The Earl sank back into his chair. His deep-set fierce old eyes gleamed under his beetling brows.
“Come, now!” he said, still breathlessly. “Come, now! You don’t mean the mother hasn’t told him?”
“Not one word, my lord,” replied the lawyer coolly. “That I can assure you. The child is prepared to believe you the most amiable and affectionate of grandparents. And as I carried out your commands in every detail, while in New York, he certainly regards you as a wonder of generosity.”
“He does, eh?” said the Earl.
“I give you my word of honour,” said Mr. Havisham, “that Lord Fauntleroy’s impressions of you will depend entirely upon yourself. And if you will pardon the liberty I take in making the suggestion, I think you will succeed better with him if you take the precaution not to speak slightingly of his mother.”
“Pooh, pooh!” said the Earl. “The youngster’s only seven years old!”
“He has spent those seven years at his mother’s side,” returned Mr. Havisham; “and she has all his affection.”
It was late in the afternoon when the carriage containing little Lord Fauntleroy and Mr. Havisham drove up the long avenue which led to the castle. The Earl had given orders that his grandson should arrive in time to dine with him, and for some reason best known to himself, he had also ordered that the child should be sent alone into the room in which he intended to receive him. As the carriage rolled up the avenue, Lord Fauntleroy sat leaning comfortably against the luxurious cushions, and regarded the prospect with great interest. He was, in fact, interested in everything he saw. He had been interested in the carriage, with its large, splendid horses and their glittering harness; he had been interested in the tall coachman and footman, with their resplendent livery; and he had been especially interested in the coronet on the panels, and had struck up an acquaintance with the footman for the purpose of inquiring what it meant.
The carriage rolled on and on between the great, beautiful trees which grew on each side of the avenue and stretched their broad swaying branches in an arch across it. Cedric had never seen such trees, they were so grand and stately, and their branches grew so low down on their huge trunks. He did not then know that Dorincourt Castle was one of the most beautiful in all England; that its park was one of the broadest and finest, and its trees and avenue almost without rivals. But he did know that it was all very beautiful. Now and then they passed places where tall ferns grew in masses, and again and again the ground was azure with the bluebells swaying in the soft breeze. Several times he started up with a laugh of delight as a rabbit leaped up from under the greenery and scudded away with a twinkle of short white tail behind it. Once a covey of partridges rose with a sudden whir and flew away, and then he shouted and clapped his hands.
“It’s a beautiful place, isn’t it?” he said to Mr. Havisham. “I never saw such a beautiful place. It’s prettier even than Central Park.”
He was rather puzzled by the length of time they were on their way.
“How far is it?” he said, at length, “from the gate to the front door?”
“It is between three and four miles,” answered the lawyer.
It was not long after this that they saw the castle. It rose up before them stately and beautiful and grey, the last rays of the sun casting dazzling lights on its many windows. It had turrets and battlements and towers; a great deal of ivy grew upon its walls; all the broad open space about it was laid out in terraces and lawns and beds of brilliant flowers.
“It’s the most beautiful place I ever saw!” said Cedric, his round face flushing with pleasure. “It reminds any one of a king’s palace. I saw a picture of one once in a fairy-book.”
He saw the great entrance-door thrown open and many servants standing in two lines looking at him. He wondered why they were standing there, and admired their liveries very much. He did not know that they were there to do honour to the little boy to whom all this splendour would one day belong. At the head of the line of servants there stood an elderly woman in a rich plain black silk gown; she had grey hair and wore a cap. As he entered the hall she stood nearer than the rest, and the child thought from the look in her eyes that she was going to speak to him. Mr. Havisham, who held his hand, paused a moment.
“This is Lord Fauntleroy, Mrs. Mellon,” he said. “Lord Fauntleroy, this is Mrs. Mellon, who is the housekeeper.”
Cedric gave her his hand, his eyes lighting up.
“Was it you who sent the cat?” he said. “I’m much obliged to you, ma’am.”
Mrs. Mellon’s handsome old face looked very much pleased.
“The cat left two beautiful kittens here,” she said; “they shall be sent up to your lordship’s nursery.”
Mr. Havisham said a few words to her in a low voice.
