LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY
BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT
I
Cedric himself knew nothing whatever about it. It had never been
even mentioned to him. He knew that his papa had been an
Englishman, because his mamma had told him so; but then his papa
had died when he was so little a boy that he could not remember
very much about him, except that he was big, and had blue eyes
and a long mustache, and that it was a splendid thing to be
carried around the room on his shoulder. Since his papa's death,
Cedric had found out that it was best not to talk to his mamma
about him. When his father was ill, Cedric had been sent away,
and when he had returned, everything was over; and his mother,
who had been very ill, too, was only just beginning to sit in her
chair by the window. She was pale and thin, and all the dimples
had gone from her pretty face, and her eyes looked large and
mournful, and she was dressed in black.
"Dearest," said Cedric (his papa had called her that always,
and so the little boy had learned to say it),--"dearest, is my
papa better?"
He felt her arms tremble, and so he turned his curly head and
looked in her face. There was something in it that made him feel
that he was going to cry.
"Dearest," he said, "is he well?"
Then suddenly his loving little heart told him that he'd better
put both his arms around her neck and kiss her again and again,
and keep his soft cheek close to hers; and he did so, and she
laid her face on his shoulder and cried bitterly, holding him as
if she could never let him go again.
"Yes, he is well," she sobbed; "he is quite, quite well, but
we--we have no one left but each other. No one at all."
Then, little as he was, he understood that his big, handsome
young papa would not come back any more; that he was dead, as he
had heard of other people being, although he could not comprehend
exactly what strange thing had brought all this sadness about.
It was because his mamma always cried when he spoke of his papa
that he secretly made up his mind it was better not to speak of
him very often to her, and he found out, too, that it was better
not to let her sit still and look into the fire or out of the
window without moving or talking. He and his mamma knew very few
people, and lived what might have been thought very lonely lives,
although Cedric did not know it was lonely until he grew older
and heard why it was they had no visitors. Then he was told that
his mamma was an orphan, and quite alone in the world when his
papa had married her. She was very pretty, and had been living
as companion to a rich old lady who was not kind to her, and one
day Captain Cedric Errol, who was calling at the house, saw her
run up the stairs with tears on her eyelashes; and she looked so
sweet and innocent and sorrowful that the Captain could not
forget her. And after many strange things had happened, they
knew each other well and loved each other dearly, and were
married, although their marriage brought them the ill-will of
several persons. The one who was most angry of all, however, was
the Captain's father, who lived in England, and was a very rich
and important old nobleman, with a very bad temper and a very
violent dislike to America and Americans. He had two sons older
than Captain Cedric; and it was the law that the elder of these
sons should inherit the family title and estates, which were very
rich and splendid; if the eldest son died, the next one would be
heir; so, though he was a member of such a great family, there
was little chance that Captain Cedric would be very rich himself.
But it so happened that Nature had given to the youngest son
gifts which she had not bestowed upon his elder brothers. He had
a beautiful face and a fine, strong, graceful figure; he had a
bright smile and a sweet, gay voice; he was brave and generous,
and had the kindest heart in the world, and seemed to have the
power to make every one love him. And it was not so with his
elder brothers; neither of them was handsome, or very kind, or
clever. When they were boys at Eton, they were not popular; when
they were at college, they cared nothing for study, and wasted
both time and money, and made few real friends. The old Earl,
their father, was constantly disappointed and humiliated by them;
his heir was no honor to his noble name, and did not promise to
end in being anything but a selfish, wasteful, insignificant man,
with no manly or noble qualities. It was very bitter, the old
Earl thought, that the son who was only third, and would have
only a very small fortune, should be the one who had all the
gifts, and all the charms, and all the strength and beauty.
Sometimes he almost hated the handsome young man because he
seemed to have the good things which should have gone with the
stately title and the magnificent estates; and yet, in the depths
of his proud, stubborn old heart, he could not help caring very
much for his youngest son. It was in one of his fits of
petulance that he sent him off to travel in America; he thought
he would send him away for a while, so that he should not be made
angry by constantly contrasting him with his brothers, who were
at that time giving him a great deal of trouble by their wild
ways.
