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Updated: May 3, 2025
"Fine!" cried Marjorie, "every word correct! Next, Ethel, what is the Capital of the United States?" "Seacote," said Cousin Ethel, laughing. "Sure it is!" agreed King; "now that's enough jography. Next, we'll have arithmetic. Helen, how much is eighteen times forty-seven?" "I don't know," said Mrs. Maynard, helplessly. "Don't know your multiplication table! Fie, fie, my dear!
We have very little money, Maurice; 'tis most important for me and you and Toby to go to France as soon as possible. But I don't know the way. The cabby said something about Jography. If Jography is a person, he knows the way to France. I should like to find Jography, and when we get to France, I have a hope, a great hope, that Jesus the Guide will come with us. Yes, I do think He will come."
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?"
"What is that about jography and school, young 'un," said suddenly, at that moment over their very heads, a gay English voice, and the next instant, a tall boy of about fourteen, with a little fiddle slung over his shoulder, came round the sand hill, and sat down by the children's side. Cecile and Maurice had not only gone to school by day, but at Mr.
Here is Pocahontas Maria's journal as it stood on Tuesday afternoon, after the children had done their lessons and had their dinners: "Tuseday. I am going to keep a Diry like Mamma's. Studded as usel. Mamma said I was cairless, and didn't get my jography lesson propperly. Stella had hers better than me. I hurt my ellbow against the table. It won't bend any more.
All the dreadful days are over, Joe dear." "Ah! Missie, but that's jest wot they ain't. But I likes to hear you say 'dear Joe' once again, for soon, when you know all, you'll hate me." "Then may I kiss you before I know all? and I don't think I could hate you, Jography."
I was so unhappy until I learned about Him, and I was a long, long time learning. Yes, He did send you. He could not come His own self, so He sent you." "But, indeed, Missie, no; I just runned away, and I got to France, and I heard you two funny little mites talking o' jography under the sand hill. It worn't likely as a feller 'ud forget the way you did speak o' jography. No one sent me, Missie."
After they had eaten their supper, and little Maurice was already fast asleep, Cecile came up to the tall boy who had so opportunely and wonderfully acted their friend. "Jography," she said earnestly, "do you know the French of blue eyes and golden hair the French of a red, red mouth, and little teeth like pearls. Do you know the French of all that much, dear Jography?"
"I believe you, Jography," said Cecile; "and, Jography, me and Maurice have a little other money to take us down south, and we are to stay in the smallest villages, and sleep in the werry poorest inns. Can you do that?" "Why, yes, I think I can sleep anywhere; and ef you'll jest lend me Toby there, I'll teach him to dance to my fiddling, and that'll earn more sous than I shall want.
I know He means you to go on taking care of us little children; and, Jography, I'm only quite a little girl, but I've got a plan in my head, and you must listen. My Aunt Lydia wanted to get the purse; and me and Maurice, we ran away from her and afterward we saw her again in London, and she wanted our purse we were sure, and then we ran away again. Now, Joe, could not we run away this time too?
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