After this he had once or twice again spoken to the children, but they had never got beyond the outside limits of friendship. And now behold! on this desolate sandy plain outside the far-famed town of Calais, the poor little French wanderers, who knew not a single word of their native language, and the tall boy with the fiddle met. It was surprising how that slight acquaintance in London ripened on the instant into violent friendship. Maurice, in his ecstasy at seeing a face he knew actually kissed the tall boy, and Cecile's eyes over-flowed with happy tears. "Oh! do sit down near us. Do help us, we're such a perplexed little boy and girl," she said; "do talk to us for a little bit, kind tall English boy." "You call me Jography, young un. It wor through jography we found each other out. And I ain't an English boy, no more nor you are an English girl; I'm French, I am. There, you call me Jography, young uns; 'tis uncommon, and 'ull fit fine." "Oh! then Jography is a person," said Cecile. "How glad I am! I was just longing that he might be. And I'm so glad you're French; and is Jography your real, real name?" "Ain't you fit to kill a body with laughing?" said the tall lad, rolling over and over in an ecstasy of mirth on the short grass. "No, I ain't christened Jography. My heyes! what a rum go that ud be! No, no, little uns, yer humble servant have had heaps of names. In Lunnon I wor mostly called Joe Barnes, and once, once, long ago, I wor little Alphonse Malet. My mother called me that, but Jography 'ull fit fine jest now. You two call me Jography, young uns." "And please, Jography," asked Cecile, "are you going to stay in France now you have come?" "Well, I rather guess I am. I didn't take all the trouble to run away to go back again, I can tell you. And now might I ax you what you two mites is arter?" In reply to that question Cecile told as much of her story as she dared. She and Maurice were going down south. They wanted to find a girl who they thought was in the south. It was a solemn promise--a promise made to one who was dead. Cecile must keep her promise, and never grow weary till she had found this girl. "But I was puzzled," said Cecile in conclusion. "I was puzzled just now; for though me and Maurice are a little French boy and girl, we don't know one word of French. I did not know how we could find Lovedy; and I was wishing--oh! I _was_ wishing--that Jesus the Guide was living down on earth, and that He would take our hands and guide us." "Poor young uns!" said the boy, "Poor little mites! Suppose as I takes yer hands, and guides you two little morsels?" "Oh! will you, Jography?--oh! will you, indeed? how I shall love you! how I shall!" "And me too, and Toby too!" exclaimed Maurice. And the two children, in their excitement, flung their arms round their new friend's neck. "Well, I can speak French anyhow," said the boy. "But now listen. Don't you two agree to nothink till you hears my story."