MRS. BURNETTS FAMOUS JUVENILES.

ICCINO, AND OTHER CHILD STORIES.

SQUARE 8vo, $1.50.

&quot; The history of Pice ino s two days is as delicate as one of the anemones that spring in the rock walls
facing Ficcino s Mediterranean a study rather than a story of child-life. . . . The other stories in
l!u book have the charm of their predecessor in material and manner. . . . A delightful -volume, in fair
print, and furthermore embellished by Mr. Birch s graceful and sympathetic drawings.&quot; MRS. BURTON
HARRISON.

1TTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY.

SQUARE 8vo, $2.00.

**/ Little Lord Fauntleroy we gain another
charming child to add to our gailery of juvenile
heroes and heroines ; one who teaches a great
ifison -with such truth and sweetness that we
tart ivith him with real regret when the episode
is on-tr.&quot; LOUISA M. ALCOTT.

ARA CREWE.

SQUARE 8vo, $1.00.

&quot; Everybody was in love ivith Little Lord
Fauntleroy&quot; and I think all the world and the
rest of mankind will be in love with Sara Crewe?
The tale is so tender, so wise, so human, that I
wish every girl in America could read it, for I
think every on? would be made better by it.&quot;
LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON.

.IOVANNI AND THE OTHER.

CHILDREN WHO HAVE MADE STORIES.

SQUARE 8vo, $1.50.

Four of these stories, sad, sweet and touched
with delicate humor, are about little Italian waifs
n.&amp;gt;ko crept into the author s heart. Two of the
itones are of incidents in the lives of Mrs. Bur
nett s own boys: and the others, while varied in
tubject, have the same magic charm of disclosing
the beauty of child-life with a sympathy and
UHirmth of feeling the secret of which Mrs. Bur
nt tt alone seems to possess.

TITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH,

AND OTHER STORIES.

SQUARE 8vo, $1.50.

&quot; The pretty talc has for its heroine a little
French girl brought up in an old chateau in Nor
mandy by an aunt who is a recluse and a devote.
A child of tliis type transplanted suddenly to the
realistic atmosphere of New York must inevitably
have much to suffer. The quaint little figure
blindly trying to guess the riddle of duty under
these unfamiliar conditions is pathetic, and Mrs.
Burnett touches it in with delicate strokes.&quot;
SUSAN COOLIDGE.

Illustrated by REGINALD C B.

lU usrflT r

SO HE WENT TO SHOW IT HIS TROUSERS.

PICCINO

AND OTHER CHILD STORIES

FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT

ILLUSTRATED BY REGINALD B. BIRCH

NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER S SONS

1894

THE CAXTON PRESS
NEW YORK

CONTENTS

Two T)ays in the Life of Ticcino Tage i

The Captain s Youngest &quot;79

Little ^Betty s Kitten Tells Her Story &quot; 7/9

How Fauntleroy Occurred &quot;

M109755

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

&quot;So l/)e went to show it bis trousers&quot; Frontispiece

&quot; Piccino, who lay fast asleep&quot; p a g e ^

&quot; Piccino clung to the donkey, rubbing his cheek wofully

against her gray shoulder&quot; . . . . . /^

4t / am going to wash you myself, said Lady Aileen,

lifting him in her strong white arms&quot; .... &quot; 45

&quot; The girl stared at him&quot; &quot; 6/

&quot; I polished away at the Captains sabre&quot; &quot; 83

&quot;Miss Rose put her hands on his shoulders&quot; .... &quot; p^

&quot; And I shall always be fond of you, Rabbett&quot; ... &quot;

&quot; I did not like the swing at first&quot; &quot;

&quot;I left her lap and curled up in her arm&quot; .... &quot;

Faun tleroy s welcome into the world: &quot; F ow htm in

erfire!&quot; &quot; 757

viii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

His initial act of charity: &quot; Lady,&quot; he said, &quot;lady,

font door want b ead&quot; Page 165

&quot;I m very sorry for you, Mr. Weribam, about your wife

being dead&quot; &quot; 775

&quot; Are you in society, Mrs. Wilkins?&quot; &quot; 18 i

The real Fauntleroy listening to the story of the ideal

Fauntleroy &quot; 207

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

CHAPTER I

IF he lived a hundred years to be as old as Giuseppe,
who was little Roberto s great-grandfather, and could

only move when he was helped, and sat in the sun and
played with bits of string if he lived to be as old as that,
he could never forget them, those two strange and dread
ful days.

When sometimes he spoke of them to such of his play
mates as were older than himself especially to Carlo, who
tended sheep, and was afraid of nothing, even making jokes
about the fores fieri they said they thought he had been
foolish ; that as it seemed that the people had been ready
to give him anything, it could not have been so bad but one
could have tried to bear it, though they all agreed that it
was dreadful about the water.