“In the library, sir,” Mrs. Mellon replied. “His lordship is to be taken there alone.”
A few minutes later, the very tall footman in livery, who had escorted Cedric to the library door, opened it and announced: “Lord Fauntleroy, my Lord,” in quite a majestic tone.
Cedric crossed the threshold into the room. It was a very large and splendid room, with massive carven furniture in it, and shelves upon shelves of books; the furniture was so dark, and the draperies so heavy, the diamond-paned windows were so deep, and it seemed such a distance from one end of it to the other, that, since the sun had gone down, the effect of it all was rather gloomy. For a moment Cedric thought there was nobody in the room, but soon he saw that by the fire burning on the wide hearth there was a large easy-chair, and that in that chair some one was sitting—some one who did not at first turn to look at him.
But he had attracted attention in one quarter at least. On the floor, by the arm-chair, lay a dog, a huge tawny mastiff, with body and limbs almost as big as a lion’s; and this great creature rose majestically and slowly, and marched toward the little fellow with a heavy step.
Then the person in the chair spoke. “Dougal,” he called, “come back, sir.”
But there was no fear in little Lord Fauntleroy’s heart. He put his hand on the big dog’s collar and they strayed forward together, Dougal sniffing as he went.
And then the Earl looked up. What Cedric saw was a large old man with shaggy white hair and eyebrows, and a nose like an eagle’s beak between his deep fierce eyes. What the Earl saw was a graceful childish figure in a black velvet suit, with a lace collar, and with love-locks waving about the handsome, manly little face, whose eyes met his with a look of innocent good-fellowship. There was a sudden glow of triumph and exultation in the fiery old Earl’s heart as he saw what a strong beautiful boy this grandson was, and how unhesitatingly he looked up as he stood with his hand on the big dog’s neck.
Cedric came quite close to him.
“Are you the Earl?” he said. “I’m your grandson, you know, that Mr. Havisham brought. I’m Lord Fauntleroy.”
He held out his hand because he thought it must be the polite and proper thing to do even with earls. “I hope you are very well,” he continued, with the utmost friendliness. “I’m very glad to see you.”
The Earl shook hands with him, with a curious gleam in his eyes.
“Glad to see me, are you?” he said.
“Yes,” answered Lord Fauntleroy, “very.”
There was a chair near him, and he sat down on it; it was a high-backed, rather tall chair, and his feet did not touch the floor when he had settled himself in it, but he seemed to be quite comfortable as he sat there and regarded his august relative intently and modestly.
“Any boy would love his grandfather,” continued he, “especially one that had been as kind to him as you have been.”
Another queer gleam came into the old nobleman’s eyes.
“Oh!” he said, “I have been kind to you, have I?”
“Yes,” answered Lord Fauntleroy brightly; “I’m ever so much obliged to you about Bridget, and the apple-woman, and Dick!”
“Bridget!” exclaimed the Earl. “Dick! The apple-woman!”
“Yes,” explained Cedric; “the ones you gave me all that money for—the money you told Mr. Havisham to give me if I wanted it.”
“Ha!” ejaculated his lordship. “That’s it, is it? The money you were to spend as you liked. What did you buy with it? I should like to hear something about that.”
He drew his shaggy eyebrows together and looked at the child sharply. He was secretly curious to know in what way the lad had indulged himself.
“Oh!” said Lord Fauntleroy, “perhaps you didn’t know about Dick, and the apple-woman and Bridget. I forgot you lived such a long way off from them. They were particular friends of mine. And you see Michael had the fever——”
“Who’s Michael?” asked the Earl.
“Michael is Bridget’s husband, and they were in great trouble. And Bridget used to come to our house and cry. And the evening Mr. Havisham was there, she was in the kitchen crying because they had almost nothing to eat and couldn’t pay the rent; and I went in to see her, and Mr. Havisham sent for me and he said you had given him some money for me. And I ran as fast as I could into the kitchen and gave it to Bridget; and that made it all right; and Bridget could scarcely believe her eyes. That’s why I’m so obliged to you.”
“Oh!” said the Earl in his deep voice, “that was one of the things you did for yourself, was it? What else?”
