Little Lord Fauntleroy
boy was “every inch a lord.” My lord of Dorincourt was an arrogant old
man, proud of his name, proud of his rank, and therefore proud to show
the world that at last the House of Dorincourt had an heir who was
worthy of the position he was to fill.
The morning the new pony had been tried, the Earl had been so pleased
that he had almost forgotten his gout. When the groom had brought out
the pretty creature, which arched its brown, glossy neck and tossed its
fine head in the sun, the Earl had sat at the open window of the library
and had looked on while Fauntleroy took his first riding lesson. He
wondered if the boy would show signs of timidity. It was not a very
small pony, and he had often seen children lose courage in making their
first essay at riding.
Fauntleroy mounted in great delight. He had never been on a pony before,
and he was in the highest spirits. Wilkins, the groom, led the animal by
the bridle up and down before the library window.
“He's a well plucked un, he is,” Wilkins remarked in the stable
afterward with many grins. “It weren't no trouble to put HIM up. An' a
old un wouldn't ha' sat any straighter when he WERE up. He ses--ses
he to me, 'Wilkins,' he ses, 'am I sitting up straight? They sit up
straight at the circus,' ses he. An' I ses, 'As straight as a arrer,
your lordship!'--an' he laughs, as pleased as could be, an' he ses,
'That's right,' he ses, 'you tell me if I don't sit up straight,
Wilkins!'”
But sitting up straight and being led at a walk were not altogether and
completely satisfactory. After a few minutes, Fauntleroy spoke to his
grandfather--watching him from the window:
“Can't I go by myself?” he asked; “and can't I go faster? The boy on
Fifth Avenue used to trot and canter!”
“Do you think you could trot and canter?” said the Earl.
“I should like to try,” answered Fauntleroy.
His lordship made a sign to Wilkins, who at the signal brought up his
own horse and mounted it and took Fauntleroy's pony by the leading-rein.
“Now,” said the Earl, “let him trot.”
The next few minutes were rather exciting to the small equestrian. He
found that trotting was not so easy as walking, and the faster the pony
trotted, the less easy it was.
“It j-jolts a g-goo-good deal--do-doesn't it?” he said to Wilkins.
“D-does it j-jolt y-you?”
“No, my lord,” answered Wilkins. “You'll get used to it in time. Rise in
your stirrups.”
“I'm ri-rising all the t-time,” said Fauntleroy.
He was both rising and falling rather uncomfortably and with many shakes
and bounces. He was out of breath and his face grew red, but he held on
with all his might, and sat as straight as he could. The Earl could
see that from his window. When the riders came back within speaking
distance, after they had been hidden by the trees a few minutes,
Fauntleroy's hat was off, his cheeks were like poppies, and his lips
were set, but he was still trotting manfully.
“Stop a minute!” said his grandfather. “Where's your hat?”
Wilkins touched his. “It fell off, your lordship,” he said, with evident
enjoyment. “Wouldn't let me stop to pick it up, my lord.”
“Not much afraid, is he?” asked the Earl dryly.
“Him, your lordship!” exclaimed Wilkins. “I shouldn't say as he knowed
what it meant. I've taught young gen'lemen to ride afore, an' I never
see one stick on more determinder.”
“Tired?” said the Earl to Fauntleroy. “Want to get off?”
“It jolts you more than you think it will,” admitted his young lordship
frankly. “And it tires you a little, too; but I don't want to get off.
I want to learn how. As soon as I've got my breath I want to go back for
the hat.”
The cleverest person in the world, if he had undertaken to teach
Fauntleroy how to please the old man who watched him, could not have
taught him anything which would have succeeded better. As the pony
trotted off again toward the avenue, a faint color crept up in the
fierce old face, and the eyes, under the shaggy brows, gleamed with a
pleasure such as his lordship had scarcely expected to know again. And
he sat and watched quite eagerly until the sound of the horses' hoofs
returned. When they did come, which was after some time, they came at a
faster pace. Fauntleroy's hat was still off; Wilkins was carrying it for
him; his cheeks were redder than before, and his hair was flying about
his ears, but he came at quite a brisk canter.
“There!” he panted, as they drew up, “I c-cantered. I didn't do it as
well as the boy on Fifth Avenue, but I did it, and I staid on!”
He and Wilkins and the pony were close friends after that. Scarcely a
day passed in which the country people did not see them out together,
cantering gayly on the highroad or through the green lanes. The children
in the cottages would run to the door to look at the proud little brown
pony with the gallant little figure sitting so straight in the saddle,
and the young lord would snatch off his cap and swing it at them, and
shout, “Hullo! Good-morning!” in a very unlordly manner, though with
great heartiness. Sometimes he would stop and talk with the children,
and once Wilkins came back to the castle with a story of how Fauntleroy
had insisted on dismounting near the village school, so that a boy who
was lame and tired might ride home on his pony.
“An' I'm blessed,” said Wilkins, in telling the story at the
stables,--“I'm blessed if he'd hear of anything else! He wouldn't let
me get down, because he said the boy mightn't feel comfortable on a big
horse. An' ses he, 'Wilkins,' ses he, 'that boy's lame and I'm not,
and I want to talk to him, too.' And up the lad has to get, and my lord
trudges alongside of him with his hands in his pockets, and his cap on
the back of his head, a-whistling and talking as easy as you please!
