OUR BOYS & GIRLS.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 787, 1 April 1887, Page 5

OUR BOYS & GIRLS.

little lord fauntleroy.

Br Frances Hodgson Burnett. CHAPTER IX. (Continued.) The fact was, his lordship the Earl of Dorincourt thought in those days of many things of which he had never thought before, aud all his thoughts were in one way or another connected with his grandson. His pride was the strongest part of his nature, and the boy gratified it at every point, Through this pride he began to find a new interest in life. He began to take pleasure in showing his heir to the world. The world had known of his disappointment in his aons; so there was an agreeable touch of triumph iu exhibiting this new Lord Fauntleroy, who could disappoint no one. He wished the child to appreciate his own power and to understand the splendor of his position ; he wished that others should realise it too. He made plans for his future. Sometimes in secret he actually found himself wishing that his own past life had been a better one, and that there had been less in it that this pure, childish heart would shrink from if it knew the truth. It was not agreeable to thiak how the beautiful, innocent face would look if its owner should be made fay any chance to understand that his grandfather had oeen called for many a year * the wicked Earl of Dorincourt.’ The thought even made him feel a trifle nervous. He did not wish the boy to And out. Sometimes in this new interest he forgot his gout, aud after a while his doctor was surprised to find his noble patient’s health growing better than he had expected l io ever would be again. Perhaps the Earl grew better because the time did not pass so slowly for him, and he had something to think of besides his pains and infirmities. One fine morning people were amazed to see little Lord Fauntleroy riding his pony with another companion than Wilkins. This new companion rode a tall, powerful gray horse, aud was no other than the Earl himself. It was, in fact, Fauntleroy who suggested this plan. As he had been on the point of mounting hia pony he had said rather wistfully to his grandfather : ‘ I wish you were going with me. When I go away I feel lonely because you are left all by yourself in such a big castle. I wish you could ride too.’

And the greatest excitement was aroused in the stable a few minutes later by the arrival of an order that Selim was to be saddled for the Earl. After that Selim was saddled almost every day ; and the people became accustomed to the sight of the tall gray horse carrying the tall gray old man, with his handsome, fierce, eagle face, by the side of the brown pony which bore little Lord Fauntleroy. And in their rides together through the green lanes and pretty country roads the two riders became more intimate than ever. And gradually the old man heard a great deal about * Dearest ’ and her life. As Fauntleroy trotted by the big horse he chatted gayly. There could not well have been a brighter little comrade, his nature was so happy. It was he who talked the moat. The Earl often was silent, listening and watching the joyous, glowing face. Sometimes he would tell his young

companion to set the pony off at a gallop, and when the little fellow clashed off, sitting so straight and fearless, he would watch the boy with a gleam of pride and pleasure in his eyes ; aud Fauntleroy, when, after such a dash, he came hack waving his cup with a laughing shout, always felt that ho and his grandfather were very good friends indeed.

One thing that the Earl discovered was that his son’s wife did not lead an idle life. It was uot very long before he learned that the poor people kuew her very well indeed. When there was sickness or sorrow or poverty in any house, the little brougham often stood before the door.

*Do you know,’ said Fauntleroy onoo, * they all say, “ God bless you ! ’ when they see her, aud the children are glad. There are some who go to her house to be taught to sew. She says that she feels so rich now that she wants to help the poor ones.’ It had not displeased the-Earl te find that the mother of his heir had a beautiful young face aud looked as much like a lady as if she had been a duchess, and in one way it did not displease him to know that she was popular and beloved by the poor. And yet he was often conscious of a hard, jealous pang when he saw how she filled her child’s heart and how the boy clung to her us his best beloved. The old man would have debired to stand first himself and have no rival.

That same morning he drew up his horse on an elevated point of the moor over which they rode, and made a gesture with his whip, over the broad, beautiful laudscape spread before them.

• Do you know that all that land belongs to me ?’ he said to Fauntleroy. ‘Does it?’ answered Fauntleroy. ‘How much it is to belong to one person, and how beautiful ! ’

* i/o you know that some day it will all belong to you —that aud a great deal more ?’ ‘To me ! ’ exclaimed Fauntleroy in rather an awe-stricken voice. ‘ When?’ * When I am dead,’ his grandfather answered. •Then I don’t want it,’ said Fauntleroy ; * I want you to lire always.’ * That s kind,’ answered the Earl in his dry way ; * nevertheless, some day it will all be yours—some day you will be the Earl of Dorincourt.’