“Well, there was Dick,” Cedric answered. “You’d like Dick, he’s so square.”
This was an Americanism the Earl was not prepared for.
“What does that mean?” he inquired.
Lord Fauntleroy paused a moment to reflect. He was not very sure himself what it meant.
“I think it means that he wouldn’t cheat any one,” he exclaimed; “or hit a boy who was under his size, and that he blacks people’s boots very well and makes them shine as much as he can. He’s a professional boot-black.”
“And he’s one of your acquaintances, is he?” said the Earl.
“He’s an old friend of mine,” replied his grandson. “Not quite as old as Mr. Hobbs, but quite old. He gave me a present just before the ship sailed.”
He put his hand into his pocket and drew forth a neatly folded red object and opened it with an air of affectionate pride. It was the red silk handkerchief with the large purple horse-shoes and heads on it.
“He gave me this,” said his young lordship. “I shall keep it always. You can wear it round your neck or keep it in your pocket. It’s a keepsake. I put some poetry in Mr. Hobbs’ watch. It was, ’When this you see, remember me.’ When this I see, I shall always remember Dick.”
The sensation of the Right Honourable the Earl of Dorincourt could scarcely be described.
He could not help seeing that the little boy took him for a friend and treated him as one, without having any doubt of him at all. It was quite plain as the little fellow sat there in his tall chair and talked in his friendly way that it had never occurred to him that this large, fierce-looking old man could be anything but kind to him, and rather pleased to see him there. And it was plain, too, that, in his childish way, he wished to please and interest his grandfather. Cross, and hard-hearted, and worldly as the old Earl was, he could not help feeling a secret and novel pleasure in this very confidence.
So the old man leaned back in his chair, and led his young companion on to telling him still more of himself, and with that odd gleam in his eyes watched the little fellow as he talked. Lord Fauntleroy was quite willing to answer all his questions and chatted on in his genial little way quite composedly. He told him all about Dick, and the apple-woman, and Mr. Hobbs. In the course of the conversation, he reached the Fourth of July and the Revolution, and was just becoming enthusiastic, when dinner was announced.
Cedric left his chair and went to his noble kinsman. He looked down at his gouty foot.
“Would you like me to help you?” he said politely. “You could lean on me, you know. Once when Mr. Hobbs hurt his foot with a potato-barrel rolling on it, he used to lean on me.”
The Earl looked his valiant young relative over from head to foot.
“Do you think you could do it?” he asked gruffly.
“I think I could,” said Cedric. “I’m strong. I’m seven, you know. You could lean on your stick on one side, and on me on the other.”
“Well,” said the Earl, “you may try.”
Cedric gave him his stick, and began to assist him to rise. Usually the footman did this, and was violently sworn at when his lordship had an extra twinge of gout.
But this evening he did not swear, though his gouty foot gave him more twinges than one. He chose to try an experiment. He got up slowly and put his hand on the small shoulder presented to him with so much courage. Little Lord Fauntleroy made a careful step forward, looking down at the gouty foot.
“Just lean on me,” he said, with encouraging good cheer. “I’ll walk very slowly.”
If the Earl had been supported by the footman he would have rested less on his stick and more on his assistant’s arm. And yet it was part of his experiment to let his grandson feel his burden as no light weight. It was quite a heavy weight indeed, and after a few steps his young lordship’s face grew quite hot, and his heart beat rather fast, but he braced himself sturdily.
“Don’t be afraid of leaning on me,” he panted. “I’m all right—if—if it isn’t a very long way.”
It was not really very far to the dining-room, but it seemed rather a long way to Cedric, before they reached the chair at the head of the table.
When the hand was removed from his shoulder, and the Earl was fairly seated, Cedric took out Dick’s handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
“It’s a warm night, isn’t it?” he said.
“You have been doing some rather hard work,” said the Earl.
“Oh, no!” said Lord Fauntleroy, “it wasn’t exactly hard, but I got a little warm. A person will get warm in summer time.”