It is true, too, that as he grew older himself, after his
mother died and his father married again the big Paula
who flew into such rages and beat him and when he had to
tend sheep and goats himself, and stay out on the hills all

IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

day in such ragged jackets and with so little food because
Paula said he had not earned his salt, and she had her own
children to feed then he longed for some of the food he
would not eat during those two days, and wondered if he
would do quite the same thing again under the same circum
stances. But this was only when he was very hungry and
the mistral was blowing, and the Mediterranean looked gray
instead of blue.

He was such a tiny fellow when it happened. He was
not yet six years old, and when a child is under six he has
not reached the age when human creatures have begun to
face life for themselves altogether; and even a little Italian
peasant, who tumbles about among sheep and donkeys,
which form part of his domestic circle, is still in a measure a
sort of baby, whose mother or brother or sister has to keep
an occasional eye on him to see that he does not kill him
self. And then also Piccino had been regarded by his
family as a sort of capital, and had consequently had more
attention paid to him than he would have had under ordi
nary circumstances.

It was like this. He was so pretty, so wonderfully
pretty ! His brothers and sisters were not beauties, but he
was a beauty from his first day, and with every day that
passed he grew prettier. When he was so tiny that he was
packed about like a bundle, wound up in unattractive-look
ing bandages, he had already begun to show what his eyes
were going to be his immense soft black eyes, with lashes

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 3

which promised to be velvet fringes. And as soon as his
hair began to show itself, it was lovely silk, which lay in
rings, one over the other, on his beautiful little round
head. Then his soft cheeks and chin were of exquisite
roundness, and in each he had a deep dimple which came
and went as he laughed.

He was always being looked at and praised. A &quot; Gesu
bambino &quot; the peasant women called him. That was what
they always said when a child had wonderful beauty, their
idea of supreme child loveliness being founded on the pict
ures and waxen, richly dressed figures they saw in the
churches.

But it was \h.Q forestieri who admired him most, and that
was why he was s*o valuable. His family lived near a strange
little old city in the hills, which spread out behind one of
the fashionable seaside towns on the Italian Riviera. The
strange little old city, which was a relic of centuries gone by,
was one of the places the rich foreigners made excursions
to see. It was a two or three hours drive from the fash
ionable resort, and these gay, rich people, who seemed to
do nothing but enjoy themselves, used to form parties and
drive in carriages up the road which wound its way up from
the shore through the olive vineyards and back into the hills.
It was their habit to bring servants with them, and hampers
of wonderful things to eat, which would be unpacked by the
servants and spread on white cloths on the grass in some
spot shaded by the trees. Then they would eat, and drink

4 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF P ICC I NO

wine, and laugh, and afterwards wander about and explore
the old city of Ceriani, and seem to find the queer houses
and the inhabitants and everything about it interesting.

To the children of Ceriani and its outskirts these excur
sion parties were delightful festivities. When they heard of
the approach of one they gathered themselves together and
went forth to search for its encampment. When they had
found it they calmly seated themselves in rows quite near and
watched it as if it were a kind of theatrical entertainment to
which they had paid for admission. They were all accom
plished in the art of begging, and knew that the forestieri
always had plenty of small change, and would give, either
through good-nature or to avoid being annoyed. Then they
knew from experience that the things that were not eaten
were never repacked into the hampers if there was some one
to ask for them. So they kept their places quite cheerfully
and looked on at the festivities, and talked to each other and
showed their white teeth in generous grins quite amiably,
sure of reaping a pleasant harvest before the carriages drove
back again down the winding road ending at the sea and
San Remo, and the white, many-balconied hotels.

And it was through these excursion parties that Piccino s
market value was discovered. When he was a baby and his
sister Maria, who was his small nurse being determined not
to be left behind by her comrades toiled after the rest of
the children with her little burden in her arms or over her
shoulder, it was observed that \^ forestieri always saw the

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 5

pretty round black baby head and big soft dark eyes before
they saw anything else, and their attention once attracted
by Piccino very pleasant things were often the result. The
whole party got more cakes and sandwiches and legs of
chickens and backs of little birds, and when bits of silver
were given to Maria for Piccino, Maria herself sometim.es
-even had whole francs given to her, because it was she who
was his sister and took care of him. And then, having
begun giving, the good-natured ones among the party of
ladies and gentlemen did not like to quite neglect the other
children, and so scattered soldi among them, so that some
times they all returned to Ceriani feeling that they had
done a good day s work. Their idea of a good day s work
was one when they had not run after carriages for nothing,
or had heads shaken at them when they held out their hands
and called imploringly, &quot;Uno soldino, bella signora bella
signora ! &quot; Piccino had been born one of the class which in
its childhood and often even later never fails in the belief
that the English and Americans who come to the beautiful
Riviera come there to be begged from, or in some way
beguiled out of their small coin.

Maria was a sharp child. She had not lugged her little
brothers and sisters about all through the working time of
her twelve years without learning a few things. She very
soon found out what it was that brought in the soldi and the
nice scraps from the hampers.