But, after about six months, he began to feel lonely, and longed
in secret to see his son again, so he wrote to Captain Cedric and
ordered him home. The letter he wrote crossed on its way a
letter the Captain had just written to his father, telling of his
love for the pretty American girl, and of his intended marriage;
and when the Earl received that letter he was furiously angry.
Bad as his temper was, he had never given way to it in his life
as he gave way to it when he read the Captain's letter. His
valet, who was in the room when it came, thought his lordship
would have a fit of apoplexy, he was so wild with anger. For an
hour he raged like a tiger, and then he sat down and wrote to his
son, and ordered him never to come near his old home, nor to
write to his father or brothers again. He told him he might live
as he pleased, and die where he pleased, that he should be cut
off from his family forever, and that he need never expect help
from his father as long as he lived.
The Captain was very sad when he read the letter; he was very
fond of England, and he dearly loved the beautiful home where he
had been born; he had even loved his ill-tempered old father, and
had sympathized with him in his disappointments; but he knew he
need expect no kindness from him in the future. At first he
scarcely knew what to do; he had not been brought up to work, and
had no business experience, but he had courage and plenty of
determination. So he sold his commission in the English army,
and after some trouble found a situation in New York, and
married. The change from his old life in England was very great,
but he was young and happy, and he hoped that hard work would do
great things for him in the future. He had a small house on a
quiet street, and his little boy was born there, and everything
was so gay and cheerful, in a simple way, that he was never sorry
for a moment that he had married the rich old lady's pretty
companion just because she was so sweet and he loved her and she
loved him. She was very sweet, indeed, and her little boy was
like both her and his father. Though he was born in so quiet and
cheap a little home, it seemed as if there never had been a more
fortunate baby. In the first place, he was always well, and so
he never gave any one trouble; in the second place, he had so
sweet a temper and ways so charming that he was a pleasure to
every one; and in the third place, he was so beautiful to look at
that he was quite a picture. Instead of being a bald-headed
baby, he started in life with a quantity of soft, fine,
gold-colored hair, which curled up at the ends, and went into
loose rings by the time he was six months old; he had big brown
eyes and long eyelashes and a darling little face; he had so
strong a back and such splendid sturdy legs, that at nine months
he learned suddenly to walk; his manners were so good, for a
baby, that it was delightful to make his acquaintance. He seemed
to feel that every one was his friend, and when any one spoke to
him, when he was in his carriage in the street, he would give the
stranger one sweet, serious look with the brown eyes, and then
follow it with a lovely, friendly smile; and the consequence was,
that there was not a person in the neighborhood of the quiet
street where he lived--even to the groceryman at the corner, who
was considered the crossest creature alive--who was not pleased
to see him and speak to him. And every month of his life he grew
handsomer and more interesting.
When he was old enough to walk out with his nurse, dragging a
small wagon and wearing a short white kilt skirt, and a big white
hat set back on his curly yellow hair, he was so handsome and
strong and rosy that he attracted every one's attention, and his
nurse would come home and tell his mamma stories of the ladies
who had stopped their carriages to look at and speak to him, and
of how pleased they were when he talked to them in his cheerful
little way, as if he had known them always. His greatest charm
was this cheerful, fearless, quaint little way of making friends
with people. I think it arose from his having a very confiding
nature, and a kind little heart that sympathized with every one,
and wished to make every one as comfortable as he liked to be
himself. It made him very quick to understand the feelings of
those about him. Perhaps this had grown on him, too, because he
had lived so much with his father and mother, who were always
loving and considerate and tender and well-bred. He had never
heard an unkind or uncourteous word spoken at home; he had always
been loved and caressed and treated tenderly, and so his childish
soul was full of kindness and innocent warm feeling. He had
always heard his mamma called by pretty, loving names, and so he
used them himself when he spoke to her; he had always seen that
his papa watched over her and took great care of her, and so he
learned, too, to be careful of her.