And he rubbed his damp curls rather vigorously with the gorgeous handkerchief. His own chair was placed at the other end of the table, opposite his grandfather’s. It was a chair with arms, and intended for a much larger individual than himself; indeed, everything he had seen so far—the great rooms, with their high ceilings, the massive furniture, the big footman, the big dog, the Earl himself—were all of proportions calculated to make this little lad feel that he was very small indeed. But that did not trouble him.
Notwithstanding his solitary existence the Earl chose to live in considerable state. He was fond of his dinner, and he dined in a formal style. Cedric looked at him across a glitter of splendid glass and plate, which to his unaccustomed eyes seemed quite dazzling. A stranger looking on might well have smiled at the picture—the great stately room, the big liveried servants, the bright lights, the glittering silver and glass, the fierce-looking old nobleman at the head of the table and the very small boy at the foot. Dinner was usually a very serious matter with the Earl—and it was a very serious matter with the cook, if his lordship was not pleased or had an indifferent appetite. To-day, however, his appetite seemed a trifle better than usual, perhaps because his grandson gave him something to think of. He kept looking at him across the table. He did not say very much himself, but he managed to make the boy talk. He had never imagined that he could be entertained by hearing a child talk, but Lord Fauntleroy at once puzzled and amused him.
Cedric finished his dinner first, and then he leaned back in his chair and took a survey of the room.
“You must be very proud of your house,” he said, “it’s such a beautiful house. I never saw anything so beautiful; but, of course, as I’m only seven, I haven’t seen much.”
“And you think I must be proud of it, do you?” said the Earl.
“I should think any one would be proud of it,” replied Lord Fauntleroy. “I should be proud of it, if it were my house. Everything about it is beautiful.”
Then he paused an instant and looked across the table rather wistfully.
“It’s a very big house for just two people to live in, isn’t it?” he said.
“It is quite large enough for two,” answered the Earl. “Do you find it too large?”
His little lordship hesitated a moment.
“I was only thinking,” he said, “that if two people lived in it who were not very good companions, they might feel lonely sometimes.”
“Do you think I shall make a good companion?” inquired the Earl.
“Yes,” replied Cedric, “I think you will. Mr. Hobbs and I were great friends. He was the best friend I had except Dearest.”
The Earl made a quick movement of his bushy eyebrows.
“Who is Dearest?”
“She is my mother,” said Lord Fauntleroy, in a rather low, quiet little voice.
Perhaps he was a trifle tired, as his bed-time was nearing, and perhaps the feeling of weariness brought to him a vague sense of loneliness in the remembrance that to-night he was not to sleep at home, watched over by the loving eyes of that “best friend” of his. They had always been “best friends,” this boy and his young mother. He could not help thinking of her, and the more he thought of her the less was he inclined to talk, and by the time the dinner was at an end the Earl saw that there was a faint shadow on his face. But Cedric bore himself with excellent courage, and when they went back to the library, though the tall footman walked on one side of his master, the Earl’s hand rested on his grandson’s shoulder, though not so heavily as before.
When the footman left them alone, Cedric sat down upon the hearth-rug near Dougal. For a few minutes he stroked the dog’s ears in silence and looked at the fire.
The Earl watched him. The boy’s eyes looked wistful and thoughtful, and once or twice he gave a little sigh. The Earl sat still, and kept his eyes fixed on his grandson.
“Fauntleroy,” he said at last, “what are you thinking of?”
Fauntleroy looked up with a manful effort at a smile.
“I was thinking about Dearest,” he said; “and—and I think I’d better get up and walk up and down the room.”
He rose up, and put his hands in his small pockets, and began to walk to and fro. His eyes were very bright, and his lips were pressed together, but he kept his head up and walked firmly. Dougal moved lazily and looked at him and then stood up. He walked over to the child, and began to follow him uneasily. Fauntleroy drew one hand from his pocket and laid it on the dog’s head.
“He’s a very nice dog,” he said. “He’s my friend. He knows how I feel.”
“How do you feel?” asked the Earl.
“I never was away from my own house before,” said the boy, with a troubled look in his brown eyes. “It makes a person feel a strange feeling when he has to stay all night in another person’s castle instead of in his own house. But Dearest is not very far away from me. She told me to remember that—and—and I’m seven—and I can look at the picture she gave me.”
