THE PIECE OF BREAD, AND THE GLASS OF 
 WATER. 
 
 We left Cecil seated upon the door-step of 
 the coffee house, anxiously glancing at the 
 passage through which his dog had disappear- 
 ed, but not daring to enter. After some time 
 had passed, Cecil almost despaired of again 
 beholding his cherished dog, and began to feel 
 sadder and more lonely than ever. Just as 
 he was burying his face in his hands he felt 
 something brushing against him, and turning, 
 beheld Fox. The poor animal held something 
 in his mouth, which he carefully laid on the 
 knees of Cecil, briskly wagging his tail and 
 
WHAT BECAME OF THE REMNANTS. 103 
 
 licking his lips, as though he would say, 
 “ Eat, but don’t forget me.” 
 
 “ Where did you get that ? ” inquired Ce- 
 cil, half unconsciously talking to the dog, as 
 though he could understand. “ Ah ! you 
 
 stole it, you little thief.” 
 
 Fox made a hasty movement, accompanied 
 by a half growl, as though he was indignant 
 at the accusation. 
 
 “ Did any body give it to you ?” continued 
 Cecil. 
 
 The silence of the dog seemed to answer 
 affirmatively. 
 
 “It is a good bit of chicken,” said Cecil, 
 looking at the meat, without touching it. 
 “ Very good indeed ; as good as I ever ate 
 at my uncle’s table; but, Fox, I ought to 
 have a piece of bread to eat with it. 
 
 The dog ran off as though he had really 
 understood his master; and when he reap- 
 pears J, it was with a piece of bread in his 
 
104 
 
 CECIL, 
 
 mouth. Cecil could not help kissing him, 
 and said in a tone full of gratitude, 
 
 “ Oh ! if I am like Robinson Crusoe, you 
 are my man Friday ! Good Fox ! Dear Fox! 
 Charming little Fox! Now let us eat our 
 dinner together. ” 
 
 Fox took his place in front of his master, 
 and it was curious to see these two creatures 
 - — the one a rational being, and the other 
 hardly less so, although but a dumb brute, 
 and both apparently gifted with intelligence 
 and sensibility, dining together, dividing every 
 morsel, and equally enjoying every mouthful. 
 
 “ The bones are for you, and the flesh for 
 me ; the soft part of the bread for you, Fox, 
 and the crust for me, Fox ! ” And then the 
 two caressed one another, each in his own 
 way ; the hand of the child softly patted the 
 back of the dog, and the tongue of the dog 
 licked the hand of the child. They seemed 
 like two dear friends, who had been reared 
 
WHAT BECAME OF THE REMNANTS. 105 
 
 together, and yet a few hours before, they 
 % had never seen each other. It was misfor- 
 tune which united them — misfortune, which 
 gives birth to more friendships than prosperity. 
 Pleasure may bring persons together, but sor- 
 row unites them. He who does not suffer 
 may want a companion, but he who suffers 
 needs a friend. 
 
 “ Oh ! I am very thirsty ! ” exclaimed 
 Cecil, when the repast was finished. Either 
 the dog understood him or he experienced 
 the same sensation, for away he ran for the 
 third time. Cecil did not sit listening long 
 before he heard the patting of his dog’s feet 
 — but not them alone, but he clearly distin- 
 guished heavier steps, which accompanied 
 those of little Fox. 
 
 “ They are the steps of the master of the 
 house,” thought Cecil, in a panic of terror — 
 “ no doubt he is angry — -he is coming to make 
 me pay for the bread and chicken. Oh ! holy 
 
106 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 Father, thou who dicTst permit the dog to 
 relieve my wants, protect me now ! ” # 
 
 The steps approached, and Cecil trem- 
 blingly raised his eyes. Instead of the giant 
 of a man, in a fearful passion, and raising a 
 stout cane, which he expected to see, he be- 
 held the delicate form and fresh laughing 
 countenance of a child, neither larger nor 
 stronger than himself, who held a bowl of 
 water in his hand. 
 
 When Baptiste saw a bone of the chicken 
 in Cecil’s hand, and observed that Fox had 
 already curled himself up at the child’s feet, 
 he said, 
 
 “ Then the bread and the chicken were for 
 you, and the water also ? ” 
 
 “ To be sure they were,” replied Cecil, 
 at once reassured ; “ for me and my darling 
 Fox ! ” 
 
 u Well, that is funny ! it is the queerest 
 thing I ever heard of!” said Baptiste, who 
 
WHAT BECAME OF THE REMNANTS. 107 
 
 in bis surprise would have let fall the bowl 
 of water, had not Cecil caught it. 
 
 “ Oh, what a dear, strange, faithful little 
 dog ! ” exclaimed Baptiste, running back into 
 the kitchen. “ Come and see — come and see 
 — the strangest thing — the dear little fellow — 
 
 o o 
 
 come ! ” 
 
 And Baptiste disappeared from the kitchen, . 
 followed by a crowd of cooks and waiters, and 
 several little boys, who assisted them. 
 
 “Well, what is it? what is it?” they all 
 shouted at a time. But the noise ceased as 
 they beheld Cecil, and the dog drinking from 
 the bowl, which had just been taken from his 
 lips. 
 
 7 “ Then it was to see you that Baptiste 
 
 called us ? ” said one of the cooks. 
 
 “ Me and my dog,” answered Cecil*, be- 
 ginning to get frightened. “ Pray, do not be 
 angry.” 
 
 “ Angry ! what should we be angry about ? 
 
108 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 what a pretty little dog it is ! It won’t bite, 
 will it ? But where do you come from, little 
 boy? You cannot be a beggar, for you are 
 too well clad — why, then, should you be 
 obliged to dine off the bits given to your 
 dog ? ” 
 
 Cecil hardly knew how to answer ; but 
 after a momentary silence he said : “I am 
 an unfortunate child, and have been aban- 
 doned in the streets of Paris, I dare not tel! 
 you by whom, and you must not ask me. All 
 that I can say, is, that I have eaten nothing 
 to-day but a slice of bread and the bits which 
 you gave to my dog.” 
 
 “ But why will you not tell us who aban- 
 doned you ? ” asked the chief cook. 
 
 “ Because it was one of my own family, 
 and it is not right to speak against one’s own 
 relations.” 
 
 The men were on the point of questioning 
 Cecil further, when a bell sounded and the 
 
WHAT BECAME OF THE REMNANTS. 109 
 
 voice of the master of the house was heard 
 calling them. In an instant they all fled, but 
 Baptiste, as he hurried away, said, “ wait here 
 a little while, and I will return.” 
 
 Cecil waited, and in about an hour Bap- 
 tiste again stood beside him, with an old bas- 
 ket in his hand. “ Are you very fond of your 
 dog?” said he; “ so fond that you could not 
 part with him ? ” 
 
 “ So fond that I would as lief part with my 
 eyes ! ” replied Cecil. 
 
 “ Then follow my advice — take this basket 
 and run away as fast as you can, for Mr. 
 Cbipart is determined to have the dog whe- 
 ther you will or no.” 
 
 “ My dog ! But what right has he to it ? ” 
 asked Cecil indignantly. 
 
 “ The right which strength gives. Do as 
 I tell you — take this basket — you will find 
 something to eat and to drink in it — quick ! 
 
 make your escape.” 
 
 10 
 
110 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 Alarmed at the idea that his dog, his only 
 friend, might be taken from him by force, 
 Cecil hastily took the basket, fastened the 
 string around the neck of Fox, thanked Bap- 
 tiste, and ran till he was out of sight of the 
 house. 
 
 It was now night, but the light from the 
 gas lamps was so strong, that he could see 
 his way as well as by daylight. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE LITTLE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 Cecil soon found himself within sight of the 
 house, where he had slept on the preceding 
 night. His heart beat violently as he ap- 
 proached it. “ Will the old soldier receive 
 me?” said he to himself. “Oh ! how dread- 
 ful it is not to know where to obtain a night’s 
 shelter ! Augustus ! Augustus ! shall I find 
 all the world as cruel as you ! ” 
 
 Cecil knocked on the boards placed in front 
 of the entrance. 
 
 “ Is it you, Austerlitz ? ” asked a feeble voice 
 from within. 
 
 “ Yes, good father La Tuile ; it is Aus- 
 terlitz ; and little Robinson, too — will you 
 receive both ? ” 
 
1 12 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “ You are very late,” said the old man, 
 looking out. 
 
 “ Then you expected me ? ” inquired Cecil 
 in surprise. 
 
 “ Certainly, my little friend ; in a large 
 town, where the doors only open at the touch 
 of silver, I knew that there was no shelter for 
 empty pockets. Come in — your little bed is 
 ready ; here is your supper . 55 
 
 “ Thank you, but I have something to eat 
 along with me . 55 
 
 “Then keep it for your breakfast. Now 
 sit down, and tell me why you refused to be 
 Mr. Dumont’s groom . 55 
 
 “ Because my uncle did not educate me to 
 become a servant . 55 
 
 “ But you must live and you must eat ? 55 
 
 “ Yes, and I must work too . 55 
 
 “ Pray what work could you do with those 
 tender little hands of yours? But I am 
 sleepy ; we will talk to-morrow. Good night, 
 
THE LITTLE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 113 
 
 little monkey ! Tell Austerlitz to wake you 
 early.” 
 
 “ That he shall do ! Good night, my kind 
 friend ! ” 
 
 In a few moments more, the invalid, Cecil 
 and Fox, were all fast asleep. 
 
 Cecil was awake before dawn, and lay still 
 reflecting upon what he had better do. When 
 the workmen came, he went to meet them, 
 and said, but not without a blush, “ here I 
 am again, and I wish I were a mason — will 
 you teach me to be a mason ? ” 
 
 “ Poor little child!” said one; “ you are 
 too feeble to become a mason.” 
 
 “ But I must live,” returned Cecil. 
 
 “ If you become a mason,” said another 
 of the workmen, “ it would be necessary 
 for you to serve an apprenticeship : and to 
 be an apprentice, you must pay a certain 
 sum.” 
 
 “ I have not a single cent,” answered Ce- 
 
 10 * 
 
114 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 cil ; “ but, if you will teach me what you 
 know, I will teach you what I know.” 
 
 “ And what do you know ? ” asked the 
 workman ? ” 
 
 “ I know how to play on the violin.” 
 
 “ But that would be of no use to me.” 
 
 “ I know how to write.” 
 
 “ But to write one must read, and we do 
 not even know how to spell.” 
 
 “ But I will teach you to read.” 
 
 “ Ah ! that might do.” 
 
 “ Do you hear that ? Good gracious ! ” 
 said the old soldier, in admiring astonishment. 
 “What sense children have now-a-days ! The 
 march of intellect is wonderful. Why, in my 
 time, the idea of teaching my neighbor to read, 
 would never have entered into my head — as 
 for that matter, I never knew how to read 
 myself.” 
 
 “ I will teach you, good, Mr. Invalid,” said 
 Cecil. 
 
THE LITTLE SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 115 
 
 “ Thank you, little monkey ; I’m rather 
 too old to learn ; but since you know how to 
 read, you shall read to me about the battles 
 of my Emperor.” 
 
 “ Comrades ! ” said the mason, who had 
 been talking with Cecil, “ What do you say 
 to the child’s plan ? He is too small and too 
 feeble to learn our craft, but still we can be 
 of service to him, and he to us. Many of us 
 do not know how to read ; he will teach us 
 during our resting hours, and we will let him 
 share our repast. Then Father La Tuile can 
 give him a bed ; and, in this manner, he will 
 have food and shelter for a month at least.” 
 
 The workmen agreed to their comrade’s 
 proposition ; and, after breakfast, the self- 
 constituted little schoolmaster gave them the 
 first lesson out of his “ Adventures of Robinson 
 Crusoe.” The Invalid then brought forth a 
 large parcel of old newspapers, and said to 
 Cecil, “ now come and read me all about 
 
116 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 these battles, little monkey : that will take 
 me back to the good old times.” 
 
 “ The good old times in which men fought 
 and killed one another,” said Cecil, laughing. 
 
 “ Yes, little monkey; and when one was 
 never sure in the morning of finding oneself 
 whole at evening.” 
 
 “ And you call those good times, when one 
 evening you found that you were not as whole 
 as when you got up?” demanded Cecil, 
 glancing at the old soldier’s wooden leg. 
 
 “ I would give my other leg to see those 
 times again!” said the Invalid with enthusiasm. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE LITTLE SCHOOLMASTER LOSES HIS 
 SCHOLARS. 
 
 The masons, who had received Cecil as their 
 tutor, were ten in number. They were all 
 of them young and all strangers, who were 
 sojourning in Paris to finish the last year of 
 their apprenticeship. For, in France, the 
 journeymen, before they are deemed com- 
 petent to practice their craft, are obliged to 
 make the tour of the country and work a spe- 
 cified time in every city. Every day Cecil 
 gave them one lesson in the morning and 
 another in the evening. He read the news- 
 papers to the Invalid, whose stock seemed 
 inexhaustible ; and the rest of the time played 
 
118 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 with Fox, who hourly became more attached 
 to his master. 
 
 But a new affliction soon overwhelmed poor 
 Cecil. The house was completed — there was 
 no longer any need of the old soldier as guard 
 — and the mason scholars were ready to con- 
 tinue their tour. One bright Sunday morning, 
 which Cecil expected to pass alone with his 
 Invalid friend, much to the surprise of the 
 little boy, his ten grown-up scholars presented 
 themselves before him. 
 
 “ Good morning, little schoolmaster,” said 
 they, all of them shaking hands with him in 
 turn. 
 
 “ What ’ do you want to take a lesson on 
 Sunday?” asked Cecil. “ No, little school- 
 master,” replied one-of the troop ; “ we have 
 come to bid you adieu forever.” 
 
 “ Are you going?” inquired Cecil in alarm. 
 
 “Yes; to-morrow we must proceed on our 
 journey, but with the permission of your good 
 
CECIL LOSES HIS SCHOLARS. 
 
 119 
 
 friend here, we wished you to pass the last 
 day with us.” 
 
 “Take the child with you,” said the In- 
 valid ; “ but be sure you do not make him 
 drink. Why, the little rogue, how handsome 
 he looks ! ” 
 
 The ten journeymen walked away with 
 Cecil and his dog in the midst of them. They 
 proceeded gaily along the Champs Elysees, 
 and walked some distance beyond the bar- 
 riers, until they came to a house, over which 
 was written, “Journeymen’s Coffee House.” 
 They entered, called for refreshments, and 
 seated themselves at table. Although it was 
 hardly mid-day when they took their places, 
 it was night before any of them proposed to 
 return to the city. 
 
 Poor Cecil, in spite of their merry jests and 
 evident enjoyment, felt lonely and dissatisfied. 
 Their conversation was not suited to his capa- 
 cities, and he had been reared in too much 
 
120 
 
 \ 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 refinement, to feel at home with his rough 
 companions in their convivial hours. 
 
 “ Is it not almost time to return ? ” he ven- 
 tured to say, as candles were placed upon the 
 table before them. 
 
 The journeymen paid no attention to his 
 words, but one of them who was considerably 
 excited by wine, rose and addressed his com- 
 rades : “ Comrades, a thought has struck me. 
 The night is fresh and , beautiful ; we have 
 all our bundles with us — let us set off at 
 once ; in the month of August, it is much 
 pleasanter travelling by the light of the moon, 
 than beneath the rays of the burning sun.” 
 
 “ Good ! good ! ” they all replied, in chorus, 
 “let us start at once ! ” 
 
 “ And me — what will become of me ? ” 
 asked Cecil, in a plaintive tone. . 
 
 “ Ah ! little schoolmaster, we quite forgot 
 you,” said one of the masons scratching his 
 head. “ What are we to do with you ? Let 
 
CECIL LOSES HIS SCHOLARS. 
 
 121 
 
 me see. I have it ! Comrades, let us raise a 
 subscription for our little schoolmaster. Here 
 is a franc to begin with.” 
 
 All of the journeymen followed their lead- 
 er’s example, and placed a franc in Cecil’s 
 hand. 
 
 “ There ! With that sum,” said the first 
 mason, “you might sail for America. Take 
 the same road by which you came until you 
 have passed the barriers. On the other side 
 of the gates you will find a coach-stand — 
 jump into a hack, and tell the coachman to 
 drive you to Great Louis street, number 
 twenty-four. What ! You look at the money 
 as if it would burn you, and don’t take it ? 
 Why you little fool, have you not earned it ? 
 Did you not teach us our letters and a great 
 deal more ? For nothing one gets nothing 
 in this world : but every laborer merits his 
 hire — this is yours — put it in your pocket, 
 
 and take good care it is not stolen from you. 
 
 1 1 
 
122 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 And now, good bye ! Shake hands, little 
 schoolmaster! Give us your paw, Fox. 
 Comrades, we are all ready ; let us be off! ” 
 Cecil, with tears in his eyes, beheld their 
 departure ; and then putting the ten francs 
 in his pocket, he set out, taking the road 
 which led to Paris. Fox, who bad eaten his 
 fill, seemed not to comprehend the cause of 
 bis master’s sadness, but gambolled about, 
 every once in a while looking up to Cecil, 
 as though he would inquire what was the 
 matter. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE TWO STRANGERS. 
 
 Cecil recrossed the barriers in safety, and 
 walked up to the coach-stand. 
 
 “ How much will you ask to drive me to 
 Great Louis street ? ” demanded Cecil of the 
 coachman. 
 
 “Thirty cents, Sir, and whatever you have 
 the kindness to give me to drink your health 
 with.” 
 
 Nothing sharpens the intellect so quickly 
 as misfortune. Cecil had learnt more in the 
 fortnight he had passed in Paris, than in the 
 twelve years during which he had lived in his 
 uncle’s luxurious mansion. 
 
 “Thirty cents!” he repeated to himself; 
 “ I should then have only eight francs and 
 
124 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 ten cents left. With thirty cents I could buy 
 a paper of tobacco for my dear old friend. 
 That would please him greatly, and it is a 
 much better way of spending the money than 
 laying it out in coach hire. I can easily find 
 my way — at all events I have a tongue, and 
 can inquire if I mistake the road.” 
 
 “ Will you not ride, young master?” asked 
 the coachman, holding open the door of his 
 vehicle. 
 
 “ No, I believe not,” replied Cecil, >and 
 passed on. At first, Cecil felt sure :hat he 
 had taken the right road ; but, little by little, 
 he began to doubt. The buildings looked 
 strange to him ; be grew frightened, and at 
 last became certain that he had lost his way. 
 He was so much engrossed, he had not ob- 
 served that two men of most unprepossessing 
 mien were evidently following him : nor did 
 he notice that the dog ran backwards and for- 
 wards uneasily, and kept continually growling. 
 
THE TWO STRANGERS. 
 
 125 
 
 Just as Cecil had reached one of the most 
 unfrequented parts of the city, the two men 
 separated ; one advanced towards Cecil, walk- 
 ing on his right side, and the other came up 
 to him on his left. 
 
 “ Young Sir,” said the former, affecting a 
 foreign accent, “ can you tell me the way to 
 Orleans street ? ” 
 
 “ I am a stranger, Sir,” replied Cecil ; u I 
 was myself just going to ask you the way to 
 Great Louis street.” 
 
 The person on Cecil’s left then spoke 
 “ What do you wish to know, gentlemen ? ” 
 
 “I wish to know the way to Orleans street.” 
 
 “ And I to Great Louis street.” 
 
 “ It is very fortunate, then, that you have 
 met me, gentlemen. The two streets you 
 desire to find are near each other, and I arn 
 obliged to pass them, in order to reach my 
 home. We will go together.” 
 
 o o 
 
 ‘ You are very kind,” said the person who 
 
 11 * 
 
126 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 had first accosted Cecil. " I have just arrived 
 from America. I am very rich, and I will 
 pay you handsomely. As for this young 
 gentleman, I suppose he has not any money ; 
 therefore 55 
 
 “I beg your pardon,” interrupted Cecil; 
 “ I have ten francs in my pocket.” 
 
