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<h1> LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY </h1>
<p><br/></p>
<h2> By Frances Hodgson Burnett </h2>
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<h2> I </h2>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"Dearest," he said, "is he well?"</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"'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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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!"</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"Did you ever know many marquises, Mr. Hobbs?" Cedric inquired,—"or
earls?"</p>
<p>"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!"</p>
<p>And he was so proud of the sentiment that he looked around proudly and
mopped his forehead.</p>
<p>"Perhaps they wouldn't be earls if they knew any better," said Cedric,
feeling some vague sympathy for their unhappy condition.</p>
<p>"Wouldn't they!" said Mr. Hobbs. "They just glory in it! It's in 'em.
They're a bad lot."</p>
<p>They were in the midst of their conversation, when Mary appeared.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"Come home, darlint," she said; "the misthress is wantin' yez."</p>
<p>Cedric slipped down from his stool.</p>
<p>"Does she want me to go out with her, Mary?" he asked. "Good-morning, Mr.
Hobbs. I'll see you again."</p>
<p>He was surprised to see Mary staring at him in a dumfounded fashion, and
he wondered why she kept shaking her head.</p>
<p>"What's the matter, Mary?" he said. "Is it the hot weather?"</p>
<p>"No," said Mary; "but there's strange things happenin' to us."</p>
<p>"Has the sun given Dearest a headache?" he inquired anxiously.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"Lords, is it?" he heard her say. "An' the nobility an' gintry. Och! bad
cess to them! Lords, indade—worse luck."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"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!"</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>He seemed not at all displeased.</p>
<p>"And so," he said at last, slowly,—"and so this is little Lord
Fauntleroy."</p>
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