&quot;It is Piccino they give things to ecco!&quot; she said.

6 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

&quot;They see his eyes and they want to look at him and touch
his cheeks. They like to see the dimples come when he-
laughs. They would not look at me like that, or at you,
Carmela. They would not come near us.&quot;

This was quite true. The row of little spectators watch
ing the picnics might be picturesque, but it was exceedingly
dirty, and not made up of the material it is quite safe to
come near. It was a belief current among the parties who
drove up from San Remo that soap had never been heard
of in the vicinity of Ceriani and that water was avoided as
a poisonous element, and this belief was not founded upon
mere nothings.

&quot; They are as dirty as they are cheerful and impudent,&quot;
some one had said, &quot; and that is saying a great deal. I
wonder what would happen if one of them were caught and
washed all over.&quot;

Nobody could have been dirtier than Piccino was. Pretty
as he looked, there were days when the most enthusiastic
of the ladies dare not have taken him in her arms. In
fact, there were very few days when any one would have
liked to go quite that far or any farther, indeed, than
looking at his velvet eyes and throwing him soldi and
cakes. But his eyes always won him the soldi and cakes,
and the older he grew the more he gained, so that not
only Maria and her companions, but his mother herself,
began to look upon him as a source of revenue.

&quot;If he can only sing when he grows a little older,&quot; his

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 7

mother said, &quot; he can fill his pockets full by going and
singing before the hotels and in the gardens of the villas.
Every one will give him something. They are a queer
lot, these foreigners, who are willing to give good money
to a child because he has long eyelashes. His are long
enough, thanks to the Virgin ! Sometimes I wonder they
are not in his way.&quot;

His mother was the poorest of the poor. She had seven
children, and a mere hovel to put them in, and nothing to
feed and clothe them with. Her husband was a good-for-
nothing, who never worked if he could help it, and who,
if he earned a few soldi, got rid of them at once before
they could be scolded out of him and spent on such ex-
travaeances as food and fire. If Piccino had not been a

little Italian peasant he would, no doubt, have starved to
death or died of cold long before he had his adventure ;
but on the Riviera the sun shines and the air is soft, and
people seem born with a sort of gay carelessness of most
things that trouble the serious world.

As for Piccino, he was as happy as a soft little rabbit
or a young bird or a baby fawn. When he was old enough
to run about, he had the most beautiful days. They seemed
to him to be made up of warm sunshine and warm grass,
flowers looking at him as he toddled round, light filtering
through vines and the branches of olive-trees, nice black
bread and figs, which he lay on his back and munched de
lightedly, and days when Maria dragged him along the road

S TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

to some green place where grand people sat and ate good
things, and who afterwards gave him cakes and delicious
little bones and soldi, saying over and over again to each
other that he was the prettiest little boy they had ever
seen, and had the most beautiful eyes, and oh ! his eye
lashes !

&quot; Look at his eyelashes ! &quot; they would exclaim. &quot; They
are as thick as rushes round a pool, and they must be half
an inch long/

Sometimes Piccino got rather tired of his eyelashes,
and wore a resigned expression, but he was little Italian
enough to feel that they must be rather a good thing,
as they brought such luck. Once, indeed, a man came all
by himself to Ceriani, and persuaded his mother to make
him sit on a stone while he put him in a picture, and
when it was over he gave his mother several francs, and
she was delighted ; but Piccino was not so pleased, because
he had thought it rather tiresome to sit so long on one
stone.

This was the year before the dreadful two days came.

When they came he had been put into queer little
trousers, which were much too big for him. One of his
brothers had outgrown them and given them good wear.
They were, in fact, as ragged as they were big, and as
dirty as they were ragged ; but Piccino was very proud
of them. He went and showed them to the donkey,
whose tumble-down sleeping apartment was next to his

PICCINO, WHO LAY FAST ASLEEP

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO n

own, and who was his favorite playmate and companion.
It was such a little donkey, but such a good one ! It
could carry a burden almost as big as its stable, and it
had soft, furry ears and soft, furry sides, and eyes and
eyelashes as pretty for a donkey as Piccino s were for
a boy. It was nearly always at work, but when it was
at home Piccino was nearly always with it. On wet and
cold days he stayed with it in its tiny, broken stable,
playing and talking to it ; and many a day he had fallen
asleep with his curly head on its warm little fuzzy side.
When it was fine they strolled about together and were
companions, the donkey cropping the grass and Piccino
pretending it was a little flock of sheep, and that he was
big enough to be a shepherd. In the middle of the night
he used to like to waken and hear it move and make little
sounds. It was so close to him that he felt as if they
slept together.

So he went to show it his trousers, of course.

&quot; Now I am a man,&quot; he said, and he stood close by
its head, and the two pairs of lustrous eyes looked affection
ately into each other.

