The Lost Prince & Little Lord Fauntleroy. Frances Hodgson Burnett
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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.
VI
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 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 some one 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 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-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 Vaughn.
“And she is a sort of relation of your lordship’s,” said Dawson. “And perhaps sometime 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