He put his hand in his pocket, and brought out a small violet velvet-covered case.
“This is it,” he said. “You see, you press this spring and it opens, and she is in there!”
He had come close to the Earl’s chair, and, as he drew forth the little case, he leaned against the old man’s arm.
“There she is,” he said, as the case opened; and he looked up with a smile.
The Earl knitted his brows; he did not wish to see the picture, but he looked at it in spite of himself; and there looked up at him from it such a pretty young face—a face so like the child’s at his side—that it quite startled him.
“I suppose you think you are very fond of her?” he said.
“Yes,” answered Lord Fauntleroy, in a gentle tone, and with simple directness; “I do think so, and I think it’s true. You see Mr. Hobbs was my friend, and Dick and Bridget and Michael they were my friends too; but Dearest—well she is my close friend, and we always tell each other everything.”
His young lordship slipped down upon the hearth-rug, and sat there with the picture still in his hand.
The Earl did not speak again. He leaned back in his chair and watched him. A great many strange new thoughts passed through the old nobleman’s mind. Dougal had stretched himself out and gone to sleep with his head on his huge paws. There was a long silence.
In about half an hour’s time Mr. Havisham was ushered in. The great room was very still when he entered. The Earl was still leaning back in his chair. He moved as Mr. Havisham approached, and held up his hand in a gesture of warning—it seemed as if he had scarcely intended to make the gesture—as if it were almost involuntary. Dougal was still asleep, and close beside the great dog, sleeping also, with his curly head upon his arm, lay little Lord Fauntleroy.
When Lord Fauntleroy wakened in the morning—he had not wakened at all when he had been carried to bed the night before,—the first sound he was conscious of were the crackling of a wood fire and the murmur of voices.
He moved on his pillow, and turned over, opening his eyes.
There were two women in the room. Everything was bright and cheerful with gay-flowered chintz. There was a fire on the hearth, and the sunshine was streaming in through the ivy-entwined windows. Both women came toward him, and he saw that one of them was Mrs. Mellon, the housekeeper, and the other a comfortable, middle-aged woman, with a face as kind and good-humoured as a face could be.
“Good-morning, my lord,” said Mrs. Mellon. “Did you sleep well?”
His lordship rubbed his eyes and smiled.
“Good-morning,” he said. “I didn’t know I was here.”
“You were carried up-stairs when you were asleep,” said the housekeeper. “This is your bedroom, and this is Dawson, who is to take care of you.”
Fauntleroy sat up in bed and held out his hand to Dawson, as he had held it out to the Earl.
“How do you do, ma’am?” he said. “I’m much obliged to you for coming to take care of me.”
“You can call her Dawson, my lord,” said the housekeeper with a smile. “She is used to being called Dawson.—She will do anything you ask her to.”
“That I will, bless him,” said Dawson, in her comforting, good-humoured voice. “He shall dress himself, and I’ll stand by, ready to help him if he wants me.”
“Thank you,” responded Lord Fauntleroy; “it’s a little hard sometimes about the buttons, you know, and then I have to ask somebody.”
When he went into the adjoining room to take his breakfast and saw what a great room it was, and found there was another adjoining it, which Dawson told him was his also, the feeling that he was very small indeed came over him again so strongly that he confided it to Dawson, as he sat down to the table on which the pretty breakfast service was arranged.
“I am a very little boy,” he said rather wistfully, “to live in such a large castle, and have so many big rooms—don’t you think so?”
“Oh, come!” said Dawson, “you feel just a little strange at first, that’s all; but you’ll get over that very soon, and then you’ll like it here. It’s such a beautiful place, you know.”
“It’s a very beautiful place, of course,” said Fauntleroy, with a little sigh; “but I should like it better if I didn’t miss Dearest so. I always had my breakfast with her in the morning, and put the sugar and cream in her tea for her, and handed her the toast. That made it very sociable, of course.”
“Oh, well!” answered Dawson, comfortably, “you know you can see her every day, and there’s no knowing how much you’ll have to tell her. Bless you! wait till you’ve walked about a bit and seen things—the dogs and the stables with all the horses in them. And, dear me, you haven’t looked even into the very next room yet!”