After that they sauntered out together into the beauti
ful early morning. When Piccino was with the donkey his
mother and Maria knew he was quite safe and so was the
donkey, so they were allowed to ramble about. They never
went far, it is true. Piccino was too little, and besides,
there were such nice little rambles quite near. This time

12 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

was the loveliest of all the year. The sun was sweetly
warm, but not hot, and there were anemones and flaming
wild tulips in the grass.

Piccino did not know how long they were out together
before Maria came to find them. The donkey had a beau
tiful breakfast, and Piccino ate his piece of black bread
without anything to add to its flavor, because his mother
was at the time in great trouble and very poor, and there
was scarcely the bread itself to eat. Piccino toddled along
quite peacefully, however, and when he came upon a space
where there were red and yellow tulips swaying in the
soft air he broke off a fine handful, and when the donkey
lay down he sat by it and began to stick the beautiful,
flaring things round his hat, as he had seen Maria stick
things round hers. It was a torn, soft felt hat, with a
pointed crown and a broad rim, and when he put it on
again, with its adornment of red and yellow flowers sticking
up and down, and falling on his soft, thick curls, he was a
strangely beautiful little thing to see, and so like a picture
that he scarcely seemed like a real child at all, but like a
lovely, fantastic little being some artist had arranged to
put on canvas.

He was sitting in this way, looking out to where he
could see a bit of blue sea through a break in the hills,
when Maria came running towards him.

&quot;The donkey! &quot;she cried, &quot;the donkey!&quot;

She had been crying and looked excited, and took him

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 13

by the hand, dragging him towards home. His legs were
so short and he was so little that it always seemed as
if she dragged him. She was an excitable child, and always
went fast when she had an object in view. Piccino was
used to excitement. They all shouted and screamed and
gesticulated at each other when any trifling thing happened.
His mother and her neighbors were given to tears and
cries and loud ejaculations upon the slightest provocation,
as all Italian peasants are, so he saw nothing unusual in
Maria s coming upon him like a whirlwind and exclaiming
disjointedly with tears. He wondered, however, what the
donkey could have to do with it, and evidently the donkey
wondered too, for she got up and trotted after them down
the road.

But when they reached the house it was very plain that
the thing which had occurred was not a trifle, or usual.

Piccino saw an old man standing before the door talking
to his mother. At least, he was trying to get in a word
edgeways now and then, while the mother wept and beat
her breast and poured forth a torrent of bewailing, mingled
with an avalanche of scolding addressed to her husband,
who stood near her, looking at once sheepish and ill-
tempered.

&quot;Worthless brute and pig,&quot; she proclaimed; &quot;idle,
wicked animal, who will not work to help me to feed his
children. It is only I who work and the donkey who helps
me. Without her we should starve starve ! And he sells

14 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

her poor beast ! sells her to get money for his wickedness
and gluttony. And I am to starve without her a fine
thing! And he brings to my door the thief he has sold
her to.&quot;

Baby as he was, Piccino began to understand. His father
had sold the donkey, and it would be taken away. He lifted
up his voice in a wail of bitter lamentation, and breaking
away from Maria ran to the donkey and clung round her
front leg, rubbing his cheek wofully against her gray
shoulder.

For an hour or so they all wept and lamented while their
mother alternately wept and raved. She abused her hus
band and the old man who had bought the donkey, by turns.
Stray neighbors dropped in and helped her. They all agreed
that old Beppo was a usurer and a thief, who had somehow
got the better of Annibale, who was also a drunken, shame
less brute. Old Beppo was so overwhelmed by the storm of
hard words and bad names raging about him that he actually
was stunned into allowing that the donkey should remain
where she was for two days, that she might finish some work
her mistress had promised to do with her aid. And he went
away grumbling, with his piece of rope over his arm.

There was nothing to eat in the house, and if there had
been, the mother was too prostrate with grief and rage to
have prepared anything like a meal. And so it seemed a
great piece of good luck when dirty little Filippo burst upon
them with the news that three grand carriages full of illus-

PICCINO CLUNG TO THE DONKEY, RUBBING HIS CHEEK WOFULLY AGAINST HER GRAY SHOULDER

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 17

trious-looking fores tier -i and inviting hampers were unloading
themselves at a certain turn of the road, where the grass
was thick and the trees big and close together.

&quot;Come!&quot; said Maria, catching at Piccino s hand. She
gave him a look over. His crying had left a flush in his soft
cheeks and a little pathetic curve on his baby mouth, which
was always like a tiny vermilion bow. His hat, with the
tulips tumbling round it, was set on the back of his head, and
the red and yellow things made his eyes look bigger and
lovelier than ever by contrast. In these respects Maria saw
that he was good for more cakes and soldi than ever. And
it would never have occurred to her that tears and rubbingf

against the donkey had left him dirtier than ever. In
Maria s world nobody troubled themselves about dirt.
Washing one s self amounted almost to a religious ceremony.
But ah ! that little love of a Piccino was dirty as dirty as
he was soft and dimpled and rich-colored and beautiful !