So when he knew his papa would come back no more, and saw how
very sad his mamma was, there gradually came into his kind little
heart the thought that he must do what he could to make her
happy. He was not much more than a baby, but that thought was in
his mind whenever he climbed upon her knee and kissed her and put
his curly head on her neck, and when he brought his toys and
picture-books to show her, and when he curled up quietly by her
side as she used to lie on the sofa. He was not old enough to
know of anything else to do, so he did what he could, and was
more of a comfort to her than he could have understood.
"Oh, Mary!" he heard her say once to her old servant; "I am
sure he is trying to help me in his innocent way--I know he is.
He looks at me sometimes with a loving, wondering little look, as
if he were sorry for me, and then he will come and pet me or show
me something. He is such a little man, I really think he
knows."
As he grew older, he had a great many quaint little ways which
amused and interested people greatly. He was so much of a
companion for his mother that she scarcely cared for any other.
They used to walk together and talk together and play together.
When he was quite a little fellow, he learned to read; and after
that he used to lie on the hearth-rug, in the evening, and read
aloud--sometimes stories, and sometimes big books such as older
people read, and sometimes even the newspaper; and often at such
times Mary, in the kitchen, would hear Mrs. Errol laughing with
delight at the quaint things he said.
"And; indade," said Mary to the groceryman, "nobody cud help
laughin' at the quare little ways of him--and his ould-fashioned
sayin's! Didn't he come into my kitchen the noight the new
Prisident was nominated and shtand afore the fire, lookin' loike
a pictur', wid his hands in his shmall pockets, an' his innocent
bit of a face as sayrious as a jedge? An' sez he to me: `Mary,'
sez he, `I'm very much int'rusted in the 'lection,' sez he. `I'm
a 'publican, an' so is Dearest. Are you a 'publican, Mary?'
`Sorra a bit,' sez I; `I'm the bist o' dimmycrats!' An' he looks
up at me wid a look that ud go to yer heart, an' sez he: `Mary,'
sez he, `the country will go to ruin.' An' nivver a day since
thin has he let go by widout argyin' wid me to change me
polytics."
Mary was very fond of him, and very proud of him, too. She had
been with his mother ever since he was born; and, after his
father's death, had been cook and housemaid and nurse and
everything else. She was proud of his graceful, strong little
body and his pretty manners, and especially proud of the bright
curly hair which waved over his forehead and fell in charming
love-locks on his shoulders. She was willing to work early and
late to help his mamma make his small suits and keep them in
order.
"'Ristycratic, is it?" she would say. "Faith, an' I'd loike
to see the choild on Fifth Avey-NOO as looks loike him an' shteps
out as handsome as himself. An' ivvery man, woman, and choild
lookin' afther him in his bit of a black velvet skirt made out of
the misthress's ould gownd; an' his little head up, an' his curly
hair flyin' an' shinin'. It's loike a young lord he looks."
Cedric did not know that he looked like a young lord; he did not
know what a lord was. His greatest friend was the groceryman at
the corner--the cross groceryman, who was never cross to him.
His name was Mr. Hobbs, and Cedric admired and respected him very
much. He thought him a very rich and powerful person, he had so
many things in his store,--prunes and figs and oranges and
biscuits,--and he had a horse and wagon. Cedric was fond of the
milkman and the baker and the apple-woman,, but he liked Mr.Hobbs
best of all, and was on terms of such intimacy with him that he
went to see him every day, and often sat with him quite a long
time, discussing the topics of the hour. It was quite surprising
how many things they found to talk about--the Fourth of July, for
instance. When they began to talk about the Fourth of July there
really seemed no end to it. Mr. Hobbs had a very bad opinion of
"the British," and he told the whole story of the Revolution,
relating very wonderful and patriotic stories about the villainy
of the enemy and the bravery of the Revolutionary heroes, and he
even generously repeated part of the Declaration of Independence.