And when we come to the cottage, an' the boy's mother come out all in a
taking to see what's up, he whips off his cap an' ses he, 'I've brought
your son home, ma'am,' ses he, 'because his leg hurt him, and I don't
think that stick is enough for him to lean on; and I'm going to ask my
grandfather to have a pair of crutches made for him.' An' I'm blessed if
the woman wasn't struck all of a heap, as well she might be! I thought I
should 'a' hex-plodid, myself!”
When the Earl heard the story he was not angry, as Wilkins had been
half afraid that he would be; on the contrary, he laughed outright, and
called Fauntleroy up to him, and made him tell all about the matter from
beginning to end, and then he laughed again. And actually, a few days
later, the Dorincourt carriage stopped in the green lane before the
cottage where the lame boy lived, and Fauntleroy jumped out and
walked up to the door, carrying a pair of strong, light, new crutches
shouldered like a gun, and presented them to Mrs. Hartle (the lame boy's
name was Hartle) with these words: “My grandfather's compliments, and if
you please, these are for your boy, and we hope he will get better.”
“I said your compliments,” he explained to the Earl when he returned to
the carriage. “You didn't tell me to, but I thought perhaps you forgot.
That was right, wasn't it?”
And the Earl laughed again, and did not say it was not. In fact, the two
were becoming more intimate every day, and every day Fauntleroy's faith
in his lordship's benevolence and virtue increased. He had no doubt
whatever that his grandfather was the most amiable and generous of
elderly gentlemen. Certainly, he himself found his wishes gratified
almost before they were uttered; and such gifts and pleasures were
lavished upon him, that he was sometimes almost bewildered by his own
possessions. Apparently, he was to have everything he wanted, and to
do everything he wished to do. And though this would certainly not have
been a very wise plan to pursue with all small boys, his young lordship
bore it amazingly well. Perhaps, notwithstanding his sweet nature, he
might have been somewhat spoiled by it, if it had not been for the
hours he spent with his mother at Court Lodge. That “best friend” of his
watched over him ever closely and tenderly. The two had many long talks
together, and he never went back to the Castle with her kisses on his
cheeks without carrying in his heart some simple, pure words worth
remembering.
There was one thing, it is true, which puzzled the little fellow very
much. He thought over the mystery of it much oftener than any one
supposed; even his mother did not know how often he pondered on it; the
Earl for a long time never suspected that he did so at all. But, being
quick to observe, the little boy could not help wondering why it was
that his mother and grandfather never seemed to meet. He had noticed
that they never did meet. When the Dorincourt carriage stopped at
Court Lodge, the Earl never alighted, and on the rare occasions of his
lordship's going to church, Fauntleroy was always left to speak to his
mother in the porch alone, or perhaps to go home with her. And
yet, every day, fruit and flowers were sent to Court Lodge from the
hot-houses at the Castle. But the one virtuous action of the Earl's
which had set him upon the pinnacle of perfection in Cedric's eyes, was
what he had done soon after that first Sunday when Mrs. Errol had walked
home from church unattended. About a week later, when Cedric was going
one day to visit his mother, he found at the door, instead of the large
carriage and prancing pair, a pretty little brougham and a handsome bay
horse.
“That is a present from you to your mother,” the Earl said abruptly.
“She can not go walking about the country. She needs a carriage. The man
who drives will take charge of it. It is a present from YOU.”
Fauntleroy's delight could but feebly express itself. He could scarcely
contain himself until he reached the lodge. His mother was gathering
roses in the garden. He flung himself out of the little brougham and
flew to her.
“Dearest!” he cried, “could you believe it? This is yours! He says it is
a present from me. It is your own carriage to drive everywhere in!”
He was so happy that she did not know what to say. She could not have
borne to spoil his pleasure by refusing to accept the gift even though
it came from the man who chose to consider himself her enemy. She was
obliged to step into the carriage, roses and all, and let herself be
taken to drive, while Fauntleroy told her stories of his grandfather's
goodness and amiability. They were such innocent stories that sometimes
she could not help laughing a little, and then she would draw her little
boy closer to her side and kiss him, feeling glad that he could see only
good in the old man, who had so few friends.
The very next day after that, Fauntleroy wrote to Mr. Hobbs. He wrote
quite a long letter, and after the first copy was written, he brought it
to his grandfather to be inspected.
“Because,” he said, “it's so uncertain about the spelling. And if you'll
tell me the mistakes, I'll write it out again.”
This was what he had written:
“My dear mr hobbs i want to tell you about my granfarther he is the best
earl you ever new it is a mistake about earls being tirents he is not a
tirent at all i wish you new him you would be good friends i am sure
you would he has the gout in his foot and is a grate sufrer but he is
so pashent i love him more every day becaus no one could help loving an
earl like that who is kind to every one in this world i wish you
could talk to him he knows everything in the world you can ask him any
question but he has never plaid base ball he has given me a pony and a
cart and my mamma a bewtifle cariage and I have three rooms and toys of
all kinds it would serprise you you would like the castle and the park
it is such a large castle you could lose yourself wilkins tells me
wilkins is my groom he says there is a dungon under the castle it is