Near the place where the pleasure-seekers had spread
their feast upon the grass there was a low, rough, stone wall
at the side of the road.

When the servants had spread the bright rugs and cush
ions upon the ground the party sat down in little groups.
No sooner had they done this than one of the ladies looked
up and broke into a little laugh.

&quot; Look there ! &quot; she said, nodding in the direction of the
low wall, which was only a few yards from them.

And those near her looked and saw a little boy peasant,

1 8 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF P ICC I NO

sitting with his legs dangling, and gazing at them with the
interest and satisfaction of a person who has had the good
fortune to secure the best seat at a theatre.

&quot;He is a sharp one,&quot; said the lady, &quot; he has got here
first. There will be others directly. They are like a swarm
of little vultures. The Bothwicks, who have the Villa des
Palmiers, were here a week ago, and they said children
seemed to start up from the earth.&quot;

The servants moved about in dexterous silence, unpack
ing the hampers and spreading white cloths. The gentle
men sat at the ladies feet, and everybody laughed and
talked gayly. In a few minutes the lady looked up and
laughed again.

o o

&quot; Look,&quot; she said, &quot; now there are three ! &quot;
And there were six legs dangling, and the second and
third pair were little girls legs, and their owners looked on
at the strangers with cheerful composure, as if their assist
ance at the festive scene were the most proper and natural
thing in the world.

The lady who had seen them first was a tall and hand
some Englishwoman. She had big coils of reddish-brown
hair, and large bright eyes which looked restless and tired
at the same time. Everybody seemed to pay her a great
deal of attention. The party was hers, the carriages were
hers, the big footmen were hers. Her guests called her
Lady Aileen. She was a very rich young widow with no
children, and though she had everything that wealth and

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 19

rank could give she found it rather hard to amuse herself.
Perhaps this was because she had given everything to Lady
Aileen Chalmer that she could, and it had not yet occurred
to her that any one else in the world was any affair of hers.

&quot; The Bothwicks came home in raptures over a child
they had seen,&quot; she said ; &quot;they talked of him until it was
fatiguing. They said he was as dirty as a pig and as beauti
ful as an angel. The rest of the children seemed to use him
as a bait. I wish they would bring him to-day.; I should
like to see him. I must say I don t believe he was as
beautiful as they said. You know Mary Bothwick is by
way of being artistic, and is given to raptures.&quot;

&quot; Are you fond of children, Lady Aileen ? &quot; asked the
man nearest to her.

&quot; I don t know,&quot; she answered, &quot; I never had one. But
I think they are amusing. And these little Italian beggars
are sometimes very handsome. Perhaps I should not be
so bored if I had a very good-looking child. I should want
a boy. I believe I will buy one from a peasant some day.
They will give you anything for money.&quot; She turned her
face a little, and laughed as she had done before.

&quot; There are quite twelve on the wall now,&quot; she said,
&quot;perhaps more. I must count them.&quot; When they counted
them they found there were fourteen, all in a row, all
with dangling feet, all dirty, and all staring at what was
going on with a composure which had no shadow of embar
rassment touching it.

20 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

The row having gained in numbers was also beginning
to be a little more lively. The young spectators had begun
to exchange conversational and lively remarks upon the
party, the big footmen, and the inviting things being handed
about and eaten.

In ten minutes from that time Lady Aileen counted
again and found there were twenty-two lookers-on, and
when she reached the twenty-first she gave a slight start.

&quot; Dear me ! &quot; she exclaimed, and laid down her fork.

&quot; What is it, Lady Aileen ? &quot; asked a girl who sat at
her side.

&quot; I am perfectly certain the twenty-first one is the
child the Bothwicks were talking about. And he is a hand
some creature ! &quot;

&quot; Which one?&quot; the girl exclaimed, leaning forward to
look. &quot; The twenty-first. Oh, I am sure you mean the
one next to the end. What a beauty ! Mr. Gordon, look
at him ! &quot;

And Maria had the encouragement of seeing half a
dozen people turn to look at Piccino sitting by her on the
wall, a marvel of soft roundness and rich color, his velvet
eyes dreamily wide open as he gazed fixedly at the good
things to eat, his crimson bow of a mouth with parted lips,
his flaming tulips nodding round his torn felt hat.

Lady Aileen looked quite interested.