 “ Have you been a long time in Paris ? ” 
 questioned the stranger. “ Are your parents 
 wealthy ? How do you happen to be alone 
 at this hour of the night ? ” 
 
 Cecil frankly related his little history ; and, 
 while he spoke, the two strangers approached 
 each other and conversed in a low tone. Had 
 Cecil known more of the world, his suspicions 
 would have been roused by their manner. As 
 it was, he heard one of them say, “ At all 
 events, it will be ten francs ; ” and, looking 
 up to him with an innocent expression of con- 
 tenance, he inquired, — “ What did you say 
 about ten francs ? ” 
 
THE TWO STRANGERS. 
 
 127 
 
 “ I was only proposing to give this gentle- 
 man ten francs for his trouble in conducting 
 us home.” 
 
 Cecil was on the point of saying, that even 
 the coachman had charged less than that ; but 
 he was afraid of wounding the feelings of the 
 gentleman, by placing him on an equality with 
 a hack-driver. He therefore remained silent ; 
 but, for the first time, remarked the restlessness 
 of his dog, who seemed anxious to lead his 
 master in a different direction. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE POOR BLIND MAN. 
 
 As they passed a dark alley on their right, 
 Cecil’s ears caught the sound of groans and 
 sobs, evidently proceeding from a person in 
 distress. Looking about him, he saw an old 
 man, at a short distance, extended upon the 
 ground. Following the dictates of his heart, 
 without consulting his companions, Cecil ran 
 towards the prostrate man, and attempted to 
 assist him. 
 
 “Did you fall down, my friend? Have 
 you hurt yourself?” inquired the child, kindly. 
 
 “ I am blind ! ” sobbed out the old man. 
 
 “ And you have lost your way, have you 
 not?” said Cecil. 
 
 “ I am blind ! ” repeated the old man. 
 
THE POOR BLIND MAN. 
 
 129 
 
 a Gentlemen ! ” cried out Cecil to his com- 
 panions, “ you will conduct this old man 
 home, will you not ? He is blind.” 
 
 “ Do you suppose it is my employment to 
 show the way about Paris to everybody I 
 meet ? ” rudely demanded the man, who had 
 volunteered to escort Cecil home. 
 
 “Oh! Sir,” said Cecil, addressing the other 
 stranger, “ you said you were rich — will you 
 not have the goodness to pay this gentleman 
 for showing this poor blind man his way 
 home ?” 
 
 “ I only pay for those I take a fancy to, 
 and I do not like the looks of this fellow,” 
 was the unfeeling reply. 
 
 “ Do you live at a great distance?” said 
 Cecil to the blind man. 
 
 “ Ah ! dear child — for by the delicate 
 sweetness of your voice, I know you are a 
 
 child, and a kind-hearted one ” 
 
 Before the blind man could say any more, 
 
130 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 the pretended American called to Cecil, 
 “ Come, young gentleman, I cannot stay here 
 all night ? ” 
 
 “ Wait one single moment more,” replied 
 Cecil; “only think! this man is blind, and 
 perhaps has been hurt by hib fall; it would 
 be impossible for him to find his way.” # Then 
 turning to the blind man, he said : “ how did 
 you come here? You could not have come 
 alone ? ” 
 
 “No, I came with my faithful, sagacious 
 friend, who guided me everywhere — my poor 
 little dog ! He ate something that poisoned 
 him, and he lies not far from here quite dead. 
 My poor Rover ! What shall I ever do with- 
 out him ! ” , 
 
 “ Come, come, young gentleman,” said one 
 of the strangers in an authoritative tone ; “ we 
 are tired of waiting.” 
 
 “ Give me one moment more, I beg of 
 you,” replied Cecil. “ You were so good to 
 
THE POOR BLIND MAN. 
 
 131 
 
 me, be as good to this unfortunate old man. 
 Shall we get you a coach, my friend. A 
 coach will take you home.” 
 
 “ Home ! oh ! no, no, I must not go home ! 
 My poor wife ! My poor daughter ! ” 
 
 “ What, you have a wife and a daughter, 
 and you do not wish to return home ? ” But 
 before Cecil could say any more, one of the 
 men seized his arm. 
 
 “ Come along, child, we will not stay any 
 longer.” 
 
 “ One minute, one minute, gentlemen ! 
 Look at this old man. Ah! I know what 
 it is to be forsaken and without friends. I 
 thought it hard enough, although I was not 
 blind ” 
 
 “Nor was your arm broken,” groaned the 
 old man. 
 
 “Your arm broken!” cried Cecil with 
 (^motion ; “ oh ! I hope your arm is not 
 
 broken ? ” 
 
132 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 The blind man replied with resignation : 
 4 after the death of my dog, I tried to find my 
 way alone, and fell down as you perceive : 
 my arm hurts me so much, that I cannot 
 move it without groaning. If it had not been 
 for my misfortune, I might have gained with 
 my violin, which lies somewhere near me, 
 money enough to pay for my lodgings, or at 
 least quiet my landlord for a time ; but now, 
 what am I to do ? ” 
 
 44 You could have gained money by your 
 violin ? ” questioned Cecil, delightedly. 
 
 44 With my violin — to be sure I could ! 
 Why not ? ” 
 
 Cecil stood several moments lost in thought, 
 during which time the two men conversed in 
 a low tone. 
 
 44 Does it require much skill to earn money 
 by playing on the violin ? ” asked Cecil, at 
 length. 
 
 44 Much skill ? Not a great deal. Why, I 
 
THE POOR BLIND MAN. 
 
 133 
 
 only know one tune, and I play that by ear. 
 I have played the violin these thirty years ; 
 my wife made a little by sewing, and my 
 daughter by selling herbs and flowers. As 
 for my son, he is a mason, and what he makes 
 during the week he drinks up on Sunday, so 
 I do not calculate ever to receive anything from 
 him. Until now, we have got along tolerably 
 — we were very poor — still we managed to 
 live.” 
 
 Cecil turned abruptly to his companions : 
 “ Gentlemen, the old man says, that he could 
 make money by playing on his violin ; he 
 only knows one air, and I know four. Only 
 wait, I pray you, until I have played my four 
 airs, and made money enough to pay a coach- 
 man for taking the old man home, and then I 
 will follow you.” 
 
 “ The child is a fool ! ” exclaimed the pre- 
 tended American, forgetting in his anger to 
 
 make use of his foreign accent. “We have 
 
 12 
 
134 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 waited already too long. Come Sir, you must 
 go with us ! ” 
 
 “ How well you speak French, all at 
 once ! ” said Cecil, looking at the man, in 
 astonishment. 
 
 “ My child,” said the blind man, without 
 noticing Cecil’s last observation, “ you are a 
 noble boy, and I thank you heartily for the 
 service which you desire to render me ; but 
 you must obey your guardians.” 
 
 “ But they are not my guardians,” cried 
 Cecil, becoming incensed at the cruelty of 
 the two men. “ I do not know who they are. 
 I lost my way, and they offered to conduct 
 me home. I owe them no obedience ; and, 
 since I find their hearts are so bad, that they 
 refuse to assist you, they need not wait for 
 me any longer. God will provide me a 
 guide ; and I am not afraid ! Gentlemen, I 
 wish you good evening ; you need not wait 
 for me.” 
 
THE POOR BLIND MAN. 
 
 135 
 
 “ Do you know,” said the man who had 
 passed himself off as an American, now 
 speaking very good French, “ do you know 
 that we could force you to follow us if we 
 chose ? ” 
 
 With this threat each of the men seized 
 one of Cecil’s arms. 
 
 Cecil was frightened ; but his very fear 
 made him brave ; raising his voice, he cried 
 out, ;£ Release me ! You have no right to 
 force me. Help ! help ! help ! I shall cry 
 thief! catch the thief! if you do not let me 
 g°” 
 
 Cecil had hardly uttered the last sentence, 
 before the two men loosed their grasp and 
 disappeared. 
 
 “ Why, where have they gone ? ” said Ce- 
 cil, half laughing and half crying. 
 
 “ Had you any money about you, my little 
 friend ?” asked the blind man, 
 
 “ I had ten francs.” 
 
136 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “ Did these men know it ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, I told them myself.” 
 
 “ Then you made a lucky escape ; they 
 were doubtless thieves. Thank God for your 
 deliverance. Your kindness to an unfortunate 
 man has saved you.” 
 
 “ Thieves ! ” repeated Cecil in a tone of awe, 
 and looking fearfully around him. “ Could 
 they be thieves ? Pray, let us get home. 
 Good old man, could you not raise yourself 
 and try to walk ? ” 
 
 “ My arm hurts me dreadfully, but I will 
 try,” said the blind man, making an effort to 
 rise. There ! I am on my feet once more. 
 
 No ; I do not think my arm can be broken, 
 but it must be dreadfully bruised. Will you 
 give me your hand, my good child, and guide 
 me ? Where do you live ? ” 
 
 “ In Great Louis street,” answered Cecil, 
 making the old man lean upon his shoulder. 
 
 “ I live in the same street. If I am not at 
 
THE POOR BLIND MAN. 
 
 137 
 
 home by midnight, my daughter will come to 
 seek me. Therefore, do not be afraid ; she 
 will take you home safely.” 
 
 “That will do very well; and meanwhile, 
 I mean to try if I can make a little money 
 for you, since you say that money can be 
 made by playing on the violin. Come along, 
 Fox ! ” 
 
 “What, you have a dog?” said the old 
 man, as Fox licked his hand. 
 
 “ Now that is strange — strange, but very 
 sensible ! ” said Cecil, without answering the 
 old man’s question. “ Here Fox, who 
 growled all the time at those two men, licks 
 your hand and caresses you, although you are 
 not better dressed than they ! ” 
 
 “Dogs are sensible animals,” replied the 
 old man, “ and their instincts are singularly 
 correct. Fox knows that I am your friend — 
 that is, as much your friend, as a miserable 
 
 beggar, whose friendship will not benefit any- 
 12 * 
 
138 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 body can be. And I would be your protector, 
 too, but misery has no protection to offer.” 
 
 “ Who knows,” said Cecil, laughing and 
 jumping about for joy, “ but that I may be- 
 come your protector to-night, and 1 am in 
 quite as miserable a plight as yourself?” 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE LITTLE MUSICIAN. 
 
 While seeking a good place where he might 
 stand and play on the violin, Cecil related his 
 little history and all his adventures since his 
 arrival in Paris, to the blind man, but without 
 mentioning his cousin’s name. 
 
 “ Where had we best place ourselves ? ” 
 asked he of the blind man. 
 
 “ In front of a Coffee House, if you can, 
 my little friend.” 
 
 “ Here is one : c The Coffee House of the 
 Ambassadors.’ ” 
 
 “ Choose a table where there are children, 
 and let us stand directly before them.” 
 
 “ Why, children ?” asked Cecil. 
 
140 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “ Because children do not understand music, 
 and it always pleases them whether it is good 
 or bid.” 
 
 “ Thank you,” said Cecil, laughing ; “you 
 doubt my being able to play well. Here is 
 a table, at which a gentleman and three little 
 girls are sitting.” 
 
 “ That is good,” said the old man ; “ now 
 make your dog sit down on the ground, 
 put this little tin platter by him, and com- 
 mence.” 
 
 Cecil gave one touch with his bow on the 
 violin, which astonished the old man. Cecil 
 continued playing. 
 
 “ Why, you are skilful ; every body will 
 come to hear you.” 
 
 “Yes,” said Cecil, quite agitated, “but I 
 feel ashamed, for I never played before any 
 body but my uncle and my teacher.” 
 
 “ Does any body give money ? ” 
 
 “Yes, the plate is almost full,” replied 
 
THE LITTLE MUSICIAN. 
 
 141 
 
 Cecil ; “ but the people stare at me so much, 
 it confuses me.” 
 
 “ Take courage, my dear child, courage ! ” 
 said the old man, in a low and broken voice ; 
 “ if I do not carry twenty-six francs home to 
 my family this evening, to-morrow we shall be 
 turned into the street, without a place where 
 we can find shelter. My poor wife, for the 
 last two years, has been rendered helpless by 
 a paralytic stroke ; and my daughter, a girl 
 of seventeen, has never known a happy day. 
 Take courage, my dear child ;; I hear the 
 cents falling into the plate. Alas ! it will 
 take a great many to make twenty-six francs. 
 But what is the matter? You don’t play 
 with so much power as you did at first, and 
 your time is slower. 
 
 “ The perspiration is rolling down my face 
 in large drops,” said Cecil ; “ I did not think 
 it was so difficult to play in public, and before 
 people one does not know.” 
 
142 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “ You are saving a poor family from mise- 
 ry,” replied the blind man ; “ let this thought 
 banish your natural timidity. But if you are 
 too warm, take some of the money out of the 
 plate, and go into the Coffee House, to get a 
 drink, my child.” 
 
 “ Thank you,” said Cecil, “ but I will not 
 use any of that money.” 
 
 “Then take your violin and play on. Play 
 on, my dear friend, my preserver ! God will 
 bless you for this noble act. You have had 
 pity upon a poor blind old man, and He will 
 have pity on you.” 
 
 “ Hush, good old man ! ” said Cecil; “ there 
 is very little merit in what I am doing ; and your 
 praises make me tremulous. I have played all 
 the airs I know ; shall I commence again ? ” 
 
 “ If you are not tired, my child.” 
 
 “ No, on the contrary, I am beginning to 
 get accustomed to the crowd. You will see 
 that I shall play more boldly this time.” 
 
THE LITTLE MUSICIAN. 
 
 143 
 
 And in truth Cecil regained his self-pos- 
 session, and played with remarkable grace, 
 beauty, and sweetness. Every body was 
 delighted with the little musician, compli- 
 mented and encouraged him ; but it was 
 growing late, and the crowd gradually dis- 
 persed. When the Coffee House was vacated, 
 Cecil ceased playing, and said to the old man : 
 “ Every body has gone.” 
 
 “Very well; count the money,” said the 
 old man, “ and divide it. You have well 
 earned your share.” 
 
 “•Divide it!” exclaimed Cecil; “no, in- 
 deed ; I have been playing for your benefit only 
 — I have ten francs, you know — I am rich !” 
 The blind man smiled as he took the trea- 
 sure from the child’s hands ; and at the same 
 moment, the keeper of the Coffee House came 
 towards the blind man, saving: 
 
 “Now that the tables are unoccupied, come 
 and sit down, my good old man, and let your 
 
144 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 charming child refresh himself. What will 
 you have? Some beer — milk — cakes — any 
 thing you like ! ” 
 
 “ You never were so polite to me before, 
 my good Sir,” replied the blind man, accept- 
 ing the invitation. 
 
 “ In sooth,” replied the man,* laughing, 
 “ your violin generally drives away my com- 
 pany, but to-night your little boy has drawn 
 me quite a number of customers. Drink — 
 eat — do not hesitate — and come back to- 
 morrow.” 
 
 A young girl, in tears, now approached 
 the table where the old man and Cecil were 
 eating, and exclaimed : 
 
 “ Oh ! my dear father ! how worried my 
 mother and I have been about you ! Here it 
 is nearly midnight!” 
 
 “What do, you think, Mary ? ” replied the 
 old man, gayly ; U I have lost my dog, my 
 arm is bruised, and without this little angel 
 
THE LITTLE MUSICIAN. 
 
 145 
 
 that the good God put in my way, there is 
 no knowing when you would have seen me 
 again. Sit down there, daughter, and count 
 the money.” 
 
 “ Provided it is worth counting,” said the 
 poor girl, sitting down, and gathering the 
 cents into a pile. “ The landlord has been 
 to our house, father. He was very angry, 
 and said if we did not pay all we owe him 
 before twelve o’clock to-morrow, he would 
 turn us out of the house, and retain all our 
 little furniture, our clothes — everything, even 
 to my pigeons ! We had depended on my 
 brother’s wages ; but, alas ! he did not bring 
 them. Could he have had the heart to go to 
 the tavern and drink away his money, when 
 his family were in so much distress ! Heaven 
 grant that he may one day be cured of his 
 weakness ! There — all the piles are made — 
 and there are twenty cents in each pile, it is 
 
 easy to count them now.” 
 
 13 
 
) 
 
 146 CECIL. 
 
 “Well, how much is there?” asked the 
 blind man, impatiently, while Mary again 
 counted the piles separately. 
 
 “ Seventeen,” said she; “ I have counted 
 and recounted them carefully, and still there 
 are only seventeen francs. Oh ! my father ! 
 We are lost ! ” 
 
 Cecil, who had noticed the girl’s hands 
 tremble as she was counting the piles, and her 
 despair as she was obliged to stop at seven- 
 teen, took his ten francs out of his pocket and 
 threw them among the cents. 
 
 “ Seventeen and ten makes twenty-seven,” 
 said he, laughing merrily. “ It seems to me 
 you have twenty-seven francs ! ” 
 
 “ You had concealed part of the receipts in 
 your pocket, then ? ” asked the young girl, 
 reproachfully. 
 
 “Concealed!” replied Cecil, indignantly— 
 “ those ten francs are mine, Miss ; and I give 
 them to you to complete the sum you require. 
 
THE LITTLE MUSICIAN. 
 
 147 
 
 It is very fortunate I did not go home in a 
 coach as I had intended / 5 added he, “ for 
 then I should not have been able to do you 
 a service . 55 
 
 “ Your ten francs ! 55 said the old man, much 
 affected : “ I do not wish them, my child. 
 Keep them — keep them yourself. Mary, 
 return those ten francs to this generous child. 
 They are all he has in the world ; and he 
 gives them to me ! Where is he ? Your 
 hand — give me your hand, my noble boy, 
 that I may kiss it. Oh, Father in heaven ! 
 let the humble prayer of a poor unfortunate 
 ascend to thy eternal throne, and bless this 
 child ! 55 
 
 /■ 
 
 “Well, what is the matter, my good old 
 man? Why do you weep? You make me 
 cry to see you , 55 said Cecil, wiping his eyes. 
 
 Astonished at this scene, Mary glanoed 
 alternately from her father to the boy. 
 
 “ You want twenty-six francs to pay your 
 
148 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 rent, and as I only made seventeen, it is but 
 just that I should give you the rest,” said 
 Cecil. 
 
 “Just!” exclaimed the old man, “just! 
 This child calls his noblest action— his greatest 
 sacrifice, mer e justice! Have you given him 
 back his ten francs, Mary ? ” 
 
 “ But, father” — said Mary, hesitatingly. 
 “My daughter, do as I bid you,” replied 
 the old man, sternly • “ and not only that, 
 but divide the other money with him. If the 
 sum had been complete I would have said 
 nothing, but taken this kind and generous 
 child’s share to pay my rent. Since it is not 
 so, it will not save me from being turned out 
 of our house to-morrow. Give him eight 
 francs and ten cents, Mary ; and I shall still 
 be under great obligations to him.” 
 
 “ I do not want your eight francs and ten 
 cents,” replied Cecil, positively ; “ and I want 
 you to take my ten francs. My poor uncle 
 
THE LITTLE MUSICIAN. 
 
 149 
 
 used to say, that it was the duty of all men 
 to assist one another as much as it was in 
 their power. I am not a man, but still, if I 
 serve you to-day, you will have an opportunity 
 of returning it some other time.” 
 
