Little Lord Fauntleroy (8 page)

“You don't wear your coronet all the time?” remarked Lord Fauntleroy respectfully.

“No,” replied the Earl with his grim smile; “it is not becoming to me.”

“Mr. Hobbs said you always wore it,” said Cedric; “but after he thought it over, he said he supposed you must sometimes take it off to put your hat on.”

“Yes,” said the Earl, “I take it off occasionally.”

And one of the footmen suddenly turned aside and gave a singular little cough behind his hand.

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 anyone would be proud of it,” replied Lord Fauntleroy. “I should be proud of it if it were my house. Everything about it is beautiful. And the park, and those trees, how beautiful they are and how the leaves rustle!”

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 bedtime was nearing, and perhaps after the excitement of the last few days it was natural he should be tired, so perhaps too the feeling of weariness brought to him a vague sense of loneliness in the remembrance that tonight 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 he was 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 hearthrug 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.

It disturbed him to see the struggle the little fellow was having with his first feeling of homesickness, but it pleased him to see that he was making so brave an effort to bear it well. He liked this childish courage.

“Come here,” he said.

Fauntleroy went to him.

“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 arm of it, and against the old man's arm too, as confidingly as if children had always leaned there.

“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 Mary and Michael, they were my friends too; but Dearest—well, she is my
close
friend, and we always tell each other everything. My father left her to me to take care of, and when I am a man I am going to work and earn money for her.”

“What do you think of doing?” inquired his grandfather.

His young lordship slipped down upon the hearthrug, and sat there with the picture still in his hand. He seemed to be reflecting seriously before he answered.

“I did think perhaps I might go into business with Mr. Hobbs,” he said; “but I should
like
to be a president.”

“We'll send you to the House of Lords instead,” said his grandfather.

“Well,” remarked Lord Fauntleroy, “if I
couldn't
be a president, and if that is a good business, I shouldn't mind. The grocery business is dull sometimes.”

Perhaps he was weighing the matter in his mind, for he sat very quiet after this, and looked at the fire for some time.

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.

W
HEN Lord Fauntleroy wakened in the morning—he had not wakened at all when he had been carried to bed the night before—the first sounds he was conscious of were the crackling of a wood fire and the murmur of voices.

“You will be careful, Dawson, not to say anything about it,” he heard someone say. “He does not know why she is not to be with him, and the reason is to be kept from him.”

“If them's his lordship's orders, mem,” another voice answered, “they'll have to be kep', I suppose. But, if you'll excuse the liberty, mem, as it's between ourselves, servant or no servant, all I have to say is, it's a cruel thing—parting that poor, pretty, young widdered cre'tur from her own flesh and blood, and him such a little beauty and a nobleman born. James and Thomas, mem, last night in the servants' hall, they both of 'em say as they never see anythink in their two lives—nor yet no other gentleman in livery—like that little fellow's ways, as innercent an' polite an' interested as if he'd been sitting there dining with his best friend—and the temper of a' angel, instead of one (if you'll excuse me, mem), as it's well known is enough to curdle your blood in your veins at times. And as to looks, mem, when we was rung for, James and me, to go into the library and bring him upstairs, and James lifted him up in his arms, what with his little innercent face all red and rosy, and his little head on James's shoulder and his hair hanging down, all curly an' shinin', a prettier, takiner sight you'd never wish to see. An' it's my opinion, my lord wasn't blind to it neither, for he looked at him, and he says to James, ‘See you don't wake him!' he says.”

Cedric 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 towards 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-humored 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 upstairs 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.”

“
Miss
Dawson, or
Mrs.
Dawson?” inquired his lordship.

“Just Dawson, my lord,” said Dawson herself, beaming all over. “Neither Miss nor Missis, bless your little heart! Will you get up now, and let Dawson dress you, and then have your breakfast in the nursery?”