&quot; I never saw such a beautiful little animal,&quot; she said.
&quot; I had no idea children were ever really like that. He

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 21

looks as if he had been deliberately made to order. But
I should never have had the imagination to order anything
so perfect.&quot;

In a very few minutes everybody was looking at him
and discussing him. Maria saw them and all the other
children saw them, and the whole party began to congrat
ulate itself and feel its spirits exhilarated, because it knew
how the matter would end. The only one who was not
exactly exhilarated was, it must be confessed, Piccino him
self. He felt a certain shy awkwardness when he was
looked at and talked about so much. He was not much
more than a baby, after all, and he liked the cakes and
little birds backs much better than he liked being looked
at by so many grand ladies and gentlemen all at once.
Perhaps, too, if the truth were told, he was not as thrifty
as Maria and her companions. He liked the good things,
but he did not like to ask for them, whereas the others did
not object to begging at all. It was second nature to
them.

On this occasion Maria, seeing what effect he had pro
duced, wanted to lift him down from the wall and put him
on the grass, and make him go among the signori and hold
out his hand.

But he clung to her and shook his head and stuck out
his vermilion under lip, and would not go.

It was when he was doing this and Maria was whispering
to him, and scolding and coaxing, that Lady Aileen called

22 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

to one of her footmen and told him to bring her a plate
ful of cakes and some marrons glaces.

&quot; Does your ladyship wish me to take them to the
beggar children ? &quot; asked Thomas, his distaste suppressed
by respectful civility.

&quot; No,&quot; Lady Aileen answered, rising to her feet. &quot; I
am going to take them myself.&quot;

&quot;Yes, my lady,&quot; said Thomas, and stepped back. &quot;It
would have been safer to have let me do it,&quot; he re
marked in a discreet undertone when he returned to his
fellows. &quot; Ladies dresses are more liable to touch
them by accident ; and one wouldn t want to toitch
them.&quot;

Lady Aileen carried her plate to the line of spectators
on the wall. Mr. Gordon and two or three others of the
party followed her. All along the row eyes began to glis
ten and mouths to water, but Lady Aileen went straight
to Piccino. She spoke to him in Italian.

&quot; What is your name ? &quot; she asked.

He hung back a little, keeping close to Maria. This
was just what he did not like at all that they would come
and ask him his name and try to make him talk. He had
nothing to say to people like them. He could talk to the
donkey, but then the donkey was of his own world and
they knew each other s language.

&quot; Tell the signora your name,&quot; whispered Maria, fur
tively pushing him.

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 23

&quot; Piccino,&quot; he said at length, the word coming through a
little reluctant pout.

Lady Aileen laughed.

&quot; He says his name is Piccino,&quot; she said to her com
panions. &quot; That means little one, so I suppose it is a
sort of pet name. How old is he?&quot; she asked Maria.

Piccino was so tired of hearing that. They always asked
it. He never asked how old they were. He did not want
to know.

&quot; He will be six in three months,&quot; said Maria.

&quot; Will you have some cakes ? &quot; said Lady Aileen. Pic
cino held out his horribly dirty, dimpled hands, but Maria
took off his hat with the tulips round it and held it out
for him.

&quot;If the illustrissima will put them in here,&quot; she said,
&quot;he can carry them better.&quot;

Lady Aileen gave a little shudder, but she emptied the
plate.

&quot;What an awful hat!&quot; she said to her friends. &quot;They
are quite like little pigs but he looks almost prettier with
out it. Look how wonderful his hair is. It has dark red
lights in it, and is as thick as a mat. The curls are like
the cherubs of the Sistine Madonna. If it were not so
dirty I should have liked to put my hand on it.&quot;

She spoke in English, and Piccino wondered what she
was saying about him. He knew it was about him, and
he looked at her from under his veil of lashes.

24 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

&quot; It would please me to have a child as handsome as
that about me,&quot; she said.

&quot;Why don t you buy him?&quot; said Mr. Gordon; &quot;you
spoke of buying one just now. It would be like buying
a masterpiece.&quot;

&quot; So it would,&quot; said Lady Aileen. &quot;That s an idea.
I think I will buy him. I believe he would amuse me.&quot;

&quot;For a while, at least,&quot; said Mr. Gordon.

&quot;He would always be well taken care of,&quot; said her
ladyship, with a practical air. &quot;He would be infinitely
better off than he is now.&quot;

* # # # #

She was a person who through all her life had cultivated
the habit of getting all she had a fancy for. If one culti
vates the habit, and has plenty of money, there are not
many things one cannot have. There are some, it is true,
but not many. Lady Aileen had not found many. Just
now she was rather more bored than usual. Before she had
left England something had occurred which had rather
troubled her. In fact, she had come to the Riviera to forget
it in change of surroundings. She had been to Monte Carlo
and had found it too exciting and not new enough, as she
had been there often before. She had been to Nice, and
had said it was too much like a seaside Paris, and that
there were so many English people that walking down the
Promenade des Anglais was like walking down Bond Street.
She had tried San Remo because it was quiet, and she had