 “ Take this child’s ten francs, good old 
 man,” said a gentleman, who was sitting at a 
 neighboring table, and who for some minutes 
 had been listening to the discussion between 
 the blind man and Cecil ; “ take them ! I 
 could give them to you myself, but I will not 
 deprive this noble boy of the pleasure of doing 
 so generous an action. All I gan do is to 
 promise to return him the money. But it is 
 getting very late, and I have not time to talk 
 any longer. We will meet again to-morrow.” 
 The gentleman walked up to a coach-stand, 
 and called out to one of the drivers: 
 
 “ Peter, take these people home, and notice 
 the house particularly, that you may drive me 
 
 there to-morrow. To-morrow, my friends,” 
 
 13 * 
 
150 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 added he, assisting the blind man into the 
 coach, “ to-morrow I will see you — no thanks 
 — your thanks are only due to this child. 
 Good-by, my little friend, until to-morrow.” 
 
 “ Where shall I drive ? ” asked the coach- 
 man of the blind man. 
 
 “ To number twenty-four Great Louis street, 
 for the little gentleman, and for me to number 
 three Port-Mahon street.” 
 
 Then Cecil, who, in his ignorance of the 
 world, saw nothing extraordinary in this gen- 
 tleman’s kindness, called out in his turn : 
 
 “ Until to-morrow, Sir.” 
 
 And the horses set off at a full gallop. 
 
L 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE TRACT OF LAND- 
 
 I pass over the details of all the compliments 
 paid to Cecil in the wagon, the invalid’s 
 uneasiness from the prolonged absence of the 
 child, and his surprise at seeing a coach drive 
 up to the door. Neither will I repeat Cecil’s 
 rehearsal of the day’s adventures to the old 
 soldier ; but turn to the events of the next 
 morning. 
 
 Cecil slept as soundly and contentedly that 
 night on his bed of straw, as he could have 
 done had it been one of down. On awaking 
 in the morning he beheld the strange gentle- 
 man and the invalid standing beside him, 
 conversing together. 
 
152 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “ So, my poor child,” said the strange 
 gentleman to him, as soon as he opened his 
 eyes, “ you have been abandoned, and a feel- 
 ing of delicacy has deterred you from men- 
 tioning the name of the villain by whom you 
 have been so shamefully treated ? Here ! 
 first take these ten francs that I owe you — 
 and then we will see what we can do for you. 
 What have you learnt ? ”* 
 
 “ I can read, write, calculate, and above 
 all play on the violin, as you perhaps heard 
 yesterday evening,” replied Cecil, getting up, 
 and taking the money, which the gentleman 
 offered him. “ But it is all the same to me ; 
 and it is well to be able to make money in 
 that way, though I felt very badly to have 
 every body staring at me, and I was ashamed 
 at every cent that dropped at my feet. If it 
 had not been to serve the old man, I am 
 afraid I should not have continued playing.” 
 The stranger replied : “ You could not 
 
THE TRACT OF LAND. 
 
 153 
 
 select a more foolish employment, my child ; 
 and, as you have only a very ordinary talent 
 for the violin, it would take much time and 
 money to attain perfection in the art. It was 
 your youth, probably, rather than your playing, 
 which won you so much money last evening ; 
 and I think it would be but poor employment 
 for you to wander about the streets with a 
 violin. I have a proposition to make, and 
 you must tell me how it pleases you. That 
 dog is yours, is it not ? ” said the gentleman, 
 glancing at Fox. 
 
 “ Yes, Sir,” replied Cecil, in some alarm. 
 
 The gentleman resumed : Cc My name is 
 
 Raimond. I have gained a livelihood by 
 weaving cotton caps, socks and stockings. 
 But I own some land in the neighborhood of 
 Beaujon, at the end of the Champs-Elysees. 
 This ground is surrounded by a wall, and as 
 there are a quantity of planks, stakes, old 
 garden tools, and some fine fruit trees on it, 
 
154 
 
 OECIL. 
 
 it attracts plunderers. I want to station there 
 a person who can keep watch, and, in case 
 of danger, who can arouse the National Guard, 
 who are posted at a short distance. You and 
 your dog would just suit my purpose, and 
 here is a little horn you could blow if there 
 were any necessity. But tell me first, would 
 you be afraid ? ” 
 
 “ Afraid of what ? ” asked Cecil. “ Of 
 thieves? I have nothing that can be stolen, 
 but my ten francs ; and I will hide them 
 where I will defy any body to find them. 
 As to ghosts, my uncle assured me there were 
 no such things. So then, I don’t see what 
 there can be to make me afraid.” 
 
 “ Will you accompany me ? ” asked Mr 
 Raimond. 
 
 “ Wait a moment, Sir,” said the invalid; 
 “ this child was, as it were, placed under my 
 protection by the hand of Providence, and, 
 with all respect to you, I would like to know 
 
THE TRACT OF LAND. 
 
 155 
 
 how much you will pay him for taking care 
 of your ground ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, indeed ! not much ! ” replied Mr 
 Raimond, laughing.* “ In the first place, he 
 will get neither food nor lodging, for there is 
 neither house nor table in the enclosure. But 
 there are plenty of planks, with which he can 
 make both if he chooses ; then there is fruit 
 which he can eat, and there is ground, in 
 which he can plant vegetables. I will pro- 
 vide him with seed : and, from time to time, 
 when I come to town, I will bring him some 
 provisions ; and perhaps I will not let him die 
 of hunger.” 
 
 u No, truly, I am sure, the gentleman will 
 not let me die of hunger,” said Cecil. “ I 
 will guard your property, Sir. L^et us go. 
 But wait a moment for me, I pray you.” 
 
 And, with the confidence of a child, who 
 knows not what it is to doubt, Cecil ran out of 
 the house, and after a short absence, returned, 
 
156 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 carrying in his hand a package of tobacco and 
 an earthen pipe, representing a head in a three 
 cornered hat. 
 
 “ Here ! my good father La Tuile,” said 
 Cecil, offering the pipe and tobacco to the 
 invalid ; cc I would not ride home in a coach 
 yesterday, that I might have the pleasure of 
 supplying you with tobacco. Here is the 
 likeness of your beloved emperor on the pipe 
 — that is the reason I selected it. Accept it, 
 and embrace me. I am at your service now, 
 Mr. Raimond. Come on, Fox. Oil ! I had 
 almost forgotten my book.” 
 
 “ By my emperor — by the name of the 
 great Bonaparte, this little monkey is a charm- 
 ing little fellow ! ” exclaimed the old soldier, 
 with emotion. “ I will come to see you, my 
 brave boy, when I can walk out ; and we 
 will drink each other’s heal th. I will not 
 say farewell, my little friend ! ” 
 
 “ You have spent part of your ten francs,” 
 
THE TRACT OF LAND. 
 
 157 
 
 said Mr. Raimond to Cecil, as they were 
 getting into the wa^on. 
 
 “ To give pleasure to that brave old man,” 
 replied Cecil. 
 
 “ What book is that under your arm,” 
 asked Mr. Raimond. 
 
 “ It is the history of Robinson Crusoe in 
 the desert island, Sir,” replied Cecil, gravely. 
 “ It is a very interesting story, I can assure 
 you.” 
 
 The wagon stopped before the gate of the 
 inclosure, the walls of which were were full of 
 crevices. 
 
 Mr. Raimond alighted, and taking a key 
 from his pocket, introduced Cecil and Fox 
 into a large square tract of ground. Three 
 quarters of this ground were uncultivated, and 
 overgrown with thistles ; but on the other quar- 
 ter stood several large trees, thickly covered 
 with leaves, but bearing very little fruit. In 
 
 a corner of this enclosure lay a heap of old 
 
 14 
 
158 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 planks, stakes, rusted tools, and broken stones. 
 The wall around was very irregular, and partly 
 broken down. 
 
 “ Here is your land / 5 said Mr. Raimond to 
 Cecil, “ and there is your orchard. Take 
 care that the robbers don’t carry off all your 
 fruit. You can plant potatoes here ; they 
 are very easily raised. Let grass grow on 
 this side, and when it is high enough cut it 
 down, and all the gardeners in the neighbor- 
 hood will buy it for their rabbits. You can 
 be as happy as a king, if you know how to 
 arrange everything well.” 
 
 “ Do you give me all this ? ” asked Cecil, 
 wonder-struck. 
 
 “ I do not give you anything, but I permit 
 you to enjoy it all,” said Mr. Raimond. 
 
 “ That is to say,” replied Cecil, “ that I 
 may go, come, run, dig the ground, do what- 
 ever I choose — and even build myself a house 
 with these planks ? ” 
 
THE TRACT OF LAND. 
 
 159 
 
 “ Exactly.” 
 
 “ Now I am indeed like Robinson on the 
 desolate island ! ” 
 
 “ Exactly.” 
 
 “ And how, Sir, can I thank you for all 
 your goodness ? ” 
 
 “ By watching that nobody comes at night 
 to tear down the walls, or steal my fruit. This 
 is very easy — is it not? Your dog can warn 
 you of the approach of intruders ; then, with 
 this little horn,” (and Mr. Raimond took the 
 horn out of his wagon and gave it to Cecil,) 
 “ you can call the guard, who will come to 
 your assistance.” 
 
 understand you perfectly,” said Cecil ; 
 “ and if you will permit me, Sir, I am going 
 to commence work immediately, that I may 
 have my house made before sunset.” 
 
 “ I jam very sorry not to be able to help 
 you,” replied Mr. Raimond ; “ but but I am 
 obliged to start to-day on a journey of one 
 
160 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 or two months. Fortunately it is warm, and 
 you have time enough before winter to build 
 your house. However, if you will commence 
 immediately, I can give you some advice. 
 Take this corner of the wall, which will 
 shelter you from the north winds, and 'which 
 will also form two sides of your dwelling. 
 
 I , but how old are you ? ” asked Mr. 
 
 Raimond, suddenly interrupting himself. 
 
 “ Twelve years old,” replied Cecil. 
 
 “ You are very young, my little fellow. I 
 am sorry I cannot do anything more for you. 
 I would have taken you to my house, at Saint 
 Germain ; but my wife has lost a little boy of 
 just your age, and the sight of you would 
 cause her to weep, and fall into one of her 
 nervous fits. However, you will certainly be 
 happier here than wandering about the streets ; 
 and you will be very comfortable when you 
 get your house built. A carpenter lives quite 
 near you, and I will ask him to lend you any 
 
THE TRACT OF LAND. 
 
 161 
 
 tools that you may need. Now let me see how 
 well you can manage everything. Necessity 
 is the mother of invention. Have you got the 
 horn ? ” 
 
 “ Thank you, Sir, thank you ! ” exclaimed 
 Cecil, seizing Mr. Raimond’s hand and raising 
 it to his lips. “ Oh ! Sir, you have made me 
 so happy ! But, Fox, come here, that we 
 may be happy together,” added the grateful 
 child, as he bent down and fondly caressed 
 his dog. “You and I have both suffered, and 
 both found that the good God never forsakes 
 his creatures. When I was desolate and in 
 despair, you ran to me wounded and bleeding. 
 I took care of you ; and, from the time I gave 
 you the first piece of bread, which you returned 
 by giving me some water, we have each been 
 sustained by the other: and now, without you, 
 I should not be here.” 
 
 “You are satisfied, then?” asked Mr. 
 
 Raimond. “ Now, little Robinson, good-by ! 
 
 14 * 
 
162 
 
 CECIL 
 
 l shall not see you for a long time. Fare- 
 well ! ” 
 
 As Cecil followed Mr. Raimond to his 
 wagon, he noticed a woman at some distance, 
 whom he thought he recognised as a friend. 
 The woman, in her turn, when she perceived 
 him, quickened her pace until they stood 
 in front of each other. She held in her 
 apron something that moved about, and made 
 a prolonged cooing sound. 
 
 0 * 
 
 * 4 > 
 
CHAPTER XXL 
 
 THE PAIR OF PIGEONS. 
 
 u At last I have found you, my little friend , 55 
 said the young girl to Cecil. “ My father 
 sent me, with many thanks, to tell you he 
 would never forget the important service you 
 have rendered him ; and he will return the 
 ten francs you lent him, as soon as possible. 
 You may depend on him, my little friend.” 
 
 “ He* owes me nothing,” replied Cecil. 
 
 “ Mr. Raimond was so kind as ” 
 
 “ To give you ten francs,” interrupted Mr. 
 Raimond, gaily ; “ but not to pay you the 
 blind man’s debt. My child, I see that you 
 have no notion of the, value of money.” 
 
 Cecil did not reply ; and the girl, opening 
 
164 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 her apron, disclosed a beautiful pair of white pi- 
 geons, so young that they had yet but few fea- 
 thers. She presented them to Cecil, and said, 
 
 “ I wish to give you these in token of my 
 gratitude, my little friend ; will you accept 
 them ? ” 
 
 “ Thes-e pigeons for me ? ” exclaimecj Ce- 
 cil ; “ for me, Mary ! And what shall I do 
 with them ?” 
 
 “ Zounds ! eat them for your dinner,” re- 
 plied Mr. Raimond, jumping into his wagon, 
 “ Good-by, Cecil ! Take good care of my 
 land ; don’t let anything be stolen, — and if 
 you hear the slightest noise in the night, 
 blow the horn. Do not be afraid ; better call 
 the guards uselessly, than let me lose a pear. 
 Good-by ! ” 
 
 And Mr. Raimond whipped up his horses, 
 who started off at full gallop, thus preventing 
 Cecil from making any further acknowledg 
 
 ment. 
 
CECIL REWARDED. 
 
 
THE PAIR OF PIGEONS. 
 
 165 
 
 “ Will you come in and rest a moment, 
 Mary ? ” said Cecil, leading Mary inside the 
 gate. 
 
 “ What ! does all this land belong to you, 
 my little friend ? 55 exclaimed Mary, as she 
 entered. 
 
 “ I am only to take care of it,” replied Ce- 
 cil. Then he added, laughing, “ I would 
 like to have you rest yourself, but I have no 
 chairs.” 
 
 Here is an excellent seat, better than any 
 chair,” said the girl, sitting down on the grass. 
 
 Cecil sat down beside her. “ Will you 
 allow me to hold your pigeons in my hand a 
 moment ? ” 
 
 “ They are yours,” said Mary, putting 
 them on his arm ; “ but you will not eat 
 them, will you ? ” 
 
 “ No, indeed,” replied Cecil ; “ I will take 
 care of them and feed them. By the bye, 
 Mary, what do you give them to eat ? ” 
 
166 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “ Generally they live on seeds, but I only 
 give them bread. Have you got any bread ? ” 
 « No.” 
 
 “ You have at least money to buy some?” 
 
 “Yes, indeed,” said Cecil, jingling his 
 money in his pocket. “ If I only knew 
 where there was a baker ! I feel hungry 
 now.” 
 
 “ W ait, and I will look for one,” said 
 Mary. 
 
 Mary soon returned with a four-pound loaf 
 of bread, and a bunch of radishes. 
 
 “ This is my treat,” said she ; “ I got the 
 money from selling four of my pigeons yester- 
 day morning.” 
 
 “ We ought to have a table,” said Cecil. 
 
 Mary looked around, and seeing the pile 
 of planks, she ran and selected a wide and 
 short one; then wiping it with her apron, she 
 put it across a large stone, placed the bread 
 and radishes on it, and sitting down on the 
 
THE PAIR OF PIGEONS. 
 
 167 
 
 grass, said, <c Here is a table, my little friend. 
 See what a nice table ! ” 
 
 Cecil seated himself, and Fox took his 
 station in front of him. The pigeons also 
 were on the ground, and they all ate with 
 great enjoyment. 
 
 After a few minutes Mary exclaimed, “ O ! 
 we have nothing to drink ! I forgot that we 
 must drink ! My brother would not have 
 forgotten that. I have a goblet,” said she, 
 taking a pewter mug out of her pocket ; “ but 
 with what shall we fill it ? ” 
 
 “ Fox,” said Cecil, addressing the dog, and 
 showing the mug, “where is there any water? 
 You go and find some.” Then turning to 
 Mary, he added : “ Fox is very quick at 
 
 that.” 
 
 At sight ; of the mug, Fox immediately 
 began to rub his nose along the ground. 
 Suddenly he ran towards the gate of the 
 inclosure. Cecil went after him, opened the 
 
168 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 gate, and followed the dog until they came to 
 the side of a fountain ! Cecil quenched his 
 thirst, gave Fox a drink, then rinsing out the 
 mug, he re-filled it with water, and carried it 
 carefully towards the inclosure. As soon as 
 he saw Mary, he exclaimed : 
 
 “ Behold ! here is water ! ” 
 
 Mary took the mug, drank part of the water 
 herself, then gave some to the pigeons. 
 
 “While you were away,” said she to Cecil, 
 “ I have thought of something. You have 
 enough grass here to feed a hundred rabbits.” 
 “ If you have any rabbits, good Mary, it is 
 at your service.” 
 
 “ I have none ; but the gardener, who em- 
 ploys me to sell his herbs, has several ; will you 
 allow me to gather a little grass for them ? ” 
 
 “ Certainly, with pleasure,” i^lied Cecil; 
 “ and I will assist you.” 
 
 Cecil and Mary ran frolicking about, trying 
 which could gather the largest bunch. 
 
THE PAIR OF PIGEONS. 
 
 169 
 
 When Mary’s apron was full, she said : 
 “ Now I must bid you good morning, my little 
 friend. If I have a moment to spare, I will 
 come to see you to-morrow evening. Keep 
 my mug ; it will be more useful to you than 
 it is to me.” 
 
 Cecil thanked her, and followed her to the 
 gate. On his return, he glanced around his 
 large tract of land, and said to himself. 
 
 “ Here I am like Robinson Crusoe, in my 
 desert island, with this difference, that Robin- 
 son’s island was surrounded by water, and 
 mine is encircled by stones. But I have 
 more companions than he had, for I have a 
 dog and two pigeons, so I am happier than 
 he ! ” Cecil was unaccustomed to solitude, 
 and, though it did not alarm him, it made 
 him feel a little melancholy. He began talk- 
 ing to his dog and then to the pigeons, and 
 caressed each alternately. The setting sun 
 
 reminded him that he had prepared no shelter 
 
 15 
 
170 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 for the night, and he was soon busily at work 
 with the planks. 
 
 He selected the corner of the wall pointed 
 out by Mr. Raimond, and began to make 
 the floor by placing boards of equal length 
 close together ; then he tried to stand them 
 upright to form the two sides, which were 
 wanting ; but he found this very difficult, 
 and as the night was fast approaching, he 
 determined to sleep with only the blue sky 
 for his roof. 
 
 I * 
 
 Having come to this resolution, after eating 
 a little bread, he gathered some grass and 
 formed a nest for his pigeons ; then he laid 
 himself down upon the planks, which he had 
 arranged for the floor of his house, but he 
 found them very hard. 
 
 “ Oh ! what would I not give for a bundle 
 of hay or straw ! ” 
 
 By chance his eyes fell on the nest of his 
 pigeons, and he exclaimed : “ Why can I not 
 
CECIL IN THE GARDEN, 
 
THE PAIR OF PIGEONS. 
 
 171 
 
 make a bed for myself as I have done for my 
 pigeons ? ” and he .gathered some grass and 
 strewed it in thick layers on the planks. 
 Once more he laid down, and, with Fox at 
 his feet, he soon fell into a sound slumber. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE TEN FRANCS BEGIN TO GATHER INTEREST. 
 
 In the morning when Cecil awoke, he felt stiff 
 and bruised. He fed his dog and pigeons, 
 and then reflected how he should provide 
 himself with a more comfortable lodging for 
 the next night. 
 
 “ These boards will never do,” said he ; 
 “ I have plenty of different kinds of stones 
 here, and after helping the masons and looking 
 at them for two weeks, I ought to know how 
 to pile them together. But I must have some 
 mortar. Where shall I find any ? ” 
 
 He went to the fountain for a drink, and 
 accidentally met a company of masons as 
 they were going to their work. He followed 
 
THE TEN FRANCS GATHER INTEREST. 173 
 
 them with the intention of asking their advice. 
 On his way he thought of everything that he 
 should say to excite their interest. He reached 
 the hotel of the garden Beaujon, at the same 
 moment as the masons. 
 
