"Oh! my little Honies," she said, coming forward, "we don't allow dogs in the church. Even a nice dog like that is against the rules. I'm very sorry, my loves, but the dog must go out of church." "Don't Jesus like dogs then?" asked Maurice. "And please, ma'am," suddenly demanded Cecile, before the woman had time to answer Maurice, "_is_ that Jesus the Guide playing the beautiful music up there?" "That, my dears! You shock me! That is only Mr. Ward the organist. He's practicing for tomorrow. To-morrow's Sunday, you know. Why, you _are_ a queer little pair." "We're going on a pilgrimage," said Maurice. "We're going South; and Cecile has been talking a great deal lately to Jesus the Guide; and she asked Him just now to find us a woman with a kind face to give us a night's lodging, and we both think you are quite lovely. Will you give us a night's lodging, ma'am?" "Will I? Hark to the baby! Well, I never! And are you two little orphans, dears?" "Yes," said Cecile, "our father is dead, and our mother, and our stepmother, and we have no one to care for us, except Jane Parsons, and we can't stay with Jane any longer, for if we did, we should only be sent to the Union." "And we couldn't go to the Union, though there _are_ good fires there," interrupted Maurice, "because of Toby. If we went to the Union, our dog Toby would get a yard of rope, that would be murder. We can never, never, never go to the Union on account of murdering Toby." "So we came away." continued Cecile. "Jane Parsons sent us to London with the guard yesterday. We are not English, we are foreign; me and Maurice are just a little French boy and girl, and we are going back to France, if we can find Jography to tell us how. But we want a night's lodging first. Will you give us a night's lodging, ma'am? We can pay you, please, ma'am." "Oh, yes, I've no doubt you can pay me well, and I'm like to want yer bit of money, and I suppose you want to bring Toby too." "Yes and Toby too," said Maurice. "Well, I never did hear the like, never. John, I say, John, come here." The man addressed as John came forward with great strides. He was a tall man about double the height of his stout wife. "John, honey," said the little stout woman, "yere's the queerest story. Two mites, all alone, with only a dog belonging to them; father dead, mother dead, and they asks ef that's Jesus playing the organ, and they wants a night's lodging, and I have the kindest face. Hark to the rogues! and will I give it to 'em? What say you, John?" "What say _you_, Molly? Have you room for 'em, old girl?" "The house is small," said the woman, "but there _is_ the little closet back of our bedroom, and Susie's mattress lying vacant. I could make 'em up tidy in that little closet." The man laughed, and chucked his wife under the chin. "Where's the use o' asking me," he said, "when you knows as you _can't_ say no to no waif nor stray as hever walked?"