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 25

a temporary fancy for being quiet, and then she had chanced
to meet some people she liked. So she had taken a snow-
white villa high above the sea, and with palms and orange-
trees and slender yellow-green bamboos in the garden.
And she had invited her new acquaintances to dinner and
afternoon tea, and had made up excursions. Still, she was
often bored, and wanted some new trifle to amuse her.
And actually, when she saw Piccino, and Mr. Gordon sug
gested to her that she should buy him, it occurred to her
that she would try it. If she had chanced to come upon
a tiny, pretty, rare monkey or toy terrier, or an unheard-
of kind of parrot or cockatoo, she would have tried the
experiment of buying it ; and Piccino, with his dirty, beau
tiful little face and his half-inch eyelashes, did not seem
much more serious to her. He would cost more money,
of course, as she would have to provide for him in some
way after he had grown too big to amuse her ; but she
had plenty of money, and she need not trouble herself
about him. She need not see him if she did not wish to,
after she had sent him to school, or to be trained into
some kind of superior servant. Lady Aileen was not a
person whose conscience disturbed her, and caused her to
feel responsibilities. And so, after the party had been to
explore Ceriani and the things that otherwise interested
them, she asked Mr. Gordon to go with her to the poor
little tumble-down house which Maria had pointed out to
her as the home of Piccino. Maria had, in fact, had a

26 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

rich harvest. Everybody had returned full of good things,
and Piccino s small pocket was rich with soldi.

&quot; I am going to carry out your suggestion,&quot; Lady Aileen
said to Mr. Gordon, as they walked down the road.

&quot;What was it?&quot; Mr. Gordon asked.

&quot;That I should buy the child.&quot;

&quot; Indeed,&quot; said Mr. Gordon. &quot;You find you can always
buy what you have a fancy for ? &quot;

&quot; Nearly always,&quot; said Lady Aileen, knitting her hand
some white forehead a little ; &quot; I have no doubt I can buy
this thing I have a fancy for.&quot;

It chanced that she came exactly at the right moment.
As they approached the house they heard even louder cries
and lamentations and railings than Piccino had heard in the

morning.

It appeared that old Beppo had repented his leniency
and had come back for the donkey. He would not let it
stay another night. He wanted to work it himself. He had
brought his piece of rope and had fastened it to the pretty
gray head already, while Piccino s mother, Rita, wept and
gesticulated and poured forth maledictions. The neighbors
had come back to sympathize with her and find out what
would happen, and the children had begun to cry and Anni-
bale to swear, so that there was such a noise filling the air
that if Lady Aileen had not been a cool and determined
person she might have been alarmed.

But she was not. She did not wait for Mr. Gordon to

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 27

command order, but walked straight into the midst of the
altercation.

&quot; What is the matter?&quot; she demanded in Italian,
&quot;what is all this noise about?&quot;

Then, after their first start of surprise at seeing the
grand lady, who was so plainly one of the rich forestieri,
Rita and all her neighbors began to explain their wrongs at
once. They praised the donkey and reviled Annibale, and
proclaimed that old Beppo was a malefactor without a soul,
and a robber of the widow and the fatherless.

&quot;Far better,&quot; cried Rita, &quot;that my children should be
without a father. An idle, ugly brute, who takes their bread
out of their poor mouths. To sell their one friend who
keeps them the donkey ! &quot;

Old Beppo looked both sheepish and frightened when
Lady Aileen turned upon him as he was beginning to try
to shuffle away with his property at the end of his rope
halter.

&quot;Stay where you are!&quot; she said.

&quot; Illustrtssima&quot; mumbled Beppo, &quot;a thousand excuses.
But I have work to do, and the donkey is mine. I have
bought it. It is my donkey, illustrissima&quot;

Lady Aileen knew Italy very well. She drew out her
purse, that he might see it in her hand, before she turned
away from him.

&quot;Stay where you are,&quot; she said. &quot;I shall have some
thing to say to you later.&quot;

28 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

Then she turned to Rita.

&quot; Stop making a noise,&quot; she said. &quot; I want to talk to
you.&quot;

11 What could the illustrious signora have to say to a
wretched \voman ? &quot; Rita wept. &quot;All her children must
starve ; she must starve herself ; death from cold and hun
ger lay before them ! &quot;

&quot; No such thing,&quot; said Lady Aileen. &quot; I will buy your
donkey back, and give you food and fuel for the winter
for more than one winter if you will let me have what I

want.&quot;

Rita and the neighbors exclaimed in chorus. If she
could have what she wanted, the most illustrious signora !
What could she want that a hovel could hold, and what
could such poor creatures refuse her ?

Lady Aileen made a gesture towards Piccino, who had
gone to stand by the donkey, and had big tears on his
eyelashes as he fondled its nose.

&quot; I want you to lend me your little boy,&quot; she said. &quot; I
want to take him home with me and keep him. It will
be much better for him.&quot;

The neighbors all exclaimed in chorus. Rita for a
moment only stared.