 “ Sir,” said he, addressing the youngest 
 one; which made all the others look around, 
 “ will you do me a little favor?” 
 
 “I?” replied the man insolently. 
 
 “You, or one of these other gentlemen,” 
 returned Cecil, a little disconcerted : “ I want 
 to build a house in that inclosure over there ; 
 and, if you would be so kind — — ” 
 
 “ As to build it for you ? ” interrupted the 
 mason, whom Cecil had just addressed. 
 
 “ Shall we make it four stories hio-h, or 
 seven ? ” asked another. 
 
 “ Will you have it surrounded by a colon- 
 nade ? ” asked a third — “ with gilded corni 
 ces? What style of architecture do yau like 
 best ? ” 
 
 15 * 
 
174 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “A colonnade like that of the Louvre?” 
 demanded a fourth. 
 
 “ He wants a villa, I suppose, like a 
 lord’s ! ” said a fifth, 
 
 “ A strong fortress ! ” said a sixth ; “ with 
 battlements, turrets and draw-bridges, and 
 surrounded by ditches of water — in the style 
 of Francis the First ? ” 
 
 “ Or a palace, perhaps — who knows ? ” 
 added a seventh. 
 
 “ And how much, Sir, will you pay the 
 workmen?” rejoined the first mason, with a 
 sneer, which drew forth a roar of laughter 
 from the whole troop. 
 
 Bewildered by this burst of malicious mer- 
 riment, Cecil remained a moment without 
 replying ; but soon taking courage, he looked 
 up, and said : 
 
 “In this world we should all assist one ano- 
 ther, gentlemen. I ask nothing without intend- 
 ing to compensate you, if it is in my power.” 
 
THE TEN FRANCS GATHER INTEREST. 175 
 
 “ Admirable reasoning ! The little brat 
 has become a preacher already. I admire 
 him exceedingly ,” replied the youngest of 
 the masons, who appeared to be the chief 
 speaker ; “ finish your sermon, venerable Sir ; 
 go on, worthy pastor.” 
 
 “I do not know how to build a house,” 
 said Cecil ; “ but I know how to read, write, 
 and play on the violin.” 
 
 “ Very well, go and write, read, and play 
 on the violin, — and build your house with 
 those accomplishments.” 
 
 “You do not understand me,” said Cecil, 
 much disconcerted. “ If any of you would 
 like to learn to read, or write, or play on the 
 violin, I will teach him, if in return he will 
 lend me a hand in building my house.” 
 
 “ I will lend you a foot,” said the youngest 
 of the masons, advancing with a menacing 
 gesture. But just as he was raising his foot, 
 a young girl laid her hand upon his shoulder. 
 
176 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “ Are you not ashamed, brother,’’ said she 
 to him, “ to attempt to beat a child ? and this 
 child, above all others ! ” 
 
 “ Oh ! it is Miss Mary ! Good morning, 
 Miss ! ” said the masons, bowing politely to 
 her. 
 
 “ Well ! who is this child, that I should be 
 afraid to touch him?” asked Mary’s brother, 
 roughly. 
 
 “ Who is he?” replied Mary, with energy ; 
 and seizing Cecil’s hand, she pressed it to her 
 heart. “ Who he is, is no matter; but I will 
 tell you what he has done, gentlemen ? ” 
 
 And, with a voice full of gratitude and emo- 
 tion, Mary related the service he had rendered 
 her father. As she spoke, the countenances 
 of all the masons became attentive and serious ; 
 they unconsciously drew nearer to the child, 
 and regarded him with respect — almost with 
 reverence. Tears filled their eyes, when 
 Mary told how generously Cecil had given 
 
THE TEN FRANCS GATHER INTEREST. 177 
 
 the ten francs to her father ; and they broke 
 forth with one unanimous exclamation of — 
 
 “ Bravo ! bravo ! Shake hands with the 
 fine little fellow ! Pardon our rudeness ! you 
 are a brave and noble child ; shake hands ! ” 
 And the coarse and brawny hands of the 
 workmen were extended towards Cecil, who 
 grasped them in turn. 
 
 One only of* these men did not approach 
 Cecil and offer his hand ; his back was 
 turned on his comrades, and he was sobbing 
 and stamping his feet on the ground. It was 
 Mary’s brother. 
 
 “ Well, Paul,” said Mary kindly, “ you 
 repent having spent the money in drinking 
 at the tavern, while a stranger did not hesitate 
 to deprive himself to succor your father — is it 
 not so ? ” 
 
 “ Don’t speak to me,” replied Paul, rough- 
 ly ; “ I am an unfortunate miserable crea- 
 ture 1 I do not deserve to live, and I will 
 
178 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 throw myself into the first horse-pond I come 
 across ! ” 
 
 “ Brother ! it is very wicked for you to 
 speak in that manner/’ said Mary. 
 
 “ It is both wicked and stupid, and he is 
 a bad son to talk of drowning himself, when 
 he can work and earn money for his poor 
 father ! ” added one of the masons. 
 
 “ Your comrade is right,” said Mary ; 
 “ banish these bad thoughts from your mind, 
 apply yourself diligently to work, and go to 
 the tavern no more.” 
 
 “ No, indeed, I will never set my feet 
 inside of the tavern again, I swear ” 
 
 “ Do not swear,” said Mary, “ but eat your 
 soup while it is hot ; ” and she took a bowl 
 of soup from the basket which she carried on 
 her arm, and presented it to her brother. 
 
 “ I do not wish it,” said Paul ; “ I do not 
 deserve it. Give it to the little boy. As a 
 
THE TEN FRANCS GATHER INTEREST. 179 
 
 penance, I shall eat nothing but bread and 
 water for the whole week.” 
 
 “ You are right, Paul,” said his comrades ; 
 “ it will do you good to punish yourself. 
 Give the soup to the little boy, Miss.” 
 
 “ Do you think I had forgotten him ? ” 
 replied Mary, handing a second bowl to Cecil. 
 
 “ What ! you have thought of me, Mary ! ” 
 exclaimed Cecil, his eyes brightening at the 
 sight of the good warm soup, which he had 
 not tasted for so long a time. 
 
 “And I thought, also, that I might as well 
 bring you a jug to hold water, a plate, a pew- 
 ter spoon, and a knife,” said Mary, handing 
 him a little parcel. 
 
 “ Oh, how rich I am ! and how good you 
 are!” exclaimed Cecil, joyfully. 
 
 “Young master,” said the eldest of the 
 masons, “ you live on the land belonging to 
 father Raimond, do you not? Very well 1 
 keep yourself quiet and contented, and after 
 
J80 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 our work is finished here, as we shall still 
 have three hours during which it is light 
 
 o o 
 
 enough to see, and as we are twenty of us, 
 it will be strange if your house is not ready 
 before night. You have rendered a great 
 service to the poor father of one of our com- 
 rades ; you are a brave boy, and all these 
 men should work for you. Depend upon our 
 coming to your assistance this evening.” 
 
 “ Yes, depend on us,” said Paul ; and 
 Cecil offered his hand to him, but Paul drew 
 back, saying, “ I do not deserve it.” 
 
 The masons were as good as their word, 
 and towards sun-down they arrived on Mr. 
 Raimond’s ground with their trowels, mortar, 
 and everything necessary for building. Cecil 
 showed them the corner he had selected, and 
 they were soon busily employed. 
 
 It was delightful to see them work — they 
 were all in such good humor. They made 
 the two walls which were to form the square 
 
THE TEN FRANCS GATHER INTEREST. 181 
 
 of the chamber, as high as their heads ; then 
 covered them over the top with the planks, 
 upon which they placed some tiles. 
 
 “ We will complete your house to-morrow,” 
 said the masons to Cecil. 
 
 “ I will bring you a door,” said one of 
 them. 
 
 u And I a nice straw bed,” said another. 
 
 “ And I a chair,” said a third. 
 
 “ And do you think I will be behind-hand ? ” 
 exclaimed a fourth ; “I will bring him a table, 
 and a coverlet for his bed.” 
 
 “ Oh. gentlemen ! gentlemen ! ” exclaimed 
 Cecil, much affected, “ you are all too good 
 to me.” 
 
 “You have well merited all the kindness 
 we can show,” replied the men, who in the 
 morning had amused themselves with torment- 
 ing and abusing him, but who now felt as 
 though they could not do enough to serve him. 
 
 Paul was the only one who offered nothing, 
 
 16 
 
182 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 and stood aloof as though he was ashamed. 
 Cecil perceived this. 
 
 “ Will you not shake hands with me now,” 
 said he to Paul, “ that I may thank you as I 
 have thanked the others ? ” 
 
 “ You may thank me,” replied Paul, “ when 
 I have earned enough money to pay you the 
 ten francs you have lent to my father.” 
 
 “ Oh ! I do not want them,” replied Cecil. 
 “ Those ten francs have done me more good 
 than if I had kept them in my pocket. It 
 was owing to them that I have this ground — 
 this house — — ” 
 
 “ And many friends,” added the oldest of 
 the masons. “ But you owe all these to 
 your kind heart. A good action never goes 
 unrewarded.” 
 
 “ Oh no,” said Cecil, devoutly raising his 
 eyes to heaven ; “ God will reward you all a 
 hundred fold.” 
 
 When the masons bade Cecil good evening 
 
the ten francs 
 
 GATHER INTEREST. 183 
 
 he entered his little house and fell on his 
 knees to return thanks to God for all his 
 blessings. He had not finished his prayers, 
 which were longer this evening than uSual, 
 when his attention was distracted by his dog, 
 who stood on the outside of the house, barking 
 and keeping his eyes fixed on one corner of 
 the inclosure 
 
 / 
 
 \ 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE ROBBERS AND THE NATIONAL GUARD. 
 
 From the corner where Cecil was praying 
 he could perceive at the other end of the 
 inclosure, by the pale light of the nroon, two 
 shadows, which moved towards the fruit trees. 
 Soon the shadows came nearer, and he could 
 distinctly see two men. His first feeling, it 
 must be acknowledged, was terror. His se- 
 cond impulse was to call for aid. But on 
 whom should he call ? He remembered the 
 little horn. It was the only piece of furniture 
 in his house, therefore he had no difficulty 
 in finding it. He blew three long and clear 
 notes, then withdrawing into his house, awaited 
 the result. 
 
THE ROBBERS AND NATIONAL GUARD. 185 
 
 Frst he saw the robbers, apparently alarmed, 
 running towards a part of the wall which was 
 low and obscurely situated. A moment after- 
 wards he heard the steps of the patrol and 
 the cries, “ Who goes there ? — reply, or we 
 fire ! ” He then heard the firing of a pistol, 
 and the same voices exclaim, “ We have 
 caught them ! ” 
 
 Cecil went towards the gate, opened it, and 
 beheld not far off a company of the National 
 Guard, surrounding two men of unprepos- 
 sessing appearance. He approached nearer, 
 and the light, which one of the guards car- 
 ried, fell directly onsthese men. Cecil could 
 not help exclaiming, “ Hold ! those are the 
 strangers who accosted me the evening before 
 last ! ” 
 
 This exclamation caused one of the guards, 
 whose dress designated him as a corporal, to 
 turn around and ask Cecil for an explanation 
 
 of his words. 
 
 16 * 
 
186 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “ First,” said Cecil, “ let me tel] you it was 
 I who sounded the horn.” 
 
 “ What ! you are the child whose history 
 my uncle Raimond related to me, and who is 
 to keep watch over his land ? ” inquired the 
 corporal. 
 
 “ Yes, Sir,” replied Cecil. 
 
 “ And you know these men ? ” added he, 
 pointing to the malefactors, whom the guards 
 held fast. 
 
 Cecil replied, without hesitation: “Yes, 
 
 I know them ; that is to say, in returning 
 home the evening before last, I was accosted 
 by one of them- — that one — the taller, who 
 asked me, with a foreign accent, the way to 
 Orleans street. I replied that I was just go- 
 ing to ask him the way to Great Louis street, 
 when that other man came up, and told us 
 that those two streets were close to each 
 other — ” 
 
 “ Really,” interrupted the corporal, laugh- 
 
THE ROBBERS AND NATIONAL GUARD. 187 
 
 mg, “ they are three miles distant from each 
 other.” 
 
 “I knew nothing of that,” said Cecil, “for 
 I am a stranger in Paris. That man told us 
 he would conduct us where we wished to go, 
 and we followed him. On our way we en- 
 countered an old man, who had nearly broken 
 his arm by a fall. I begged these two men 
 to come with me to his assistance, but they 
 refused. You know I could not leave the 
 poor man there alone ; it would have been 
 both wicked and unfeeling. I wished to stay, 
 and they wished to lead me away. They 
 took hold of my arms. I told them if they 
 did not unhand me I would scream thief! 
 At this, they were frightened, and ran off at 
 full speed.” 
 
 “You made the right crv, as they were 
 really thieves,” replied the corporal. “ You 
 see, my child, your goodness of heart saved 
 you from very disagreeable company, not to 
 
188 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 speak of how dangerous your companions 
 might have been.” 
 
 “ And what did you do for the blind man ? ” 
 inquired one of the guards, as his comrades 
 led away the robbers. 
 
 “ I will tell you,” replied the corporal, 
 quickly ; and he related the noble and gene- 
 rous conduct of Cecil. 
 
 Seeing their delight at this recital, Cecil 
 said, with beautiful simplicity : “ And would 
 not any of you have done the same, gentle- 
 men ? Come, will you go with me and see 
 my house ? ” 
 
 “Your house!” said Mr. Raimond’s ne- 
 phew; “why, if you have a tree to perch on 
 in my uncle’s tract of ground you are fortun 
 ate ! ” 
 
 “ Come, come and see ! ” replied Cecil. 
 
 “ Is that where you sleep ? ” exclaimed 
 they all, at sight of the naked walls and the 
 grass scattered on the floor. 
 
THE ROBBERS AND NATIONAL GUARD. 189 
 
 “ To be sure ! ” replied the child, gaily ; 
 then he added, shaking his head, C£ it is just 
 one month since the death of my poor uncle. 
 I should have thought myself very unhappy 
 during his life to have had no better dwelling 
 
 o o 
 
 than this. But now, after having had cause 
 to dread passing a night in the street, and 
 being taken up by the town criers and carried 
 off to prison as a vagabond, I thank God that 
 I have this place to rest in, gentlemen.” 
 
 “Poor child!” said they all, much inter- 
 ested by the words of Cecil, but still more by 
 the artless simplicity with which they were 
 delivered : “ But how does it happen that you 
 are alone in Paris ? ” 
 
 Cecil replied as usual, that he did not wish 
 to tell them, because he must not speak ill of 
 his relations. 
 
 “ Gentlemen,” said the corporal, ce we must 
 do something for this child.” 
 
 “ I am not rich, gentleman,” said one of 
 
190 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 them; “ my business is making shoes, and I 
 will give him a pair, as I see those he has on 
 are much the worse for wear. In the mean- 
 time here are five francs, corporal.” 
 
 “ And I,” said another, “ will send him a 
 bedstead and a matress to-morrow.” 
 
 “ Here is my offering, corporal ! ” 
 
 “ And mine ! ” 
 
 “ And mine ! ” 
 
 The corporal took the money from all of 
 them, and presented it to Cecil, who drew 
 back, blushing. 
 
 “ I do not want it ! ” said he ; “ I do not 
 want it ! ” 
 
 “ Take it,” said the corporal. 
 
 “ No — keep it, gentlemen,” said the child. 
 “ I do not know why ; perhaps it was the 
 education my uncle gave me — but I do not 
 like to receive money from every body. If 
 you will give me work, then I might earn this 
 money and would not mind taking it.” 
 
THE ROBBERS AND NATIONAL GUARD. 191 
 
 “ But what can you do ? ” asked the cor- 
 poral. “Do you know how to read and 
 write ? ” 
 
 “ Yes,” replied Cecil. 
 
 “ And can you spell well ? ” 
 
 “ I only make errors in proper names,” 
 replied the child. 
 
 “ Well, I am a printer,” said the corporal ; 
 “one of my correctors of the proof sheets has 
 weak eyes, and, if you would like to be his 
 assistant, he will give you instruction. Come 
 early to-morrow morning to No. 16 Cadron 
 street, and you shall have work. In the 
 meantime accept these twenty francs ; take 
 them as a loan, if not as a gift, and you can 
 return them when you are able.” 
 
 “ As a loan, then, I will take them,” said 
 Cecil ; “ but I can assure you that I will pay 
 them back.” 
 
 The guard then shook hands with Cecil, 
 and bade him good night. 
 
192 
 
 CECIL 
 
 “Truly is it said,” thought Cecil, feeling 
 the weight of his money in his hand, “ that 
 more is gained by doing good than evil. To- 
 morrow I will ask Mary to buy me some shirts 
 and stockings.” 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 HOW TEN FRANCS WITHOUT BEING PUT OUT 
 AT INTEREST CAN INCREASE TO A LARGE 
 CAPITAL. 
 
 Cecil rose early the next morning. The 
 idea of being employed in a printing office, 
 had kept him awake half the night. After 
 breakfasting on some of the bread and rad- 
 ishes, which yet remained, sharing his meal 
 with his dog and pigeons, he took his way 
 to the printing office, accompanied by Fox. 
 
 He had walked only a few steps, when he 
 met the corporal, who was just getting into a 
 wagon. 
 
 u You come in good time,” said the cor- 
 poral ; “jump in, and I will see you safely 
 
 installed in the office myself.” 
 
 17 
 
194 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 Cecil seated himself beside his new patron, 
 Fox followed the wagon, and in a quarter of 
 an hour’s time, they arrived at the largest 
 printing establishment in Paris. 
 
 “ Mr. Germain,” said the printer, intro- 
 ducing Cecil to an old man, who wore a pair 
 of green spectacles — “ here is a little boy, 
 who will aid you in correcting proofs ; you 
 can tell me, by this evening, whether he is 
 capable of doing the business.” 
 
 “ I will tell you well enough before an 
 hour,” replied Mr. Germain, crossly ; and 
 then he muttered : “ The idea of bringing 
 such a child into this large printing office. 
 Come here, little boy,” added he, conducting 
 Cecil to a private inclosure behind a grating, 
 situated in the middle of the composing room. * 
 “ Correct that sheet for me. Zounds, lad ! 
 
 [t isn’t to be corrected like a page of writing. 
 You do not know the signs, then ?” 
 
 “ It is the first time I have ever been in a 
 
THE TEN FRANCS INCREASE. 195 
 
 printing office, Sir,” replied Cecil, in so sad 
 and sweet a tone, that the old man replied 
 rather more kindly : 
 
 “ Come, sit down, then ; it is quite an al- 
 phabet to learn. Whose dog is that?” added 
 he, looking at Fox, who, with his tail between 
 his legs, had drawn himself up in as small 
 a compass as possible in one corner of the 
 room. 
 
 “ He is mine,” replied Cecil ; “ pray do 
 not hurt him, Sir. Fox will not be in your 
 way at all, I can assure you ; but, on the 
 contrary, he may be useful.” 
 
 “ Useful ! A dog useful ! And in a print- 
 ing office ! ” exclaimed the proof corrector, 
 shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 “Yes, Sir, useful — ‘one has often need of 
 a smaller than one’s self,’ you know.” 
 
 “ Do you mean that for me, Judge ? ” 
 
 Cecil, who feared he had made Mr. Ger- 
 main angry, replied ingenuously : “ 1 wish 
 
196 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 that you had as much need of my dog and 
 me, as I have of you, Sir.” 
 