“I learned to dress myself many years ago, thank you,” answered Fauntleroy. “Dearest taught me. ‘Dearest' is my mamma. We had only Mary to do all the work—washing and all—and so of course it wouldn't do to give her so much trouble. I can take my bath, too, pretty well, if you'll just be kind enough to 'zamine the corners after I'm done.”

Dawson and the housekeeper exchanged glances.

“Dawson will do anything you ask her to,” said Mrs. Mellon.

“That I will, bless him,” said Dawson, in her comforting, good-humored voice. “He shall dress himself if he likes, 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.”

He thought Dawson a very kind woman, and before the bath and the dressing were finished they were excellent friends, and he had found out a great deal about her. He had discovered that her husband had been a soldier and had been killed in a real battle, and that her son was a sailor, and was away on a long cruise, and that he had seen pirates and cannibals and Chinese people and Turks, and that he brought home strange shells, and pieces of coral which Dawson was ready to show at any moment, some of them being in her trunk. All this was very interesting. He also found out that she had taken care of little children all her life, and that she had just come from a great house in another part of England, where she had been taking care of a beautiful little girl whose name was Lady Gwyneth Vaughan.

“And she is a sort of relation of your lordship's,” said Dawson. “And perhaps some time you may see her.”

“Do you think I shall?” said Fauntleroy. “I should like that. I never knew any little girls, but I always like to look at them.”

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. There's one of them I know you'll like to see—”

“Is there?” exclaimed Fauntleroy. “I'm very fond of horses. I was very fond of Jim. He was the horse that belonged to Mr. Hobbs's grocery wagon. He was a beautiful horse when he wasn't balky.”

“Well,” said Dawson, “you just wait till you've seen what's in the stables. And, deary 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. It seemed to him that there must be something worth looking at in the next room; Dawson had such a consequential, mysterious air.

“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, looking more mysterious and important than ever. He began to be very much interested indeed.

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 flushing up to his forehead and looking in.

He flushed up because he was so surprised and, for the moment, excited. To see such a place was enough to surprise any ordinary boy.

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 downstairs; 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, “and if you will be a nice little gentleman, and not fret about things, and will enjoy yourself, and be happy all the day, he will give you anything you ask for.”

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. And it was so curious to know that all this had been prepared for himself alone; that, even before he had left New York, people had come down from London to arrange the rooms he was to occupy, and had provided the books and playthings most likely to interest him.

“Did you ever know anyone,” he said to Dawson, “who had such a kind grandfather?”

Dawson's face wore an uncertain expression for a moment. She had not a very high opinion of his lordship the Earl. She had not been in the house many days, but she had been there long enough to hear the old nobleman's peculiarities discussed very freely in the servants' hall.

“An' of all the wicious, savage, hill-tempered hold fellows it was ever my hill-luck to wear livery hunder,” the tallest footman had said, “he's the wiolentest and wust by a long shot.”

And this particular footman, whose name was Thomas, had also repeated to his companions below stairs some of the Earl's remarks to Mr. Havisham, when they had been discussing these very preparations.

“Give him his own way and fill his rooms with toys,” my lord had said. “Give him what will amuse him, and he'll forget about his mother quickly enough. Amuse him, and fill his mind with other things, and we shall have no trouble. That's boy nature.”

So perhaps, having had this truly amiable object in view, it did not please him so very much to find it did not seem to be exactly this particular boy's nature. 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 baseball, only you play it on a board with black and white pegs, and you keep your score with some counters on a wire. I tried to teach Dawson, but she couldn't quite understand it just at first—you see she never played baseball, being a lady; and I'm afraid I wasn't very good at explaining it to her. 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 baseball. 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, and gave a dramatic description of a wonderful “hot ball” he had seen caught on the glorious occasion on which he had witnessed a game in company with Mr. Hobbs. His vigorous, graceful little body, his eager gestures, his simple enjoyment of it all were pleasant to behold.

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 flavor to any game.