“What is there?” asked Fauntleroy,
“Wait until you’ve had your breakfast, and then you shall see,” said Dawson.
At this he naturally began to grow curious, and he applied himself assiduously to his breakfast.
“Now then,” he said, slipping off his seat a few minutes later; “I’ve had enough. Can I go and look at it?”
Dawson nodded and led the way.
When she opened the door of the room, he stood upon the threshold and looked about him in amazement. He did not speak; he only put his hands in his pockets and stood there looking in.
The room was a large one too, as all the rooms seemed to be, and it appeared to him more beautiful than the rest, only in a different way. The furniture was not so massive and antique as was that in the rooms he had seen down stairs; the draperies and rugs and walls were brighter; there were shelves full of books, and on the tables were numbers of toys—beautiful, ingenious things—such as he had looked at with wonder and delight through the shop windows in New York.
“It looks like a boy’s room,” he said at last, catching his breath a little. “Who do they belong to?”
“Go and look at them,” said Dawson. “They belong to you!”
“To me!” he cried “to me! Why do they belong to me? Who gave them to me?” And he sprang forward with a gay little shout. It seemed almost too much to be believed. “It was Grandpapa!” he said, with his eyes as bright as stars. “I know it was Grandpapa!”
“Yes, it was his lordship,” said Dawson.
It was a tremendously exciting morning. There were so many things to be examined, so many experiments to be tried; each novelty was so absorbing that he could scarcely turn from it to look at the next.
The Earl had passed a bad night and had spent the morning in his room; but at noon, after he had lunched, he sent for his grandson.
Fauntleroy answered the summons at once. He came down the broad staircase with a bounding step; the Earl heard him run across the hall, and then the door opened and he came in with red cheeks and sparkling eyes.
“I was waiting for you to send for me,” he said. “I was ready a long time ago. I’m ever so much obliged to you for all those things! I’m ever so much obliged to you! I have been playing with them all the morning.”
“Oh!” said the Earl, “you like them, do you?”
“I like them so much—well, I couldn’t tell you how much!” said Fauntleroy, his face glowing with delight. “There’s one that’s like base-ball. I tried to teach Dawson, but she couldn’t quite understand it just at first. But you know all about it, don’t you?”
“I’m afraid I don’t,” replied the Earl. “It’s an American game, isn’t it? Is it something like cricket?”
“I never saw cricket,” said Fauntleroy; “but Mr. Hobbs took me several times to see base-ball. It’s a splendid game. You get so excited! Would you like me to go and get my game and show it to you? Perhaps it would amuse you and make you forget about your foot. Does your foot hurt you very much this morning?”
“More than I enjoy,” was the answer.
“Then perhaps you couldn’t forget it,” said the little fellow, anxiously. “Perhaps it would bother you to be told about the game. Do you think it would amuse you, or do you think it would bother you?”
“Go and get it,” said the Earl.
It certainly was a novel entertainment this—making a companion of a child who offered to teach him to play games, but the very novelty of it amused him. There was a smile lurking about the Earl’s mouth when Cedric came back with the box containing the game in his arms, and an expression of the most eager interest on his face.
“May I pull that little table over here to your chair?” he asked.
“Ring for Thomas,” said the Earl. “He will place it for you.”
“Oh, I can do it myself,” answered Fauntleroy. “It’s not very heavy.”
“Very well,” replied his grandfather. The lurking smile deepened on the old man’s face as he watched the little fellow’s preparations; there was such an absorbed interest in them. The small table was dragged forward and placed by his chair, and the game taken from its box and arranged upon it.
“It’s very interesting when you once begin,” said Fauntleroy. “You see, the black pegs can be your side and the white ones mine. They’re men, you know, and once round the field is a home run and counts one—and these are the outs—and here is the first base and that’s the second and that’s the third and that’s the home-base.”
He entered into the details of explanation with the greatest animation. He showed all the attitudes of pitcher and catcher and batter in the real game.
When at last the explanations and illustrations were at an end and the game began in good earnest, the Earl still found himself entertained. His young companion was wholly absorbed; he played with all his childish heart; his gay little laughs when he made a good throw, his enthusiasm over a “home run,” his impartial delight over his own good luck or his opponent’s would have given a flavour to any game.