 Mr. Germain was quite softened by the 
 submissive tone of the child ; and his coun- 
 tenance assumed a more pleasant expression. 
 “ You have never been in a printing estab- 
 lishment,” said he ; “ then before going to 
 work, let me show you how we manage. 
 You see that all the people in this room are 
 engaged in setting up the types. They select 
 the’ letters that spell whatever is written on the 
 paper before them ; and after arranging them 
 in pages, place them on that large iron print- 
 ing press in the next room. When they 
 have enough of these pages to fill a large 
 sheet of paper, they cover them over with 
 ink ; then they lay over them the sheet of 
 paper, and upon this, by means of the press, 
 they take an impression of the types. This 
 first impression is called the proof sheet. It 
 is generally pretty full of errors ; sometimes, 
 
THE TEN FRANCS INCREASE. 197 
 
 because the man who sets up the types, and 
 who is called the compositor, has forgotten 
 some of the letters ; and sometimes because 
 of the authpr’s having made mistakes in the 
 manuscript. It is this proof sheet that we are 
 to correct. Do you understand ? ” 
 
 “ Perfectly, Sir,” 
 
 “ Now sit down by me, and let us com- 
 mence.” 
 
 Cecil was So tractable, so polite, and 
 so amiable, that before the end of the day, 
 he and Mr. Germain had become excellent 
 friends. Cecil related his adventures, and 
 Mr. Germain offered to let him board at his 
 house ; or rather to eat there ; for he said 
 that his wife loved children and dogs very 
 much. 
 
 “ But I have very little money to pay my 
 board,” replied Cecil. 
 
 “ You can earn two francs a day here,” 
 said Mr. Germain. 
 
 17 * 
 
198 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 Cecil repeated in great astonishment: “Two 
 francs ! ” 
 
 Mr. Germain replied : “ I get six francs 
 
 myself, and soon you may make as much. 
 Two francs a day, are sixty francs a month ; 
 if you give my wife twenty cents a day, you 
 shall have breakfast and supper for yourself 
 and dog. How will that suit you ? ” 
 
 “Very well indeed, I think, Sir, — Heavenly 
 Father!” added the child, raising his tearful 
 eyes to heaven, “ Thou hast not forsaken me, 
 and I heartily thank thee ! ” 
 
 “You are religious,” said the old man; 
 so much the better ; my wife will adore 
 you. She will prove to you, that all the 
 good fortune you have had has been owing 
 to your own good conduct. She will first 
 applaud your kindness in not having forsaken 
 this poor wounded dog, and in sharing with 
 him your cent’s worth of bread ; for, if you 
 had abandoned the poor dog, the invalid 
 
THE TEN FRANCS INCREASE. 199 
 
 would not have offered to let you sleep in the 
 house with him. She will then show you 
 that if you had not slept there, you would 
 not have taught the masons to read, and they 
 would not have given you the ten francs ; 
 that these ten francs would have caused you to 
 become the prey of robbers, if your kindness 
 of heart had not again saved you ; that if 
 you had not relieved the blind old man and 
 given him your ten francs, Mr. Raimond 
 would not have established you as guard 
 over his tract of land ; the blind man’s son 
 and his comrades would not have built you 
 a little cottage ; and finally, you would not 
 have become corrector of proofs in a printing 
 house at Paris. There ! My wife will prove 
 to you a great many other things ; she will 
 make you feel that your dog and your ten 
 francs will be the means of your acquiring a 
 large and brilliant fortune ! ” 
 
 Cecil laughed heartily. 
 
 “ In the mean- 
 
200 
 
 CE£IL. 
 
 while/’ said he, “my shoes and stockings 
 are in holes, and I sleep, as Robinson Crusoe 
 did, on a bed of leaves.” 
 
 Precisely as Mr. Germain had promised, 
 Cecil was engaged in the printing office of Mr. 
 Raimond’s nephew, for two francs a day ; and 
 he was introduced to Mrs. Germain, who paid 
 so much attention to him and to his dog at the 
 table, that the husband complained of neglect. 
 
 It was not yet night when Cecil took leave 
 of his new friends ; and, with a light heart 
 and lighter steps, followed by Fox, ran down 
 the long walks of the Champs Elysees. 
 
 As he approached his dwelling hfe encoun- 
 tered Mary, who appeared to be awaiting his 
 return. She held in her hand a handkerchief 
 folded like a cravat. 
 
 “ Will you allow me to bandage your eyes 
 Cecil ?” said she, with so playful and happy 
 a tone, that Cecil held forward his head, re 
 plying : 
 
THE TEN FRANCS INCREASE. 
 
 201 
 
 “ Are you going to play blind man’s, buff 
 Mary ? We should wait till we get inside 
 of the inclosure.” 
 
 Without giving any explanation, the girl 
 bandaged Cecil’s eyes, and, taking him by 
 the hand, led him on so fast, that he had 
 almost to run to keep up with her. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE. 
 
 As they approached Mr. Raimond’s land, 
 Cecil thought he heard smothered laughter, 
 low whisperings, and a shuffling of many 
 feet. When he felt the floor of his hut under 
 his feet, ’the bandage fell from his eyes, and 
 he looked around without recognizing the 
 place. The rough and naked walls were 
 no longer to be seen. They were covered 
 with pretty flowered paper. Instead of the 
 great square place without doors, <jr windows, 
 or furniture, now appeared a beautiful room, 
 well closed, and in which nothing was want 
 iog. At the right, was an iron bedstead, 
 imnished with a mattrass, a bolster, and a 
 
AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE. 203 
 
 coverlet : at the head of the bed was a pretty 
 washstand, supplied with towels ; and at the 
 foot, was a little cupboard, from which escaped 
 a savoury smell that proved this piece of fur- 
 niture would not be the least useful in the 
 room. Added to all these there were two 
 chairs and a wooden table. Cecil stood mo- 
 tionless for some minutes, doubting whether 
 he was awake or dreaming. 
 
 A burst of noisy and merry laughter, and 
 a mischievous pinch from Mary roused him 
 from his stupefaction, and convinced him 
 that he was not dreaming — that the vision 
 was all reality ! He beheld assembled around 
 him the masons, on the arm of one of whom 
 leaned the blind man ; and near them a group 
 of young gentlemen, whom he did not imme- 
 diately recognise, but in the midst of whom 
 he noticed his patron, the printer. 
 
 “Well, what do you say to all this?” asked 
 Mr. Raimond’s nephew, advancing towards 
 
204 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 him. “ Do you not think that the ten francs 
 you gave to this blind man have been suffi- 
 ciently profitable to you? Look! All the 
 things here are yours. They are sent to you 
 by these gentlemen themselves, who form the 
 patrol with whom you talked last night. The 
 linen and the dishes were sent to you by their 
 sisters. You will find in the under part of 
 the washstand, two pairs of sheets, a dozen 
 towels, and clothes for your use ; for we 
 happen to have brothers of your size. Here 
 is a basket of fine peaches that you must eat 
 with these brave men, who built your house , 
 and, as I have invited the blind man, his son, 
 and his daughter to supper, you will find a 
 plenty with which to regale them, in that 
 cupboard. Now good-by, my brave boy 
 To-morrow we must go to work again.” 
 
 Cecil seized the hand, which the printer 
 offered, and exclaimed : “ Oil ! Sir — Sir ! V 
 
 This was all he could say ; but his tears and 
 
AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE. 
 
 205 
 
 the expression of his face were more eloquent 
 than words. 
 
 The gentlemen withdrew, and Mary, who 
 doubtless only waited for this movement to 
 open the cupboard, now quickly turned the 
 key in the lock, and the doors flew open and 
 displayed a large pie, a roasted turkey, and 
 two large loaves of bread. 
 
 Cecil said to the masons : “ Here is plenty 
 for all ! Come, sit down, and eat with us ! ” 
 
 “ But there are only two chairs,” said one 
 of the masons. 
 
 “ One for the blind man, and the other for 
 Miss Mary,” replied Cecil. 
 
 “ It is a fine evening,” said Mary ; “ let us 
 sup in the open air. Carry the table outside, 
 and we can place planks over stones to make 
 benches.” 
 
 “ Bravo ! bravo ! ” cried the masons, in 
 executing Mary’s orders. In a moment the 
 
 table was set outside, the seats arranged, and 
 
 18 
 
206 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 the best one given to the blind man. All was 
 gaiety and happiness ; and never did any of 
 the party enjoy a heartier or more jovial 
 repast. Fox travelled all around the table, 
 receiving food from the hand of every one. 
 And never did a dog so wag his tail as little 
 Fox did, during that merry meal. 
 
 At nine o’clock the party separated ; and 
 Cecil re-entered his little room alone. After 
 having put everything in order, he threw 
 himself on his knees before the bed, and 
 thanked God with great earnestness, for all 
 the blessings he had showered upon him for 
 some days past. Then, for the first time 
 since he had been in Paris, the poor child 
 stretched his delicate limbs on a good bed. 
 
 “ Oh ! how delightful!” exclaimed he; 
 “how delightful! If I had not been deprived 
 of a bed so long as I have been, and had not 
 been forced to sleep with only a bundle of 
 straw for my pillow, I should never have 
 
AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE. 
 
 207 
 
 known how great a luxury it is to sleep upon 
 a matress ! ” 
 
 All at once lie remembered his pigeons. 
 He had quite forgotten them during the feast ; 
 and now wondered what had become of them ! 
 But the bed was too comfortable for him long 
 to indulge in vain regrets, and “ tired nature’s 
 sweet restorer — balmy sleep ” — soon banished 
 his anxiety. 
 
 The next morning, after Cecil had dressed 
 himself and said his prayers, he went out in 
 search of his pigeons. Great was his delight 
 on finding a rude wooden cage, hung on the 
 wall just by his cottage. The pigeons were 
 strutting up and down before the door. Be- 
 neath the cage was a grating, across which 
 several planks were placed. Cecil looked 
 in, fearfully at first, wondering what those 
 brown-looking creatures, with long ears and 
 bright eyes could be. But suddenly he ex- 
 claimed, “ Oh ! they are rabbits ! rabbits ! ” 
 
208 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 He quickly divined to whom he was indebt- 
 ed for this new gift ; and after having fed his 
 pigeons and his rabbits, he gathered a bundle 
 of grass, and, followed by Fox, set out on 
 his way to the printing office — first intending 
 to stop at the house of the gardener, by whom 
 Mary was employed to sell herbs, and leave 
 the bundle of grass for the man’s own rabbits 
 The gardener’s wife had gone out, but 
 Mary stood at the door. She perceived Cecil 
 approaching with the bundle of grass, and 
 cried out laughingly : “ Oh ! you have guessed 
 mother Grand Jean’s motive for making you 
 a present of the pair of rabbits ! ” 
 
 u No,” replied Cecil ; “ but as she has 
 
 been so kind as to give them to me, I thought 
 I would return the kindness by bringing food 
 for her rabbits. If she will permit me, Mary. 
 I will bring her some grass every morning.” 
 
 “ Certainly she will be very glad to get it,” 
 replied Mary, taking the grass from Cecil. 
 
AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE. 
 
 209 
 
 “ And how have you been all at home since 
 vesterday evening ? ” asked Cecil. 
 
 “ Better and happier than usual/’ replied 
 Mary ; “ for my brother, ashamed of himself, 
 and much affected by the service you have 
 rendered to our poor father, made us a great 
 many promises to reform. It was a shame, he 
 said, that a child twelve years of age should 
 be wiser and better than he, who was nine- 
 teen ; and he wept to think that he should be 
 spending his money at a tavern, while that 
 child was working to save our father from 
 
 ruin. A good example should be followed, he 
 said. To-day he commences a new course of 
 life, Cecil, and you have been the promoter 
 of this happy change ! ” 
 
 “Well, I don’t know how that happens, 
 Mary. The merit is not due to me ; the good 
 God directs everything, and to him we owe 
 all we give the name of blessing to.” 
 
 “ And His pormptings have been well 
 
 1ST 
 
210 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 heeded by you. Oh ! Cecil, my father said 
 yesterday he had never before so much 
 regretted the loss of his sight as when he 
 remembered that he could not see you ! ” 
 
 “ Let us talk on some other subject, Mary ; 
 I have a favor to ask of you. As I told you 
 yesterday, Mr. Germain allows me to take my 
 meals at his house ; but I have been used 
 from childhood to change my linen very fre- 
 quently, and I do not know how to get my 
 clothes washed and mended ” — 
 
 “ Do not give yourself any uneasiness about 
 that, Cecil ; every week I will go to your 
 house for your soiled or torn clothes, and my 
 mother will put them in order.” 
 
 “ And I will pay her for it,” said Cecil. 
 
 “ Very well, very well ; we will not dispute 
 about that.” 
 
 “ It is now time to go to work,” said Cecil. 
 “ Good by, Mary, until to-morrow.” 
 
 “ Good by, Cecil.” 
 
AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE. 
 
 211 
 
 And now, my readers, it is useless to give 
 a particular account of every day’s doings. 
 Cecil continued to work in the printing office, 
 and, with the assistance of Mary’s brother, 
 cultivated his land, planted potatoes and 
 salad ; took good care of the fruit trees, 
 repaired the wall, and made so many im- 
 provements, that, at the expiration of four 
 months, when Mr. Raimond returned from his 
 travels, he did not recognize his own place. 
 
 We will pass over the next two years, at 
 the end of which time an unfortunate event 
 occurred, which I will now relate. 
 
CHAPTER XXVL 
 
 IN WHICH SOMETHING IS TOLD ABOUT FOX* 
 
 One fine, but very cold Sunday, in the 
 month of February, Cecil followed by Fox, 
 entered the Church which he was accustomed 
 regularly to attend. Could my readers have 
 seen Cecil, they would scarcely have recog- 
 nized, in the handsome and healthy looking 
 boy of fourteen, the pale and delicate child, 
 who, two years before, had been abandoned 
 under the chestnut tree in the Tuileries. 
 
 When service was over, Cecil sat down 
 on the church steps, and remained awhile, 
 looking at the train of carriages, with their 
 liveried footmen, as th6y drove up to the 
 door, and by watching the richly dressed 
 persons who stepped into them. 
 
SOMETHING IS TOUD ABOUT FOX. 213 
 
 Fox was not content with sitting still on 
 the steps, but ran up to the carriages and 
 jumped about the legs of the horses and foot- 
 men. After receiving several slight kicks, he 
 would return quite crest fallen to his master. 
 
 “That serves you right, Fox,” cried out 
 Cecil, at every kick given to the dog ; “ You 
 should not run away from me.” But the dog 
 took no heed either of his master’s reproofs or 
 of the ill treatment of the footmen ; and again 
 ran off to satisfy his curiosity. 
 
 The people bad nearly all left the church, 
 and Cecil contemplated returning home, to 
 light his little fire, and read a book which 
 Mr. Germain had lent him ; when he heard 
 some one scream, ^Fox! Fox!” Cecil 
 started ! The cry had proceeded from an old 
 iady, seated in a carriage, the door of which 
 was still open. 
 
 As Cecil was looking around him, to divine 
 what kind of dog it was that bore the same 
 
214 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 name as his own, he saw Fox, his Fox, make 
 one bound, and jump into the carriage, where 
 sat the lady. The door was closed in an 
 instant, and the carriage drove off. 
 
 When the first emotion of surprise was over, 
 Cecil thought of following the carriage ; but, 
 before he had made up his mind what to do, 
 the carriage was out of sight. 
 
 Cecil was overwhelmed with grief. “I 
 have lost my dog/’ exclaimed he, so bitterly 
 that every body turned around, and looked 
 at him. “I have lost my dog ! Fox! Fox! 
 Come back ! Where are you ? ” But he 
 called in vain. Fox had perhaps disappeared 
 forever. How should he ever find such a 
 little dog in that great city ! If he had only 
 looked particularly at the lady, or the car- 
 riage, or the horses, or the footmen even, 
 then he might have come and sat on the 
 church steps every day, and if either the lady 
 or her footman appeared, he could request 
 
SOMETHING IS TOLD ABOUT FOX. 215 
 
 them to return his dog. But now, what was 
 he to do ? The past seemed like a dream ; 
 the present was a sad reality, for he felt that 
 he was alone. Sorrowfully he returned home. 
 Whenever he met a little black dog on his 
 way, he involuntarily called out “ Fox ! ” and 
 at every new disappointment, his grief was 
 redoubled. 
 
 Everything now looked gloomy in his 
 pretty little cottage without Fox. Cecil 
 neither noticed his pigeons nor his rabbits. 
 All his thoughts were engrossed by Fox. 
 He could not eat, nor sleep, nor take any 
 pleasure without him. “ Oh ! he was more 
 than a dog to me!” exclaimed Cecil;- “he 
 was my companion, my brother, my friend ! ” 
 
 When he knelt down to pray that night, 
 he could only utter one wish: “Oh! God, 
 give me back my dog ! Thou, who hast 
 always been so good to me, give me back 
 my friend — my companion ! ” 
 
216 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 Sleep visited not poor Cecil’s eyes that 
 night ; and when morning came, his grief 
 seemed to be even greater than the preceding 
 evening. Every moment he missed his dog 
 more and more. Silently he fed his rabbits 
 and pigeons, and set out for the printing office. 
 In passing before the gardener’s house, where 
 Mary worked, instead of the gay and happy 
 “ good morning ” with which he generally 
 accosted her, he held out his hand, and could 
 only say, “ I have lost my dog, Mary ! ” 
 
 “ What a misfortune ! ” replied the girl, 
 deeply sympathizing with his grief, without 
 attempting to offer him any consolation. 
 
 He arrived at the printing office ; and, to 
 every body who addressed him, he replied 
 only with the words, which were uppermost 
 in his heart and on his lips : “ I have lost my 
 dog!” 
 
 “ My wife will be inconsolable,” said Mr 
 Germain ; “ but you must forget your grief for 
 
SOMETHING IS TOLD ABOUT FOX. 217 
 
 a time, my child. Work should be thought 
 of before everything else.” 
 
 Poor Cecil made errors all the day, and 
 never were his proof sheets so badly corrected. 
 
 “ This child must have another dog,” said 
 Mr. Germain to the workmen. 
 
 “ No, no,” replied Cecil ; “ not another l I 
 only want the one I have lost. I could nor 
 love another dog as I have loved Fox ! ” 
 
 19 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THF BEGGAR ON THE CHAMPS ELYSEES. 
 
 It was seven o’clock in the evening. The 
 moon sv one brilliantly, the ground was cov- 
 ered with snow, and it was very cold, when 
 Cecil returned home. He passed by the 
 coffee-house in which he had played on the 
 violin for the old man. He was unfortunate 
 then, but his dog was with him, and he was 
 less sad than now. 
 
 Standing near the coffee-house, on the 
 Champs Elysees, he saw an individual who 
 appeared familiar to him. It was a pale and 
 thin young man, without a hat, shivering 
 with the cold, wrapped in an old coat, which 
 showed his form so plainly that one might 
 
THE BEGGAR ON THE CHAMPS ELYSEES. 219 
 
 well have imagined that beneath it he wore 
 no other clothes. In this young man’s fea- 
 tures, Cecil traced a resemblance to his cou- 
 sin ! But what an idea ! The son of his 
 uncle — the rich heir of Mr. Thomas, the 
 owner of so many houses and vineyards in 
 Bordeaux — here — in Paris — and in the most 
 miserable and destitute state, shivering in the 
 street ! No, it was impossible ! Notwith- 
 standing the severe cold, Cecil stood with 
 his eyes riveted upon the person who so strik- 
 ingly resembled his cousin. 
 
 At this moment a third person crossed the 
 Champs Elysees, and Cecil saw the wretched 
 young man run towards the stranger and hold 
 out his hand. 
 
 “I have nothing for you,” replied the per- 
 son thus applied to, roughly. 
 
 “I shall die of hunger!” said the young 
 man, who, no doubt, encouraged by the soli- 
 tude which reigned all around, put his hand 
 
220 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 on the man’s arm, and held him fast, as it 
 were, in perfect desperation. 
 
