Already he so much dreaded this new accomplishment which was being forced upon him, that at the very word dancing he would try and hide, and always at least tuck his tail between his legs. But now, what had transformed him? He heard what was intended distinctly, but instead of shrinking away, he came forward at once, and going close to Maurice's side, sat up with considerable skill, and then bending forward took the little boy's hat off his head, and held it between his teeth. Toby had an object. He wanted to draw the attention of the others to Maurice. And, in truth, he had not a moment to lose, for what they dreaded had almost come to little Maurice--already the little child was nearly asleep. "This will never do," said Joe with energy. He took Maurice up roughly, and shook him, and then drawing his attention to Toby, succeeded in rousing him a little. The next two hours were devoted by Cecile and Joe to Maurice, whom they tickled, shouted to, played with, and when everything else failed, Joe would even hold him up by his legs in the air. Maurice did not quite go to sleep, but the cold was so intense that the poor little fellow cried with pain. At the end of about two hours the snow ceased. The dark clouds rolled away from the sky, which shone down deep blue, peaceful, and star-bespangled on the children. The wind, also, had gone down, and the night was calm, though most bitterly cold. It had, however, been a very terrible snowstorm, and the snow, quite dazzling white, lay already more than a foot deep on the ground. "Why, Cecile," said Joe, "I can see Caen again." "Do you think we could walk back to Caen now, Joe?" "I don't know. I'll jest try a little bit first. I wish we could. You keep Maurice awake, Cecile, and I'll be back in a minute." Cecile took her little brother in her arms, and Joe disappeared round the corner of the old wall. "Stay with the children, Toby," he said to the dog, and Toby stayed. "Cecile," said Maurice, nestling up close to his sister, "'tisn't half so cold now." He spoke in a tone of great content and comfort, but his sweet baby voice sounded thin and weak. "Oh, yes! Maurice, darling, it's much colder. I'm in dreadful pain from the cold." "I was, Cecile, but 'tis gone. I'm not cold at all; I'm ever so comfortable. You'll be like me when the pain goes." "Maurice, I think we had better keep walking up and down." "No, no, Cecile, I won't walk no more. I'm so tired, and I'm so comfortable. Cecile, do they sing away in the South?" "I don't know, darling. I suppose they do." "Well, I know they sing in heaven. Mammie Moseley said so. Cecile, I'd much rather go to heaven than to the South. Would not you?" "Yes, I think so. Maurice, you must not go to sleep." "I'm not going to sleep. Cecile, will you sing that pretty song about glory? Mrs. Moseley used to sing it." "That one about '_thousands of children_?'" said Cecile. "Yes--singing, 'Glory, glory, glory.'"