If, a week before, any one had told the Earl of Dorincourt that on that particular morning he would be forgetting his gout and his bad temper in a child’s game, with a curly-headed small boy for a companion, he would without doubt have made himself very unpleasant; and yet he certainly had forgotten himself when the door opened and Thomas announced a visitor.
The visitor in question, who was an elderly gentleman in black, and no less a person than the clergyman of the parish, was so startled by the amazing scene which met his eye, that he almost fell back a pace, and ran some risk of colliding with Thomas.
There, was, in fact, no part of his duty that the Reverend Mr. Mordaunt found so decidedly unpleasant as that part which compelled him to call upon his noble patron at the Castle. His noble patron, indeed, usually made these visits as disagreeable as it lay in his lordly power to make them. He abhorred churches and charities, and flew into violent rages when any of his tenantry took the liberty of being poor and ill and needing assistance. During all the years in which Mr. Mordaunt had been in charge of Dorincourt parish, the rector certainly did not remember having seen his lordship, of his own free will, do any one a kindness, or, under any circumstances whatever, show that he thought of any one but himself.
Judge then of his amazement when, as Thomas opened the library door, his ears were greeted by a delighted ring of childish laughter.
The Earl glanced around, and when he saw who it was, Mr. Mordaunt was still more surprised to see that he looked almost as if he had forgotten for the moment how unpleasant he really could make himself when he tried.
“Ah!” he said in his harsh voice, but giving his hand rather graciously. “Good morning, Mordaunt. I’ve found a new employment, you see.”
He put his other hand on Cedric’s shoulder—perhaps deep down in his heart there was a stir of gratified pride that it was such an heir he had to present; there was a spark of something like pleasure in his eyes as he moved the boy slightly forward.
“This is the new Lord Fauntleroy,” he said. “Fauntleroy, this is Mr. Mordaunt, the rector of the parish.”
Fauntleroy looked up at the gentleman in the clerical garments, and gave him his hand.
“I am very glad to make your acquaintance, sir,” he said.
Mr. Mordaunt held the small hand in his a moment as he looked down at the child’s face, smiling involuntarily, He liked the little fellow from that instant—as in fact people always did like him.
“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Lord Fauntleroy,” said the rector. “You made a long journey to come to us. A great many people will be glad to know you made it safely.”
“It was a long way,” answered Fauntleroy; “but Dearest, my mother, was with me and I wasn’t lonely. Of course you are never lonely if your mother is with you; and the ship was beautiful.”
“Take a chair, Mordaunt,” said the Earl. Mr. Mordaunt sat down. He glanced from Fauntleroy to the Earl.
“Your lordship is greatly to be congratulated,” he said warmly. But the Earl plainly had no intention of showing his feelings on the subject.
“He is like his father,” he said rather gruffly. “Let us hope he’ll conduct himself more creditably.” And then he added: “Well, what is it this morning, Mordaunt? Who is in trouble now?”
This was not as bad as Mr. Mordaunt had expected, but he hesitated a second before he began.
“It is Higgins,” he said; “Higgins of Edge Farm. He has been very unfortunate. He was ill himself last autumn, and his children had scarlet fever. He is in trouble about his rent now. Newick tells him if he doesn’t pay it he must leave the place; and of course that would be a very serious matter. His wife is ill, and he came to me yesterday to beg me to see you about it, and ask you for time. He thinks if you would give him time he could catch up again.”
“They all think that,” said the Earl, looking rather black.
Fauntleroy made a movement forward. He had been standing between his grandfather and the visitor, listening with all his might. He had begun to be interested in Higgins at once. He wondered how many children there were, and if the scarlet fever had hurt them very much. His eyes were wide open and were fixed upon Mr. Mordaunt with intense interest as that gentleman went on with the conversation.
“Higgins is a well-meaning man,” said the rector, making an effort to strengthen his plea.
“He is a bad enough tenant,” replied his lordship. “And he is always behindhand, Newick tells me.”