 That voice ! It was his cousin’s voice ! 
 Cecil knew it too well to forget it ; and, 
 grasping the arm of the unhappy young man, 
 exclaimed, “ Augustus! what are you doing?” 
 “ Augustus ! ” repeated the person address- 
 ed, trembling with alarm. “ Who calls my 
 name ? Who knows me ? ” 
 
 And, in his surprise, unconscious of what 
 he did, he loosened his hold of the stranger, 
 who, glad to be released, hastened away. 
 
 “ Augustus ! what are you doing ? ” again 
 asked Cecil; but this time in^a sad and 
 reproachful tone, and fixing his eyes on his 
 cousin with an expression of mingled aston- 
 ishment and horror.” 
 
 The first feeling of alarm over, the man, 
 in his turn, looked at Cecil ; but not recog- 
 nising his voice, nor his healthy face and 
 robust form, he said, roughly — 
 
THE BEGGAR ON THE CHAMPS ELYSEES. 221 
 
 “ Who are you ? and what do you want 
 with me ? ” 
 
 “ What ! do you not remember me, Au- 
 gustus ? ” 
 
 “ I never saw you before,” said Augustus, 
 making a movement to go away. 
 
 “ I am Cecil ! ” 
 
 This name appeared to wound the young 
 man to the soul. 
 
 “ Cecil ! ” repeated he, with terror. 
 
 “ Yes, the nephew of Mr. Tliomas ; Cecil, 
 your cousin, whom you abandoned in the 
 Tuileries. But what brings you to Paris ? 
 and what are you doing here ? ” asked Cecil, 
 kindly. 
 
 As Augustus did not reply, feeling no doubt 
 too much humbled and confused, or not having 
 an answer ready, Cecil continued : 
 
 “ It is very cold here ; let us go to your 
 house, or mine, that we may talk together- 
 
 will you ? ” 
 
 19 * 
 
222 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “ To my house ? I have no house ! ” said 
 Augustus, in a smothered voice. “ Do you 
 think, if I had a home, that I should be here, 
 at this hour, prowling about the streets of 
 Paris? Do you think, if I had eaten to-day, 
 I would have begged ?” 
 
 “ Speak lower, Augustus ! 55 said Cecil ; 
 but he added, with kindness, “ Well, come 
 home with me, cousin.” 
 
 Augustus followed, without making any 
 remark — his head bent down, and his frame 
 shivering with the cold. 
 
 Cecil thought over this strange meeting 
 with his cousin — now a mendicant on the 
 Champs Elysees — until his little brain was 
 perplexed ; but he could not solve the mys- 
 tery. As for Augustus, he was trying to 
 invent some story which would satisfy his 
 cousin’s curiosity. 
 
 They at length reached the little cottage ; 
 andj when Cecil had lighted the candle, an 
 
THE BEGGAR ON THE CHAMPS ELYSEES. 223 
 
 exclamation of surprise burst from Augustus, 
 at sight of the perfect neatness and order 
 which reigned throughout the room. 
 
 “ Where are we ? asked he. 
 
 “ In my house, cousin/’ said Cecil, doing 
 the honors with a hospitality worthy of his 
 kind heart. “ Wait, and I will light rfiy fire, 
 and that will warm you. You are hungry, 
 are you not? Open the cupboard! What 
 will you have ? Here is bread, a pot of pre- 
 served grapes, and a little wine : but do not 
 stint yourself, — eat all. I am not hungry. 
 I am too full of grief to think of eating,” 
 added he, drawing a deep sigh. 
 
 “ Whose place is this?” asked Augustus, 
 eating with great anxiety. 
 
 “ It is mine ; or pretty much the same as 
 mine,” answered Cecil. 
 
 “ What ! ” said Augustus, in astonishment, 
 “ this land belongs to you ? This house and 
 furniture are yours ? ” 
 
224 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “ No, this land is not mine,” replied Cecil ; 
 “I am only kept here to guard it. The house, 
 some of my friends built for me; still, it can 
 hardly be called mine either ; but the furni- 
 ture and everything in this room belong to 
 me. But, cousin, tell me something about 
 yourself. How happens it, that you, who 
 were so rich, are in this forlorn condition ? ” 
 
 “Oh! it is a very sad history,” replied 
 Augustus. 
 
 “ It is not late,” said Cecil, “ pray, relate 
 it to me.” 
 
 Augustus having finished his supper, took 
 the most comfortable seat in front of the fire, 
 and commenced his story. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 WHAT BRINGS PROSPERITY AND WHAT 
 MISFORTUNE. 
 
 [ have had misfortunes — this is all my his- 
 tory said Augustus, affecting an indifferent 
 air. 
 
 “ And I have; had prosperity, 5 ’ replied Ce- 
 cil ; . “ but, as my good fortune has all one 
 cause, your misfortunes have probably one 
 also — is it not so ? ” 
 
 “ That is to say, you have told every body 
 that you had been abandoned, without omit- 
 ting to mention, I will wager, by whom ; 
 giving mv name, the particulars of my birth, 
 my place of residence, and even the street in 
 which I lived, and the number of my house ! ” 
 
226 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “ How little you know me, Augustus, 1 ” 
 replied Cecil, calmly, “ Have I not always 
 been taught, that to publish the wickedness 
 of one’s relations was to dishonor oneself? 
 I have told those who have asked my history, 
 that I was abandoned, but I never told by 
 whom.” 
 
 “ What, Cecil ! Never mentioned my 
 name ? ” 
 
 “ Never, Augustus.” 
 
 “ And what has been the cause of all your 
 good fortune?” 
 
 Cecil related to his cousin, in the most 
 simple and natural manner, and without the 
 least embellishment, all that had occurred to 
 him from the time Augustus had forsaken him 
 in the garden of the Tuileries. u And now,” 
 added he, in conclusion, “ tell me about your 
 misfortunes.” 
 
 “ Alas ! Cecil, after leaving you asleep in 
 the Tuileries, I started the same day on my 
 
PROSPERITY AND MISFORTUNE. 227 
 
 return to Bordeaux. On my arrival there, I 
 began by clearing out the house.” 
 
 “ What, Augustus ! you turned away John, 
 his family, Jeannet, old Bonise, and little 
 Lignac — all, family servants, born and bred 
 in the house!” interrupted Cecil. 
 
 “ They did nothing but talk of you,” replied 
 Augustus, sulkily. 
 
 “ Oh ! I understand,” said Cecil; “ and it 
 was a reproach to yourself.” 
 
 “ Was I not master of my own house, and 
 could I not do what I chose ? ” demanded 
 Augustus. 
 
 “ Ay, Augustus, and so was I master this 
 evening, and need not have asked you to 
 come home with me,” replied Cecil ; “ but 
 I would not have acted thus, Augustus.” 
 
 Augustus, without paying any attention to 
 this remark, continued : 
 
 “ Never ask a* man, Cecil, how he has 
 managed to spend the whole of his fortune 
 
I 
 
 228 cecil. 
 
 in six months ; it is very easy, I assure you. 
 Listen, and I will tell you. I had new 
 servants, who stole from me, and friends, 
 who borrowed my money. I gave parties ; 
 I kept carriages and horses ; then, I got in 
 debt by bad speculation, and one morning I 
 
 i 
 
 found myself dispossessed of all my bouses 
 and my vineyards, with only ten thousand 
 francs in my purse.” 
 
 “ I should like very well to have ten thou- 
 sand francs ; I should think myself rich,” 
 replied Cecil. “ You have ten thousand 
 francs, Augustus ? ” 
 
 “ Hear me to the end. I knew that gam- 
 ng houses were abolished at Paris ; but I 
 had heard my father speak of speculations in 
 stocks, by which enormous sums were made. 
 I came to Paris, risked my ten thousand 
 francs, and lost them. Since then I have had 
 to sell my clothes, one by one, to pay my 
 board and get food, until yesterday, not being 
 
PROSPERITY AND MISFORTUNE. 229 
 
 able to pay for a small room I occupied in 
 Fille-Saint Thomas street, they turned me out 
 of the house and retained the rest of my linen. 
 When you had met me, I had not eaten any 
 thing for fourteen hours.” 
 
 “ How fortunate that I met you ! ” said 
 Cecil. 
 
 “ You do not then bear malice against me ?” 
 asked Augustus, in surprise. 
 
 “ Why,” said Cecil, “ I felt angry with 
 you as long as I thought you were rich ; now 
 that you are unfortunate, I pity you, but 
 bear you no malice. If you will recall the 
 words of your poor father, Augustus — that 
 he who does evil receives evil in return, and 
 he that does good finds good in return— you 
 will see how you have deserved your misfor- 
 tunes, and I my prosperity.” 
 
 “ How stupid you are!” exclaimed Au- 
 gustus, shrugging his shoulders. “ If you 
 
 had not met that good man, Mr. Raimond, 
 
 20 
 
230 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 who made you guardian over his land, and 
 those kind masons, who built your house, tell 
 me, if you can, where you would have lived 
 until now ? ” 
 
 Cecil replied quickly : “ If I had not as- 
 sisted the old blind man I should not have 
 met Mr. Raimond, and the comrades of the 
 blind man’s son would not have built me this 
 room.” 
 
 “ Say, rather,” replied Augustus, “ that 
 without your dog all this good fortune would 
 not have befallen you.” 
 
 “ But it was from compassion that I took 
 the dog, and God had pity on me because I 
 had pity on the dog.” 
 
 “ Oh ! make it all out to suit yourself,” 
 said Augustus, who, in the spirit of all envious 
 persons, would not acknowledge to himself the 
 cause of his misery and of his cousin’s happi- 
 ness. “After all,” added he, “you are not so 
 well off as to justify your talking so proudly.” 
 
PROSPERITY AND MISFORTUNE. 231 
 
 “ And what more do I want ? ” exclaimed 
 Cecil, with animation. “ I have a house, 
 quite large enough for my use ; I have friends 
 — yes, Augustus, the old blind man’s family 
 are excellent friends to me ; the old man 
 gives me good advice; his wife washes and 
 mends my clothes ; his daughter, a kind and 
 grateful girl, has given me a pair of pigeons 
 and a pair of rabbits, of .which I am very 
 fond ; and his son, a rather unsteady young 
 man at first, but now quite changed, often 
 comes, after he has got through his work, to 
 help me plough and sow my ground. I have 
 a situation by which I make sixty francs a 
 month, and in the name of goodness what 
 more do I want ? Ah ! except my dog, to 
 be sure,” added he, with a sigh. “ But, this 
 misfortune apart, I should be very ungrateful 
 to complain of my destiny, comparing my 
 situation now with what it was two years ago, 
 when I was a poor deserted child, wandering 
 
232 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 about the streets of Paris, with only one cent 
 in my pocket.” 
 
 “ Is there no possibility of sleeping here ? ” 
 asked Augustus, concealing by a yawn the 
 displeasure he felt at Cecil’s last remark. 
 
 “ Oh, yes,” replied Cecil ; “ but Lean only 
 offer you half a bed, as I have only one.” 
 
 “ I will try and content myself with that,” 
 said Augustus, undressing himself and jumping 
 into bed.” 
 
 “ Do you not say your prayers ? ” asked 
 Cecil, kneeling down. 
 
 “ What’s the use?” said Augustus, turning 
 over and composing himself to sleep. 
 
 “ Oh, cousin,” said Cecil, sadly, “ how do 
 you ever expect to be happy ? ” And finding 
 that his cousin did not reply, he added : “ I 
 am going to pray for you, as you grieve mo 
 very much ? ” 
 
 “ You will do well,” replied Augustus, 
 roughly. 
 
PROSPERITY AND MISFORTUNE. 233 
 
 But just as Cecil was commencing to pray, 
 he thought he heard in the stillness of the 
 night, the barking of a dog which he well 
 knew. “ Augustus ! Augustus ! ” cried he, 
 his voice much changed by emotion, and 
 running to open the door. “ Can you now 
 deny the justice and goodness of God ? Let 
 this convince you. See! see! He has given 
 me back my dog — my own, own Fox ! ” 
 
 A moment afterwards, Cecil clasped Fox 
 to his heart ; and then weeping for joy, he 
 fell on his knees to thank the Giver of all 
 Good. 
 
 20 * 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 THE PLACARD. 
 
 “ It is strange, cousin, that Fox don’t like 
 you,” said Cecil, the next morning, perceiving 
 that the dog continually whined and looked 
 suspiciously at Augustus. 
 
 “ Do you mean to say that dogs love and 
 hate ? ” asked Augustus. 
 
 “ Is it not proof sufficient, that this poor 
 dog, who was carried away from me,^ and 
 whom I thought lost, has come back to me, 
 of his own accord ? Have you not been 
 witness of his joy at seeing me ? But let us 
 think of your affairs now, Augustus.” 
 
 “ I thank you for your hospitality,” and 
 Augustus, while dressing himself, and brush- 
 
THE PLACARD. 
 
 235 
 
 in ^ his old coat, to make it look less soiled 
 and dusty. “I am going to see some friends. 
 Have you a cravat and a shirt to lend me ? ” 
 
 “ Yes/’ replied Cecil, selecting his hand- 
 somest cravat and best shirt, and presenting 
 them to him. 
 
 “ And some money with which I may buy 
 my breakfast ? ” asked Augustus. 
 
 Cecil took a little leather purse out of his 
 mattress, and opening it, said ; “1 have thirty 
 francs. I will share them with you, Augustus. 
 Here are fifteen. I am very sorry not to be 
 able to offer you more.” 
 
 Augustus, who did not anticipate his cou- 
 sin’s generosity, was much surprised, and 
 thanked him quite warmly, saying: “ You 
 
 are a very good friend, Cecil. But I will 
 return you this money soon — very soon,” 
 added he, taking the money as though it 
 were a loan, by way of easing his pride. 
 For those who are incapable of doing a gene- 
 
236 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 rous act themselves, are always unwilling to 
 show a proper degree of gratitude for a favor 
 received. 
 
 After Cecil had given his pigeons and rab- 
 bits their breakfast, he invited his cousin to 
 accompany him, and they went out together. 
 
 In approaching the Place De la Concorde, 
 the two cousins saw a placard posted on a 
 tree in the Champs EMysees, before which 
 several people stopped a moment, and then 
 walked on. “ What is lost ? ” asked the 
 cousins, following the example of others, and 
 stopping to read. But instead of passing on, 
 as if by one impulse, they stood transfixed to 
 the spot. My little readers will quickly see 
 the cause of Cecil’s agitation, when they read 
 the placard, but they will not be able to guess 
 in what manner it interested Augustus. 
 
 Augustus reacj the notice aloud : 
 
 “ FIFTY FRANCS REWARD ! 
 
 “ For the recovery of a little English 
 
THE PLACARD. 
 
 237 
 
 spaniel. The dog is black, with a white 
 spot on his breast, and on each foot. His 
 ears are very long, almost sweeping the 
 ground, and his name is Fox. 
 
 “ This dog had been lost for two years, but 
 
 i 
 
 was found on last Sunday, before the church of 
 Saint Roch, and made his escape last evening. 
 
 “ If any body who sees the above mentioned 
 dog, will please bring^him to 37 Lafitte-street, 
 to Madame Marboeuf, he shall receive the 
 promised reward, and even more, if required.’ 5 
 
 “ Madame Marboeuf,” said Augustus, 
 thoughtfully ; “ it is singular.” 
 
 “My poor dog!” said Cecil, taking Fox 
 tenderly in his arms. 
 
 The cousins walked away from the placard, 
 and separated from each other, both of them 
 absorbed in thought. 
 
 Cecil went to the printing office, and im- 
 mediately related all that had occurred to Mr. 
 Germain, and asked his advice. 
 
238 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “My advice is, my child/’ replied Mr. 
 Germain, “ that, since you cannot keep that 
 dog — seeing that it does not belong to you — 
 my advice is, that you immediately return it 
 to the owner.” 
 
 “Never, never, of my own accord,” said 
 Cecil, “could I part with Fox.” 
 
 “ Reflect, my child ! ” said Mr. Germain, 
 “ that apart from receiving the reward, which 
 it would be very nice to have, and which you 
 could double if you chose, you will be accused 
 of stealing the do£.” 
 
 “ Stealing ! ” exclaimed Cecil. 
 
 “But, my child,” said Mr. Germain, “there 
 is not much difference between stealing and 
 keeping what belongs to another.” 
 
 “ Then I will no longer hesitate,” said 
 Cecil, taking Fox in his arms and weeping 
 over him. Then stopping at the door of the 
 printing office, and turning to his comrades, 
 #ho looked sorrowfully after him, he said : 
 
THE PLACARD. 
 
 239 
 
 “ Do you think I might ask the lady to let 
 me buy her dog ? ” 
 
 “ You have a perfect right to ask,” replied 
 one of the compositors. 
 
 “ And she has a perfect right to refuse 
 you/’ said Mr. Germain. 
 
 With a sad heart Cecil went on his way, 
 carrying the poor animal, who looked up to 
 his master as if he anticipated his fate, and 
 supplicated him not to part with hirft. 
 
 i 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 A DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 c< Give me courage!” prayed poor Cecil, 
 looking at the dog, who seemed dearer to 
 him than ever before. 
 
 He arrived at the house designated in the 
 placard. As he ascended the steps he met 
 his cousin, and hastened to join him. 
 
 “ What do you come here for? ” asked Cecil. 
 u And for what do you come?” returned 
 Augustus. 
 
 “I!” said Cecil, and he looked sorrowfully 
 at the little dog in his arms. 
 
 “ Ah ! you come for the promised reward,” 
 said Augustus. 
 
 jUftjlt would be difficult to express Cecil’s in- 
 
A DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 241 
 
 dignatior at this remark. Without saying a 
 word* foi he felt if his cousin could thus 
 judge him he was not capable of either con- 
 ceiving or appreciating his conduct, he knocked 
 at the door. 
 
 “ Cecil, ” cried Augustus, “ do not speak of 
 me to that lady — do you understand ? ” 
 
 “ Whatt an idea ! ” exclaimed Cecil ; and 
 he asked the door-keeper for Mrs. Marboeuf. 
 
 “ Go to the first door on the left,” said 
 the door-keeper. “ Oh ! you bring back her 
 dog ! Are you not glad to have found it ? 
 You will get the reward ! I never meet with 
 such good luck ! ” 
 
 Cecil bowed to all the woman’s remarks 
 without replying. He went to the next door, 
 as she directed, and ran«. A liveried foot- 
 
 ' o 
 
 man opened the door, and, on seeing the dog, 
 exclaimed, like the door-keeper: 
 
 C£ Oh ! you have brought Madame Mar- 
 
 boeuPs dog. She will be delighted i ” 
 
 21 
 
242 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 And leading Cecil through a suite of rooms, 
 the magnificence of which quite escaped his 
 attention, the servant ushered him into a little 
 boudoir, where an old lady was seated in a 
 large arm chair before a ’cheerful fire, embroi- 
 dering with worsteds. 
 
 The footman said, as he opened the door : 
 “ Madame, here is Fox ! ” 
 
 “ Fox ! Fox ! ” exclaimed the lady, throwing 
 down her work and extending her arms towards 
 the dog. “ Fox, do you not remember your 
 mistress? You ungrateful little wretch ! ” 
 
 But Fox and his master both remained 
 standing in the doorway. 
 
 “Fox,” said Madame Marboeuf tenderly, 
 “ what is the matter with you, that you do 
 not know me? Here is one of the little cakes 
 that you used to like so much.” 
 
 Fox wagged his tail in token of his thanks, 
 but did not advance a step towards his old 
 
A DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 243 
 
 During the few minutes that Madame Mar- 
 boeuf coaxed Fox, Cecil surveyed the lady 
 She was about sixty years of age. Hei 
 countenance was full, unfurrowed by disease 
 or care, and bore traces of great beauty. 
 Its expression was neither stern, nor mild, but 
 it was cold. 
 