Cedric was so excited that his eyes shone and his cheeks were red
and his curls were all rubbed and tumbled into a yellow mop. He
could hardly wait to eat his dinner after he went home, he was so
anxious to tell his mamma. It was, perhaps, Mr. Hobbs who gave
him his first interest in politics. Mr. Hobbs was fond of
reading the newspapers, and so Cedric heard a great deal about
what was going on in Washington; and Mr. Hobbs would tell him
whether the President was doing his duty or not. And once, when
there was an election, he found it all quite grand, and probably
but for Mr. Hobbs and Cedric the country might have been wrecked.
Mr. Hobbs took him to see a great torchlight procession, and many
of the men who carried torches remembered afterward a stout man
who stood near a lamp-post and held on his shoulder a handsome
little shouting boy, who waved his cap in the air.
It was not long after this election, when Cedric was between
seven and eight years old, that the very strange thing happened
which made so wonderful a change in his life. It was quite
curious, too, that the day it happened he had been talking to Mr.
Hobbs about England and the Queen, and Mr. Hobbs had said some
very severe things about the aristocracy, being specially
indignant against earls and marquises. It had been a hot
morning; and after playing soldiers with some friends of his,
Cedric had gone into the store to rest, and had found Mr. Hobbs
looking very fierce over a piece of the Illustrated London News,
which contained a picture of some court ceremony.
"Ah," he said, "that's the way they go on now; but they'll get
enough of it some day, when those they've trod on rise and blow
'em up sky-high,--earls and marquises and all! It's coming, and
they may look out for it!"
Cedric had perched himself as usual on the high stool and pushed
his hat back, and put his hands in his pockets in delicate
compliment to Mr. Hobbs.
"Did you ever know many marquises, Mr. Hobbs?" Cedric
inquired,--"or earls?"
"No," answered Mr. Hobbs, with indignation; "I guess not. I'd
like to catch one of 'em inside here; that's all! I'll have no
grasping tyrants sittin' 'round on my cracker-barrels!"
And he was so proud of the sentiment that he looked around
proudly and mopped his forehead.
"Perhaps they wouldn't be earls if they knew any better," said
Cedric, feeling some vague sympathy for their unhappy condition.
"Wouldn't they!" said Mr. Hobbs. "They just glory in it!
It's in 'em. They're a bad lot."
They were in the midst of their conversation, when Mary appeared.
Cedric thought she had come to buy some sugar, perhaps, but she
had not. She looked almost pale and as if she were excited about
something.
"Come home, darlint," she said; "the misthress is wantin'
yez."
Cedric slipped down from his stool.
"Does she want me to go out with her, Mary?" he asked.
"Good-morning, Mr. Hobbs. I'll see you again."
He was surprised to see Mary staring at him in a dumfounded
fashion, and he wondered why she kept shaking her head.
"What's the matter, Mary?" he said. "Is it the hot weather?"
"No," said Mary; "but there's strange things happenin' to
us."
"Has the sun given Dearest a headache?" he inquired anxiously.
But it was not that. When he reached his own house there was a
coupe standing before the door. and some one was in the little
parlor talking to his mamma. Mary hurried him upstairs and put
on his best summer suit of cream-colored flannel, with the red
scarf around his waist, and combed out his curly locks.
"Lords, is it?" he heard her say. "An' the nobility an'
gintry. Och! bad cess to them! Lords, indade--worse luck."
It was really very puzzling, but he felt sure his mamma would
tell him what all the excitement meant, so he allowed Mary to
bemoan herself without asking many questions. When he was
dressed, he ran downstairs and went into the parlor. A tall,
thin old gentleman with a sharp face was sitting in an
arm-chair. His mother was standing near by with a pale face, and
he saw that there were tears in her eyes.
"Oh! Ceddie!" she cried out, and ran to her little boy and
caught him in her arms and kissed him in a frightened, troubled
way. "Oh! Ceddie, darling!"
The tall old gentleman rose from his chair and looked at Cedric
with his sharp eyes. He rubbed his thin chin with his bony hand
as he looked.
He seemed not at all displeased.
"And so," he said at last, slowly,--"and so this is little
Lord Fauntleroy."