Little Lord Fauntleroy sat still in his saddle for a few moments. He looked over the broad moors, the green farms, the beautiful copses, the cottages in the lanes, the pretty village, and over the trees to where the turrets of the great castle rose, grave and stately. Then he gave -a queer little sigh. A • What are you thinking of?’ asked the Earl. ‘ i am thinking,’ replied Fauntleroy, • what a little boy I am 1 and of what Dearest said to me.’ 1 ‘ What was it ?’ inquired the Earl. • She said that perhaps it was not so easy to be very rich ; that if anyone had so many things always, one might sometimes forget that everyoue else was not so fortunate, aud that one who is r.ch should be careful and try to remember. I was talking to her about how good you were, and she said that was such a good thing, because an earl had so much power, and if he cared only about his own pleasure and never thought about the people who lived on his lands, they might have trouble that he could help—and there were so many people, and it would be such a hard thing. and I was just looking at all those houses, and thinking how I should have to find oat about the people, when I was an earl. How did you find out about them V As hia lordship’s knowledge of his tenantry consisted in finding out which of them paid their rent promptly, and in turning out those who did not, this was rather a hard question. * Newick finds out for me,’ he said, and he pulled his great gray moustache, and looked gat his small questioner rather uneasily. * We will go home now,’ he added ; ‘ and when you are an earl, see to it that you are a better one than I have been ! ’ He was very silent as they rode home. He felt it to be almost incredible that he, who had really never loved anyone in his life, should find himself growing so fond of this little fellow, —as without doubt he was. A t first he had only been pleased and proud of Cedric’s beauty and bravery, but there was something more than pride in his feeling now. He laughed a grim, dry laugh tohimself sometimes, when he thought how he liked to have the boy near him, how he liked to hear his voice, ahd how in secret he really wished to be liked and thought well of by his small grandson. • l»m an old fellow in my dotage, and I have nothing else to think of,’ he would say tc himself ; and yet he knew that it was not that altogether. And if he had allowed himself to admit the trnth, he would perhaps have found himself obliged to own tnat the very things which attracted him, in spite of himself, were the qualities he had never possessed—the frank, true, kindly nature, the affectionate trustful .ess which could never think evil. It was only about a week after that ride when, after a visit to his mother, Fauntle. roy came into the library with a troubled, thoughtful face. He sat down in that highbacked chair in which he had sat on the evening of his arrival, and fur a while he looked at the embers of ' the hearth. The Earl watched him in silence, wondering what was coming. It was evident that Cedric had something on his mind. At last he looked up. * Does Newick know all about the people ?’ he asked. ‘ It is his business to know about them,’ said his lordship. * Been neglecting it—has he ?’ Contradictory as it may seem, there was nothing which entertained and. edified him more than the little fellow’s interest in his tenantry. He had never taken any interest in them himself, but it pleased him well enough that, with all his childish habits of thought and in the midst of all his childish amusements and high spirits, there should be such a quaint seriousness working in the curly head. • There is a place,’ said Fauntleroy, looking up at him with wide-open, horrorstricken eyes— * Dearest has seen it; it is at the other end of the village. The houses are close together, and almost falling down ;

you can scarcely breathe ; and the people are so poor and everything is dreadful 1 Oiteu they have fever, and the children die ; and it makes them wicked to live like that, and be so poor and miserable ! It is worse than Michael and Bridget 1 The rain comes in at the roof ! Dearest went to see a poor woman who live there. She would not let me come near her until she had changed all her things. The tears ran down her cheeks when she told me about it! ’ The tears had come into his own eyes, but he smiled through them.

' I told her you didn’t know, and I would toll you,’ ho said. He jumped down and came and leaned against the Earl’s chair. ‘ You can make it alright,’ he said, * just as you made it all right for Higgins. You always make it all right for everybody. I told her you would, and that Newick must have forgotten to tell you.' The Earl looked down at the hand on his knee. Newick had not forgotten to tell him; in fact, Newick had spoken to him more than once of the desperate condition of the end of the village known as Earl’s Court. He knew all about the tumble-down, miserable cottages. and the bad drainage, and the damp walls and broken windows and leaking roofs, and all about the poverty, the fever, aud the misery. Mr Mordaunt had painted it all to him in the strongest words he could use, and his lordship had used violent words in response ; and when his gout had been at the worst, he had said that the sooner the people of Earl's Court died aud were buried by the parish the better it would be, —and there was an end of the matter. And yet as he looked at the small hand upon his knee, and from the small hand to the honest, earnest, frank-eyed lace, he was actually a little ashamed both of Lari's Court and of himself. ‘ What ! ’ he said ; * you want to make a builder of model cottages of me, do you?’ And he positively put his own hand on the childish one and stroked it. * Those must be pulled down,’ said Fauntleroy with great eagerness. ‘ Dearest says so. Let us—let us go and have them pul sd down to morrow. The people will be so glad when they see you ! They'll know you have come to help them ! ’ And his eyes shone like stars in his glowing face. The Earl rose from the chair and put his hand on the child’s shoulder. * Let us go out and take our walk on the terrace,’ he said, with a short langh ; ‘ and we can talk, it over.’

And though he laughed two or three times again, as they walked to and fro on the broad stone terrace, where they walked together almost every fine evening, he teemed to be thinking of something which did not displease him, and still be kept his hand on his small companion’s shoulder. (To be continued.)