 Cecil ventured to say : 
 
 “You see, Madame, the dog grieves at oui 
 separation as much as I do ! ” 
 
 For the first time, Madame Marboeuf looked 
 towards the child, who came to restore her 
 dog. 
 
 “I thank you,” said she. “Leave the 
 dog.” Then turning to the servant, she 
 added : “ Peter, give fifty francs to this child. 
 Go with him, my little friend.” 
 
 Seeing that Cecil did not appear inclined 
 to obey, she added, in the same calm tone : 
 “ Is the reward not sufficient, and do you 
 wish it increased ? ” Ifli 
 
244 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “I wish to speak to you, Madame,” said 
 Cecil, endeavoring to repress his tears. 
 
 “ What hinders you ? Speak on,” said the 
 lady. 
 
 “ Madame,” said Cecil, timidly, “ let me 
 keep Fox. Fox is my friend, my brother ! 
 Fox is every thing to me, Madame. I am a 
 poor, forsaken child. I have no family. If 
 you knew, Madame — Oh ! I entreat you to 
 let me keep Fox ! ” 
 
 “ Well, this is a strange child !” said Ma- 
 dame Marboeuf, perfectly unmoved. Then 
 she added, smiling kindly : “ I am very sorry 
 for you, child ; but this dog is mine, and I 
 choose to keep him. Go with Peter ; ask 
 as much as you choose, and he will pay you 
 anything in reason.” 
 
 “ But I only want Fox, Madame ; I do 
 not care for anything but Fox!” said Cecil, 
 no longer able to restrain his grief. “ Oh ! 
 do not refuse him to me. You are rich, you 
 
A DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 245 
 
 have a house, servants, and children, perhaps 
 — you have everything you want — and I have 
 only Fox ! See, madame, how the poor 
 animal looks at me ! If he could speak, 
 I ana sure, he would beg you not to separ- 
 ate us. Oh ! Madame, have pity on us 
 both ! ” 
 
 Without appearing in the least degree 
 affected by this touching appeal, Madame 
 Marboeuf coldly turned to her servant and 
 said : “ Peter, take this child away, and give 
 him a hundred francs. Go, my friend ; a 
 hundred francs will be of much more use to 
 you than a dog.” 
 
 “ You, Madame, perhaps might think so,” 
 said Cecil, who had become bold through 
 vexation, “ but I might not agree with you. 
 Since you think that money can replace a 
 friend, sell me your dog— sell him to me — 
 how much do you wish for him ? If I have 
 
 not the sum required I can work, Madame. 
 
 21 * 
 
‘246 
 
 CtiCIL. 
 
 I will earn it and bring it to you. For how 
 much will you sell him, Madame ? ” 
 
 “Was there ever such a queer child!” 
 exclaimed the lady. “ Peter, take this boy 
 away, and give him a hundred francs as I 
 told you.” 
 
 Cecil attempted to reply, but Madame 
 Marboeuf prevented him. “ Silence ! Not a 
 word more — you have said enough — ” said 
 she, so positively, that he did not venture to 
 open his lips, but followed Peter, without 
 even looking back at the poor dog, which his 
 mistress held on her lap, and who whined 
 piteously when the door closed on his young 
 benefactor. 
 
 As Cecil was disconsolately leaving the 
 house, without asking for the reward, the 
 servant called out to him: “Well! are you 
 going without the hundred francs? Wait till 
 I count them out to you.” 
 
 “ Thank you ; I do not wish them,” said 
 
A DISAPPOINTMENT 
 
 247 
 
 Cecil, weeping. “ Your mistress is a bad 
 woman, and I do not wish to receive anything 
 from her.” 
 
 “ My mistress is not bad,” replied Peter. 
 
 “ She is good then ? I suppose,” returned 
 Cecil. 
 
 “ She is not exactly good, either,” said the 
 servant. 
 
 “ And what, then, is she?” asked Cecil. 
 
 “ Why, she is fortunate , my little friend. 
 She has never suffered — never had any sor- 
 rows — and she cannot understand how others 
 can be unhappy. She is a woman, who, 
 when she sees others suffer, does not suppose 
 they are feigning — but she does not soothe 
 them through a natural impulse. Thus it is 
 not sufficient for a poor person to tell her he 
 is hungry ; she would only reply that she 
 was very sorry. But if he should ask her to 
 give him something to eat, she would comply 
 with his request. For the same reason a 
 
248 
 
 CECIL, 
 
 person must not tell her he is cold ; he must 
 ask her to give him something to clothe him 
 self with. So you see, my little friend, she 
 cannot be called bad.” 
 
 “ Neither can she be called good,” replied 
 Cecil, leaving the house. 
 
 •“ Here is your money,” the servant called 
 out after him. 
 
 “ I have not earned it — or I have not well 
 earned it — ” replied Cecil, looking back ; 
 “for before evening your Mistress’s dog will 
 return in my house.” 
 
 Saying these words, he bowed politely to the 
 servant, and walked on. He did not return to 
 the printing office, but, after walking a block, 
 seated himself on a step and began to whistle. 
 
 “Are you not going to your printing office 
 to-day ? ” asked Augustus, whom Cecil had 
 not observed in turning down the street. 
 
 “ No — I intend passing the day here,” 
 replied Cecil. 
 
A DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 249 
 
 “ The fool ! ” muttered Augustus between 
 his teeth, and hastily walking away. 
 
 Cecil was too much absorbed in his own 
 thoughts to notice words, and sat still whis- 
 tling. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE PRINTERS AND THE HUNDRED FRANCS. 
 
 Fox, who had escaped from his former mis- 
 tress out of love for his young master, when 
 he heard Cecil whistle, surmounted every 
 obstacle to obey the summons. Cecil had 
 calculated upon this, and he was more pleased 
 than surprised when, after half an hour, Fox, 
 overjoyed and out of breath, leaped upon him. 
 
 Cecil returned to the printing office; and 
 when the old proof reader beheld him enter, 
 accompanied by his dog, he shook his head 
 and said severely: “then you had not suffi- 
 cient resolution to give back the dog? that 
 was not right, young man ; you have not 
 behaved well.” 
 
THE PRINTERS AND THE FRANCS. 251 
 
 Cecil, to exculpate himself, simply related 
 what had taken place within the last hour. 
 Instantly, all the printers, compositors, and men 
 employed in the office, gathered around him. 
 
 I would have kept the dog,” said one. 
 
 “ I would have taken the hundred francs,” 
 said another. 
 
 “ I would have spoken my mind to the old 
 lady,” said a third. 
 
 “ Ah ! ” replied Cecil, C( it is not such an 
 easy matter to talk to an old lady, who looks 
 very proud, and speaks in a peremptory tone 
 that seems to forbid an answer. For my part, 
 I could not keep from crying, and entreated 
 her to permit me to retain the dog.” 
 
 “ That was well done, and what did she 
 say?” 
 
 “ She offered me more money, and seemed 
 to think that that should compensate me for 
 the loss of my little dog — my dear Fox — my 
 best friend ! ” 
 
252 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “ And why had you not the, wit to offer 
 her the hundred francs if she would only let 
 you keep the dog ? ” asked the proof reader. 
 
 “ That is exactly what I did, and she 
 laughed in my face.” 
 
 “ That was because she supposed you 
 had not a hundred francs to give,” said a 
 compositor named Andrew ; “ now, if you 
 
 had only showed them to her” — 
 
 “ I could not show her what is not mine to 
 show,” answered Cecil. “ But I told her I 
 would earn them, and that I would pay her 
 whatever sum she chose to ask.” 
 
 “ That would not do ? That would never 
 do ! ” exclaimed several of the printers at 
 once. “ A person can resist a promise, but 
 if he only sees the money glittering before 
 him, the temptation is too great.” 
 
 “ But I have not a hundred francs. I have 
 only fifteen,” replied Cecil, despondingly. 
 
 “ And would you willingly give the money 
 
THE PRINTERS AND THE FRANCS. 2^3 
 
 for the sake of recovering your dog ? ” ques- 
 tioned Gaspard. 
 
 “ That I would ! I will give the fifteen 
 francs that I shall receive next week, and 
 the week after, and the week after that, and 
 after that, until the hundred is made up. Oh ! 
 that I would, right gladly, to feel that Fox 
 was mine ! ” 
 
 “ Very well ! I will arrange everything 
 for you,” said Gaspard, jumping upon Mr. 
 Germain’s tall stool, that he might command 
 the attention of the workmen, and then ad- 
 dressing them thus: “Comrades! our friend 
 here — and he is our friend — our true friend — 
 is threatened with what to him would be a 
 misfortune — the loss of his dog, the greatest 
 treasure he has in the world — the chief source 
 of his happiness. Comrades, one hundred 
 francs would save him from this misfortune 
 Can not we among us make up that sum, 
 
 and present it to him? We are most of us 
 
 22 
 
254 
 
 CECII,. 
 
 indebted to him for many kindnesses, which 
 we may now return. For my part, I cannot 
 bear to lose the little dog. I have become 
 accustomed to him, and his tricks amuse me. 
 Gentleman, I will set you the example !” 
 
 With these last words, Gaspard placed his 
 hat upon the ground, and threw into it a piece 
 of money. 
 
 “I follow your lead,” said Mr. Germain 
 dropping a five franc piece into the hat. 
 “For I cannot do without Fox, nor can my 
 wife, either.” 
 
 “ Nor I,” said the printers, one after another, 
 fumbling in their pockets, and dropping a coin 
 into Gaspard’s hat. 
 
 “ Oh ! my poor Fox! How much every- 
 body loves you ! ” said Cecil, in a voice trem- 
 ulous with emotion. “ How good you are, 
 my friends ! How shall I ever thank you ? ” 
 
 “ And are not you better that any of us, 
 although you are so much younger ? ” asked 
 
THE PRINTERS AND THE FRANCS. 255 
 
 one of the printers. “ Did you not give me 
 thirty sous one day, when I wanted to pay for 
 my new coat, and fell short of the money ? ” 
 u And when I was sick, last month,” said 
 another, “ did you not bring me some sugar 
 and wine, and several other things, which I 
 could not procure for myself, because I had 
 spent every cent of my wages ? ” 
 
 “ And do you not come and read from 
 Robinson Crusoe, every evening, to amuse my 
 children ? ” said a third. “ And are you not 
 always doing something to assist us ? ” 
 
 Cecil was too much overcome by the kind- 
 ness of his friends to answer. 
 
 Gaspard counted the money, and finding 
 that it amounted to exactly one hundred 
 francs, he wrapped it in a piece of paper, 
 and taking down his coat, asked Cecil Ma- 
 dame MarboeuPs address; and saying that he 
 intended making the proposition to the lady 
 himself, quitted the office. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 A NEW PROJECT. 
 
 During Gaspard’s absence, everybody in 
 the printing office seemed unusually silent. 
 Even Fox ceased to play, and Cecil, though 
 he tried to attend to his ordinary duties, 
 looked abstracted, and his eyes glanced over 
 the pages without his comprehending a line. 
 In about an hour, Gaspard re-entered the 
 office. He flung his hat upon the table, 
 silently pulled off his coat, and hung it up, 
 and placing the money on the counter, threw 
 himself into a chair, in evident ill-humor. 
 Every body was anxious to interrogate him ; 
 and yet they all remained silent. The intelli- 
 gence of his ill success had been communicated 
 
 O 
 
 without words. 
 
A NEW PROJECT. 
 
 257 
 
 “ Her heart is made of stone ! ” suddenly 
 exclaimed Gaspard. “ Cecil was right. She 
 laughed in my face.” 
 
 “ 1 am quite as much obliged to you,” said 
 Cecil, pressing Gaspard’s hand, “ as if you 
 had succeeded in your errand. But I have 
 a new idea, and you must tell me what you 
 think of it.” 
 
 “ I suppose we are not to have any work 
 to-day ? ” said the principal proof-reader, in- 
 terrupting Cecil. 
 
 “ Do not say that,” answered Gaspard, 
 “ In one quarter of an hour, we will all be at 
 our posts again. Come, Cecil, what is your 
 new project ? ” 
 
 “ It is thfe,” replied Cecil. “ It appears 
 that Madame Marboeuf thinks more of dogs 
 than of human beings, for our tears could 
 not move her as much as the caresses of her 
 dog — suppose we let Fox plead for himself?” 
 
 u I only see one objection to that,” said 
 22 * 
 
258 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 Gaspard ; “ it is, that Fox has never yet 
 
 learned to speak.” 
 
 “ But Fox might send her a letter — that 
 
 Gaspard interrupted Cecil with, “Ah! Fox 
 is a scholar, then — one of the learned quad- 
 rupeds — -he understands penmanship ? ” 
 
 Cecil could not help smiling at this ob- 
 servation, but replied without being at all 
 discouraged: “All great personages have 
 
 secretaries, you know ; and Fox is a great 
 personage, since we have had so much trouble 
 about him. Why can I not be his secretary?” 
 “ And I will be his letter-bearer,” said 
 Adrien. 
 
 “ That would never do,” observed Mr. 
 Germain. “ The lady would order one of 
 her domestics to follow you, and the abode of 
 Fox would instantly be discovered. We will 
 send the letter through the post-office.” 
 
 “ Right, right ! ” cried all the printers. 
 
A NEW PROJECT. 
 
 259 
 
 Fox was not even consulted. Cecil placed 
 himself at a desk, and after writing several 
 commencements of his letter, and tearing 
 them up, he completed the following epistle : 
 
 “ My dear and honored Mistress : 
 
 “Two years ago I was lost in the Tuileries. 
 I was driven about from corner to corner, and 
 at last a sentinel pierced me several times 
 with his bayonet. I was severely hurt, and 
 should have died of my wounds, or of hunger 
 — for everybody refused to protect me — until 
 a child — a young boy, who, like myself, was 
 friendless and forsaken, and, like me, almost 
 dying of hunger — took pity on me. He 
 washed my wounds at the fountain in the 
 Tuileries, and tore his only handkerchief in 
 two to bind them up. He had only one cent 
 in the world ; with which he bought some 
 bread. A kind girl gave him a slice, which 
 cost two cents, and he divided it with me. 
 
260 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 You see, Madame, these are things which 
 cannot be forgotten. I am only a dog, but I 
 have a heart, and I have not forgotten them. 
 
 “ Since the time I have just spoken of, the 
 child and I have always remained together. 
 He would have refused any employment, 
 which forced him to part with me ; I would 
 not have sought shelter in a house where my 
 benefacter was not welcome. 
 
 “ You, Madame, I shall always see with 
 pleasure. If you would permit it I would 
 come and visit you sometimes — on Sundays, 
 for instance — but do not hope that I will ever 
 forsake my master. I assure you I will never 
 willingly do so. You have the right to take 
 me by force, but I do not think that you can 
 make me remain. Were you to tie me, I 
 would break my chain. Were you to shut 
 me up, I should jump out of the window, or 
 whine so dolefully, that you could not bear to 
 hear me. And if I could not escape, I should 
 

 V 
 

 
 
 
 
 
A NEW PROJECT. 
 
 261 
 
 pine away with grief, and finally die. You 
 would then have gained nothing yourself, and 
 you would have deprived an unhappy child of 
 his best and dearest friend and companion. 
 
 “ You will say, that I am an ungrat^ul 
 little brute. But I do not think I am so. 
 Do I owe you more than I owe Cecil ? You 
 are rich, and you bought me, perhaps, at a 
 very extravagant price. Cecil did not buy 
 me, but he saved my life. 
 
 “My master begs that I will offer you the 
 hundred francs, at which you valued me, and 
 I promise you, on the word of a spaniel, to 
 pay you my respects every Sunday after 
 church, and to make myself as agreeable and 
 interesting as possible. 
 
 “ I hope, Madame, that you will honor 
 me with an answer, addressed to 4 Fox, the 
 spaniel ; Paris.’ 
 
 “Accept my assurances of profound respect, 
 and sincere attachment. 
 
262 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 u As I am not very skilful in signing my 
 name, you will find my mark at the bottom 
 of this sheet.” 
 
 ^ecil called Fox, and lightly rubbing one 
 of his front paws in the printing ink, laid 
 the paw upon that part of the letter, to which 
 the name of the writer should have been 
 affixed. Fox remained perfectly quiet, and, 
 when Cecil removed his paw, it had left a 
 perfect impression of its size and form. 
 
 Cecil then read the letter to the printers, 
 and it met their hearty approval. The letter 
 was then folded, sealed, and addressed ; and 
 Adrien carried it to the post-office. 
 
V 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE POST-OFFICE. 
 
 One morning, the head clerk of the post- 
 office, who was sorting the letters, stopped at 
 one, the address of which he read several 
 times. First he read it without spectacles, 
 then with his spectacles — then he removed 
 the spectacles from his eyes, rubbed the 
 glasses, put them on again, and once more 
 read the address of the letter. “ To Fox, 
 the spaniel ; Paris/’ said he, aloud. “ What 
 can that mean ? A letter to a dog ? I have 
 been clerk of the post-office thirty years, and 
 I never heard of such a thing/’ 
 
 At that moment a scratching upon the 
 door made him turn his head. He opened 
 
264 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 the door, and a little black dog, with a folded 
 piece of paper in his mouth, sprang into the 
 room. 
 
 The clerk took the paper, and opening it, 
 found that it contained three cents. On ex- 
 amining the paper more particularly, he found 
 these words traced upon it: “If there is a 
 letter at the post-office, addressed to 6 Fox, 
 the spaniel/ the clerk will have the goodness 
 to take the money for the postage, and give 
 the letter to the bearer.” 
 
 The man rubbed his eyes, as though he 
 thought he was dreaming, and glancing from 
 the paper to the letter and then at the dog, 
 who stood as though waiting for an answer, 
 he held the letter towards him. Fox seized 
 the letter, and made his escape. A moment 
 afterwards a footman, in green livery, entered 
 the office, and said : “ You have received a 
 letter addressed to Fox, the spaniel — has 
 anybody called for it ? ” 
 
THE POST-OFFICE. 
 
 265 
 
 “ Yes, this very minute ? The person, to 
 whom it was addressed, has just carried it 
 away with him. You must have met him on 
 the steps.” 
 
 “ Was it a little boy ! ” asked the servant. 
 
 “ Not at all ! It was the spaniel himself — 
 a little black dog. I dare say he is not yet 
 out of sight.” 
 
 The servant opened the door, and saw at 
 some distance a little boy, who held an open 
 letter in his hand ; while a small black dog 
 was gambolling beside him. Before the ser- 
 vant could follow them, they had turned the 
 corner and were out of sight. 
 
 23 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 THE ANSWER TO FOx’s LETTER. 
 
 The letter which Cecil held in his hand ran 
 as follows : 
 
 “ My dear Fox : 
 
 I have neither the time nor the talent 
 which your secretary possesses, therefore 1 
 cannot write what I wish to say to you. 
 Have the goodness to come and see me as 
 soon as you receive this letter. 
 
 Your former Mistress, 
 Antoinette Marbceuf. 
 
 Cecil read the letter to his friends at the 
 printing office, and then consulted with them 
 concerning the course which he should pursue* 
 
THE ANSWER TO FOx’s LETTER. 261 
 
 “ I should go,” said one. 
 
 “ I should not go,” cried another. 
 
 “ Nor I ! ” said a third. 
 
 “ I do not agree with you,” said Cecil ; — 
 “ this lady has a right to the dog. I think I 
 ought to hear what she has to say. I will 
 go and ask Mr. Germain to permit me to 
 leave the office for an hour.” 
 
 Cecil approached Mr. Germain and made 
 his request. “ It seems to me, master Cecil,” 
 replied the proof-reader angrily, “ that nothing 
 in this office is thought of but Fox . Fox has 
 set everybody crazy. Nobody attends to his 
 work to-day, and the cause is, that you all 
 are thinking of Fox. I want you to read 
 these proofs ; and you tell me you must go 
 and see the former mistress of Fox ! ” 
 
 “I will not be absent long, Mr. Germain,” 
 said Cecil, half timidly and half coaxingly. 
 