“He is in great trouble now,” said the rector, “He is very fond of his wife and children, and if the farm is taken from him they may literally starve. He cannot give them the nourishing things they need. Two of the children were left very low after the fever, and the doctor orders for them wine and luxuries that Higgins cannot afford.”
At this Fauntleroy moved a step nearer.
“That was the way with Michael,” he said.
The Earl slightly started. “I forgot you!” he said. “I forgot we had a philanthropist in the room. Who was Michael?” And the gleam of queer amusement came back into the old man’s deep-set eyes.
“He was Bridget’s husband, who had the fever,” answered Fauntleroy; “and he couldn’t pay the rent or buy wine and things. And you gave me that money to help him.”
The Earl drew his brows together into a curious frown, which somehow was scarcely grim at all. He glanced across at Mr. Mordaunt.
“I don’t know what sort of a landed proprietor he will make,” he said. “I told Havisham the boy was to have what he wanted—and what he wanted, it seems, was money to give to beggars.”
“Oh! but they weren’t beggars,” said Fauntleroy eagerly. “Michael was a splendid bricklayer! They all worked.”
“Oh!” said the Earl, “they were not beggars.”
He bent his gaze on the boy for a few seconds in silence. “Come here,” he said, at last.
“What would you do in this case?”
It must be confessed that Mr. Mordaunt experienced for the moment a curious sensation. Being a man of great thoughtfulness, and having spent so many years on the estate of Dorincourt, he realised very strongly what power for good or evil would be given in the future to this one small boy standing there, his brown eyes wide open, his hands deep in his pockets; and the thought came to him also that a great deal of power might, perhaps, through the caprice of a proud, self-indulgent old man be given to him now, and that if his young nature were not a simple and generous one, it might be the worst thing that could happen, not only for others, but for himself.
“And what would you do in such a case?” demanded the Earl.
Fauntleroy drew a little nearer, and laid one hand on his knee, with the most confiding air of good comradeship.
“If I were very rich,” he said “and not only just a little boy, I should let him stay, and give him the things for his children; but then, I am only a boy.” Then, after a second’s pause, in which his face brightened visibly, “You can do anything, can’t you?” he said.
“Humph!” said my lord, staring at him. “That’s your opinion, is it?” And he was not displeased either.
“I mean you can give any one anything,” said Fauntleroy. “Who’s Newick?”
“He is my agent,” answered the Earl, “and some of my tenants are not over-fond of him.”
“Are you going to write him a letter now?” inquired Fauntleroy. “Shall I bring you the pen and ink? I can take the game off this table.”
It plainly had not for an instant occurred to him that Newick would be allowed to do his worst.
The Earl paused a moment, still looking at him. “Can you write?” he asked.
“Yes,” answered Cedric, “but not very well.”
“Move the things from the table,” commanded my lord, “and bring the pen and ink, and a sheet of paper from my desk.”
Mr. Mordaunt’s interest began to increase. Fauntleroy did as he was told very deftly. In a few moments, the sheet of paper, the big inkstand, and the pen were ready.
“There!” he said gaily, “now you can write it.”
“You are to write it,” said the Earl.
“I!” exclaimed Fauntleroy, and a flush overspread bis forehead. “Will it do if I write it? I don’t always spell quite right when I haven’t a dictionary and nobody tells me.”
“It will do,” answered the Earl. “Higgins will not complain of the spelling. I’m not the philanthropist; you are. Dip your pen in the ink.”
Fauntleroy took up the pen and dipped it in the ink-bottle, then he arranged himself in position, leaning on the table.
“Now,” he inquired, “what must I say?”
“You may say, ’Higgins is not to be interfered with, for the present,’ and sign it ’Fauntleroy,’” said the Earl.
Fauntleroy dipped his pen in the ink again, and resting his arm, began to write. It was rather a slow and serious process, but he gave his whole soul to it. After a while, however, the manuscript was complete, and he handed it to his grandfather with a smile slightly tinged with anxiety.
“Do you think it will do?” he asked.
The Earl looked at it, and the corners of his mouth twitched a little.
“Yes,” he answered; “Higgins will find it entirely satisfactory.” And he handed it to Mr. Mordaunt.
What Mr. Mordaunt found written was this:—