 The old proof-reader looked at him, and 
 could not help smiling. “ Then be off with 
 
268 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 you,” said he, “ you cajoling little rogue 
 there is no use of ever saying no to you.” 
 
 Cecil ran off, almost without thanking Mr. 
 Germain. Fox as usual accompanied him. 
 He was soon in Lafitte street, in front of 
 Madame MarboeuPs house. He was going 
 to ring, when he observed that the door was 
 open. He paused a moment without enter- 
 ing, and heard voices apparently engaged in 
 an angry discussion. 
 
 “ I tell you, leave my house and never 
 enter it again ; ” said one voice, which Cecil 
 recognized as that of Madame Marboeuf. 
 
 “ But if I find him, if I bring him to you ? ” 
 said the other voice, which Cecil thought 
 sounded like that of his cousin. 
 
 “ 1^ will receive him,” replied Madame 
 Marboeuf; “ but as for you, I never wish to 
 
 see you again. Leave me, Sir” 
 
 “ But, Madame, think,” pleaded Augustus, 
 in a supplicating tone. 
 
THE ANSWER TO FOX S LETTER. 269 
 
 Madame Marboeufinterrupted him. “ Leave 
 me. Sir! I have nothing further to say to you.” 
 At that moment, Cecil heard steps rapidly 
 approaching, and, before he could retire, his 
 cousin stood before him. Augustus stopped 
 when he saw Cecil, and demanded in a low 
 and trembling voice, “ What do you want 
 here ? ” 
 
 “ I want to see Madame Marboeuf,” replied 
 Cecil, calmly. 
 
 Augustus convulsively caught hold of Ce- 
 cil’s arm, and forcibly drawing him away, 
 said, “ Come with me — come with me — she 
 is a good-for-nothing woman, a monster ! ” 
 
 In his agitation, he knocked against a tall 
 fat gentleman, who was ascending the steps. 
 Cecil looked up, and exclaimed: “Ah! Mr. 
 Raimond — kind Mr. Raimond ! Is it you ? ” 
 
 “ What ! Cecil ! My little Robinson Cru- 
 soe, is it you ? whom have you with you ?” 
 
 “ My cousin,” replied Cecil. 
 
 23 * 
 
270 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “ And what are you doing here?” asked 
 Mr. Raimond, addressing Augustus. 
 
 “ Let us go, let us go,” said Augustus, 
 leading Cecil away, without replying to Mr. 
 Raimond. Augustus appeared pale, ill, and 
 agitated ; and Cecil, who attributed his 
 cousin’s haste to indisposition, had not the 
 heart to oppose his wishes. 
 
CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 THE SUMMONS. 
 
 When Cecil entered the printing office again 
 with his dog, the printers all asked him the 
 news, and the child related all that had passed, 
 and what he had heard while standing at the 
 door of Madame Marbceuf’s house. 
 
 “ You have a cousin, then, Cecil ; you said 
 you had no family ! ” said Mr. Germain. 
 
 “ I only found him yesterday evening,” 
 replied Cecil ; “ but I did not speak to you 
 of him, because I do not like to talk of my 
 cousin.” 
 
 “ He is not amiable, then, my little fellow t” 
 
 “ You know', Mr. Germain, a tree bears 
 both good and bad fruits — but I have not said 
 
272 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 anything to make you suppose that my cousin 
 bears any bad fruit. ” 
 
 Mr. Germain smiled. “ No, nor any 
 good either, have you ? Come ! let us have 
 no mystery ; I thought that your cousin was 
 rich, and that he did not notice you, because 
 you were poor.” 
 
 “ My cousin is poorer than I am,” replied 
 Cecil. 
 
 “ I should like to know,” said one of the 
 printers, “ why Madame Marboeuf is a mon- 
 ster ? ” 
 
 “ Gentlemen, we have had enough ol 
 Madame Marboeuf. Let us now go to work,” 
 said Mr. Germain, striking his fist authorita- 
 tively on the table. “ Cecil, I have some 
 errands for you ; take these proof-sheets to 
 the different persons, whose names you will 
 find on this list. By the by, Cecil, we will 
 not have any dinner cooked at our house to- 
 day, as my wife and I are going to dine with 
 
THE SUMMONS 
 
 273 
 
 tier mother. You can dine where you choose 
 — do you understand ? ” 
 
 6i 1 will dine at home, then/’ replied Cecil ; 
 u and I shall not return to the printing office 
 again to-day, as my cousin has put my room 
 in such disorder, that I should be glad to have 
 a little time to arrange it before night.” 
 
 “ Look here, Cecil,” said one of the prin- 
 ters, handing him some proof-sheets, “ I am 
 very curious to see your little house, of 
 which I have heard our master speak so 
 often. Shall I bring my dinner there?” 
 
 “ It would give me much pleasure if you 
 did,” replied Cecil. 
 
 “ Well ; we two will dine together.” 
 
 “ Oh ! I did not say only we two ; you are 
 not afraid of seeing any body else, are you ? ” 
 replied Cecil. 
 
 “ Who will be there ? do you expect com- 
 pany ? ” 
 
 “ A very select circle ! ” answered Cecil. 
 
274 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 “ I mast arrange my toilette then,” said the 
 printer, surveying himself from head to foot. 
 “ Will there be any ladies ?” 
 
 “Yes,” said Cecil, “lady pigeons, and lady 
 rabbits ! Good bye ! Remember, it is in the 
 Champs Elysees, near the garden of Beaujon, 
 on Mr. Raimond’s tract of land ; every body 
 knows where that is. Come Fox ! ” 
 
 Cecil had hardly left the office when a foot- 
 man in green and gold livery entered. 
 
 “ Sir,” said he, addressing one of the 
 printers, “ does not a boy named Cecil, 
 work here ? a little boy, who has a black 
 spaniel, called — ” 
 
 “Fox?” interrupted the printer. “They 
 have both gone home.” 
 
 “ I come with a message from Madame 
 Marboeuf,” said the footman. 
 
 “And what does Madame Marboeuf wish?” 
 asked Mr. Germain, advancing towards the 
 
THE SUMMONS. 
 
 275 
 
 footman. “ If you can leave the message, 
 we will deliver it to Cecil.” 
 
 “ She wishes him to come immediately to 
 her house,” replied the footman. 
 
 “ He has gone out now, and will not 
 return to day,” said Mr. Germain. “ But 
 to-morrow we will tell him.” 
 
 “ Madame wished to see him to-day; but 
 if that cannot be, to-morrow will answer,” 
 replied the footman, bowing and retiring. 
 
CHAPTER .XXXVI. 
 
 THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 By the time Cecil had finished his errands it 
 was already dusk. He hastily returned home, 
 and met the printer whom he had invited 
 to dinner, standing at a short distance from 
 his cottage. 
 
 “ Is that your house ? ” asked the man. 
 
 “ Yes,” replied Cecil, who to his great as- 
 tonishment, perceived that his door was half 
 open. 
 
 “ Well, take care, Cecil,” said the printer, 
 in an altered voice, “ it is full of people.” 
 
 Cecil looked at Fox, who, after having 
 made several joyous bounds around his mas- 
 ter, ran into the house. 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 277 
 
 “ Look there/’ said Cecil ; “ my dog an- 
 swers you that friends only are there. Mr. 
 Raimond is the only person, besides myself, 
 who has a key ; and, as I did not open the 
 door, he must have done so. Let us enter.” 
 And Cecil walked boldly into the cottage. 
 The printer followed mistrustfully. Cecil 
 could hardly believe his senses when he re- 
 cognized Madame Marboeuf, seated on one 
 of his two chairs, and Mr. Raimond on the 
 other. The blind man, his son, and Mary, 
 stood near, and beside them, was the old 
 invalid caressing Fox, and calling him Am- 
 terlitz ! Some distance behind this group, 
 concealing himself as though in shame, stood 
 Augustus, looking pale and haggard. 
 
 Madame Marboeuf appeared much moved, 
 and Mr. Raimond was uneasily beating his 
 cane on the ground. The blind man’s head 
 was bent forward, as though he was atten- 
 tively listening to every sound, that he might 
 24 
 
278 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 divine what was going on around him. Mary 
 and Paul were weeping, but their tears were 
 of joy rather than grief. 
 
 Madame Marboeuf was the first to speak 
 “ Come here, my child,” said she, extending 
 her hand to Cecil, “ and tell me why, not- 
 withstanding my note, you did not come to 
 my house this morning.” 
 
 Before Cecil had time to reply, Augustus 
 stepped forward with a sad but resolute air, 
 and said, in a voice full of emotion : “ It was 
 my fault, Madame. I am very culpable. 
 Ah ! Cecil, you were right in saying that 
 our good and evil acts brought the one reward 
 and the other punishment. Your history and 
 mine prove that this is true. My first bad 
 action was the burning of my father’s will, 
 which insured you a comfortable income for 
 life ; by this means, I deprived myself of the 
 power to save my father’s fortune, the details 
 of which were only given in his will. You 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 279 
 
 know with what unnatural cruelty I took you 
 to Paris and there forsook you, without even 
 giving you a cent ! Since that time, Cecil, 
 your image has haunted me in my sleep. 
 Often I awoke, pale and frightened, and 
 thought I heard your voice, which sometimes 
 plaintively begged me for food, and some- 
 times, threateningly called me murderer and 
 assassin ! Ah ! those nights ! Just God ! 
 what nights ! I often lay without daring to 
 close my eyes for fear of seeing your image, 
 which appalled me,” 
 
 Here Augustus paused a moment, over- 
 come by his feelings. Soon he continued : 
 
 “On returning to Bordeaux, I learned that 
 my father’s only remaining sister, of whom 
 he never spoke in our presence, because he 
 had many years ago quarrelled with her 
 husband, had arrived in the city. This 
 sister had heard of her brother’s dangerous 
 illness, and. wished to see him again before he 
 
CECIL. 
 
 280 • 
 
 jik^ 
 
 died. She was a widow, and rich ; these twc 
 circumstances were sufficient to make me call 
 upon her. Her first inquiry was after her 
 nephew, Cecil. She said that as you were 
 without fortune, it was her intention to make 
 you her heir. She asked to see you. I 
 concealed my wickedness, and told her that 
 your education had been so much neglected, 
 that I had taken you to Paris and placed 
 you at college. My aunt praised me for this 
 judicious action, and requested me to give 
 her the address of the college. I gave her 
 the first name that came into my head. She 
 returned to Paris, and, as you may suppose, 
 Cecil, I soon received a letter from her. She 
 told me I had deceived her, and insisted upon 
 knowing where you were. Not being able to 
 reply, I did not answer her letter. As I told 
 you, I was robbed, duped, and deceived. 1 
 lost the fortune I was unworthy of possessing, 
 and came to Paris, where I completed my ruin.” 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 281 
 
 He then addressed Madame Marbceuf: 
 
 “ One evening, when I was almost dying 
 with hunger, I stopped a man on the Champs 
 Elysees, and asked for bread as a robber 
 would demand money. But I was unarmed. 
 I did not mean to harm him. Though I am 
 guilty of much wickedness, Madame, my 
 punishment would be too severe if you be- 
 lieved me capable of wishing to take the life 
 of one of my fellow creatures. Alas ! I was 
 a beggar — but I was only begging, when the 
 voice of a child struck on my ear, the hand 
 of a child was placed on my arm. It was 
 the same voice that I heard every night in 
 my dreams. I turned, and beheld the same 
 face that appeared at the foot of my bed 
 every night. c Who calls me ? ’ demanded I, 
 trembling so violently that the man I had 
 arrested made his escape. ‘ It is I, Cecil/ 
 replied my cousin ; for it was really he — but 
 
 not as my dreams portrayed him — pale and 
 
 24 * 
 
282 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 famished. He looked healthy and robust, 
 and most happy. It was with difficulty that 
 I recognized him. Cecil succored me — me, 
 who had turned him out of my father’s house ! 
 He received me in his room — me, who had 
 stolen the only legacy left him by my father ; 
 he shared with me the money he had earned 
 by the sweat of his brow — with me, who had 
 so cruelly abandoned him when he needed 
 my protection. He came to me, kind and 
 forgiving, and, without one reproach, without 
 one taunting observation said : ‘ Enter, eat, 
 
 and sleep.” Do you think, Madame, that 
 I was softened by this noble and generous 
 conduct ? No, the demon, envy, had taken 
 possession of me. I was envious that Cecil 
 was better off than I, that he was living 
 comfortably while I was dying with hunger. 
 
 I envied his gaiety, which sprang from a 
 clear conscience ; his prosperity, which came 
 through his own goodness — and in the morning 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 283 
 
 I awoke in his bed, in spite of his kindness, 
 with anger in my heart. Oh ! Cecil, do not 
 
 turn from me in horror; for that anger has 
 
 been succeeded by repentance the most sin- 
 cere, by remorse the most poignant. We 
 
 rose, we dressed ourselves, we went out. 
 
 The placard about Fox first attracted our 
 attention ; Cecil read it with pain, and I with 
 joy. I set out for your house, Madame ; but 
 i stopped on my way to take breakfast, and 
 when I arrived, I found Cecil, with his dog, 
 entering your door. I awaited with great 
 inquietude the result of this interview, which 
 might disclose all my wickedness. I did not 
 wish Cecil to have any idea of the tie between 
 us three ; for Madame Marboeuf is our aunt, Ce- 
 cil, the sister of my father and of your mother.” 
 “ Yes, Cecil,” said Madame Marboeuf ; “I 
 am your aunt ; and in future my house and 
 my fortune are yours. Come and embrace 
 me, my dear child ! ” 
 
284 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 / 
 
 Cecil, astonished, looked first at his aunt, 
 who held out her arms to him, then at Mr* 
 Raimond, who made a sign for him to go and 
 embrace Madame Marboeuf, then at the weep- 
 ing spectators of the scene ; at Fox, who 
 alternately licking the hand of Madame Mar- 
 boeuf and of Cecil, and at Augustus, whose 
 confusion was gradually disappearing. 
 
 Madame Marboeuf repeated: “Come and 
 kiss me, my dear child 1 ” 
 
 “ Did you know, Madame, that I was 
 your nephew ? ” said Cecil, complying with 
 her invitation. As his head rested on her 
 bosom, he felt her tears fall on his cheek. 
 
 “ No, she did not know it until to-day, n 
 said Mr. Raimond. “ As I entered her 
 house this morning, I met you and this young 
 man, who you told me was your cousin ; I 
 was going to question you, when your cousin 
 drew you away. I made some inquiries of 
 Madame Marboeuf, and she told me that she 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 285 
 
 had not seen the child, but that the young 
 man was her nephew, whom she disowned, 
 because he had ill-treated a little cousin, who 
 had suddenly disappeared. This disappear- 
 ance — the title of cousin, which you gave to 
 the young man, the relation who had wronged 
 you, and whose name you would never men- 
 tion — awakened my suspicions. Before I 
 had made up my mind what to do, your 
 cousin himself entered. ‘ Madame,’ said he 
 to Madame Marboeuf, ‘ pardon me for daring 
 to present myself before you again I am a 
 miserable wretch. I neither deserve mercy 
 nor compassion ; and, when I tell you that 
 the nephew whom you seek, is the boy who 
 brought your dog, you will perhaps make 
 your servants kick me out of the house ; but 
 I will not complain.’ He then gave the ad- 
 dress of the printing office, where you were 
 employed. A servant was despatched for 
 you, but you had gone out for the whole 
 
286 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 day. We determined to give you an agreea 
 ble surprise at your own house. But Madame 
 Marboeuf wished to see the blind man, whose 
 history I had related to her. Next we went 
 to your friend the invalid, and desired him to 
 accompany us ; and here we have all been 
 awaiting the arrival of our host for at least 
 two hours/’ 
 
 “ Augustus,” said Cecil affectionately, “you 
 will not envy my happiness any more, I am 
 sure?-” 
 
 “ No, because you deserve it,” replied 
 Augustus, with unwonted softness. 
 
 “ And if I have reason to rejoice, so have 
 you,” added Cecil gaily. “ If I have recov- 
 ered an aunt, you have found one likewise.” 
 
 “ There you deceive yourself, Cecil, replied 
 Madame Marboeuf ; “I will not acknowledge 
 him as my nephew.” 
 
 “ Oh ! aunt ”— began Cecil supplicatingly. 
 
 “ It is useless to talk to me,” said his aunt. 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 ^287 
 
 “ He knows it — I have not deceived him ; 
 and I told him that whether he found you or 
 not, my fortune was forever lost to him.” 
 
 “ IVo matter for your fortune — but your 
 affection, aunt?” said Cecil. “Your affec- 
 tion ; — that may be his ? ” 
 
 “ It appears,” said Mr. Raimond, laughing, 
 %c that you are more willing to share your 
 aunt’s heart with your cousin, than her for- 
 tune ! ” 
 
 Cecil replied without coloring, as the satire 
 of the remark had escaped him ; “ That is 
 because after what I have heard, I understand 
 that I can do what I please with my aunt’s 
 fortune ; so Augustus will share it with me ; 
 but with her affection , it is very different.” 
 
 “ There is too much goodness in this child, 
 Madame,” said Mr. Raimond, “ for it to be 
 possible that his cousin should be totally de- 
 ficient — does not the same blood flow through 
 their veins ? Come, Madame, forgive him * 
 
CECIL. 
 
 288 > 
 
 it is your husband’s old friend, who entreats 
 you.” 
 
 “I never take back w^hat I have once said,” 
 replied Madame Marboeuf; “ it is not just 
 that the wicked should be recompensed as 
 well as the good. All that I can promise is. 
 that I will not interfere with what Cecil 
 chooses to do for his cousin. I will permit 
 him to be as generous as he desires to be. 
 He may give Augustus money, if he chooses ; 
 but it must be in his own name.” 
 
 “ And you will receive him sometimes at 
 your house, will you not ? ” asked Mr. Rai- 
 mond. 
 
 Madame Marboeuf replied coldly : “ Cecil 
 will always have a right to offer his cousin a 
 seat at my table or a bed in my house.” 
 
 “ Be content, then ; you will not want for 
 anything,” whispered Cecil in the ear of 
 Augustus. 
 
 Cecil had hardly finished his whisper when 
 
THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 289 
 
 he felt a dog’s little teeth biting his hand. 
 It was Fox, who appeared to reproach his 
 master for having forgotten him. 
 
 “Oh! You are right, Fox! you are right!” 
 said Cecil, bending down and embracing him. 
 “ I am very ungrateful. You have given me 
 every thing! Without you, I should still be 
 the poor little Robinson Crusoe, and you my 
 man Friday ! ” 
 
 It only remains to be told, that Cecil 
 finished his studies at one of the first colleges 
 in Paris ; and instead of the little cottage on 
 Mr. Raimond’s ground, stands a handsome 
 house, in the building of which Paul and his 
 comrades assisted. 
 
 The old invalid, to wnom Cecil presented 
 another Austerlitz , was placed as guard 
 during its construction ; and the place of 
 door-keeper is given to the blind man and 
 his family. Cecil himself is the owner of 
 
 the house. 
 
 25 
 
290 
 
 CECIL. 
 
 a 
 
 i 
 
 
 As for Augustus, notwithstanding the care 
 and attention of Cecil, whose kindness did 
 not decrease ; and notwithstanding his aunt’s 
 condescension in allowing him a seat at her 
 table, he enlisted as a soldier not long since 
 and went to Africa. 
 
 Fox is yet alive, and has grown quite fat, 
 which does not prevent his standing on his 
 hind legs, and dancing, rather heavily to be 
 sure, when his young master cries out : 
 
 “ Come Fox ! my man Friday ! Come out 
 and dance for your little Robinson of Paris ! 3i 
 
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