&quot; Piccino ! &quot; she said at length. &quot; You want to take
him to make him your child ! &quot; And aside she exclaimed :
&quot;Mother of God! it is his eyelashes!&quot;

Lady Aileen shrugged her shoulders slightly. &quot; I can-

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 29

not make him my child,&quot; she said, &quot; but I will take care
of him. He shall live with me, and be fed and clothed,
and shall enjoy himself.&quot;

Maria clutched at her mother s apron.

&quot; Mother,&quot; she said, &quot; he will be a signorino. He will
ride in the carriage of the illustrissima. It will be as if
he were a prince.&quot;

&quot; As if he were a prince ! &quot; the neighbors echoed. &quot; As
if he were a king s son ! &quot; And they all looked at dirty
little Piccino with a growing awe.

Rita looked at him too. She had never been a very
motherly person, and these children, who had given her
such hard work and hard fare, had been a combined trial
and burden to her. She had never felt it fair that they
should have come upon her. Each one had seemed an
added calamity, and when Piccino had been born he had
seemed a heavier weight than all the rest.

It was indeed well for him that his eyelashes had begun
to earn his living so early. And now, if he could save
their daily bread and the donkey for them, it would be
a sort of excuse for his having intruded himself upon the
world. But Rita was not the woman to let him go for a
nothing.

&quot; He is as beautiful as an angel,&quot; she said. &quot; He has
brought in many a lira only because the forestieri admire
him so. His eyelashes are an inch long. When he is old
enough to sing

30 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

Lady Aileen spoke aside to Mr. Gordon.

&quot; I told you that I believed I could buy this thing I
fancied,&quot; she said.

To Rita she said :

&quot; Tell me what you want. I will give you a reasonable
sum. But you will be foolish if you try to be extortionate.
I want him but not so much that I will be robbed.&quot;

&quot; I should be a foolish woman if I tried to keep him,&quot;
said Rita; &quot; he will have nothing to eat to-night if he
stays here, nor to-morrow, nor the day after, unless a
miracle happens. The illustrious signora will give him
a good home, and will buy back the donkey and save us
from starvation ? I can come sometimes to the villa of
the signora and see him?&quot;

&quot;Yes,&quot; said Lady Aileen, practically, &quot;and the servants
will always give you a good meal and something to carry
home with you. You can have him back at any time if
you want him.&quot;

She said this for two reasons. One was because she
knew his mother was not likely to want him back, because
he would always be a source of small revenue. And then
she herself was not a person of the affections, and if the
woman made herself in the least tiresome, she was not
likely to feel it a grief to part with the child. She only
wanted him to amuse her.

How it was all arranged Piccino did not in the least
know. As he stood by the donkey his mother and the

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO .31

neighbors, his father and Beppo and the illustrious lady,
all talked together. He knew they were talking of him,
because he heard his own name, but he was too little to
listen or care.

Maria listened to good purpose, however. She was
wildly excited and exhilarated. Before the bargain was
half concluded she slipped over to Piccino s side and tried
to make him understand.

&quot;The signora is going to buy back the donkey,&quot; she
said, &quot; and give us money besides, and you are going back
in her beautiful carriage to San Remo, to live in her
magnificent villa, and be a signorino, and have everything
you want. You will be dressed like the king s son, and
have servants. You will be as rich as the forestieri?

Piccino gave her a rather timid look. He was not a
beloved nursery darling, he was only a pretty little animal
who was only noticed because he was another mouth to
feed ; he was not of half as much consequence as the don
key. But the dirty place where he ate and slept was his
home, and it gave him a queer feeling to think of tumbling
about in a strange house.

But Maria was so delighted, and seemed to think he
had such luck, and everybody got up a sort of excitement
about him, and he did not want the donkey to be sold, and
he was too young to realize that he could not come back
as often as he liked. And in the end, when the matter
was actually settled, he found himself part of a sort of

32 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

triumphal procession which escorted him back to the place
where the carriages were. His mother and Maria and
several of the neighbors walked quite proudly along the
road with him, and even old Beppo followed at a distance,
and the donkey, having been freed from the halter, and
taking an interest in her friends, loitered along also, crop
ping grass as she went.

Lady Aileen and Mr. Gordon had gone on before them.
When they reached the place where the rest of the party
was waiting, Lady Aileen explained the rather remarkable
thing she had done, and did so with her usual direct cool
ness.

&quot; I have bought the child with the eyelashes,&quot; she said,
&quot; and I am going to take him back to San Remo on the
box with the coachman. He is too dirty to come near us
until he is washed.&quot;

She was a person whom nobody thought of question
ing, because she never questioned herself. She simply did
what it occurred to her to do, and felt her own wish quite
enough reason. She did not care in the least whether peo
ple thought her extraordinary or not. That was their affair,
and not hers,

&quot; You have bought Piccino ! &quot; one of her friends ex
claimed. &quot; Does that mean you are going to adopt him ? &quot;

&quot; I have not thought of it as seriously as that,&quot; said
Lady Aileen. &quot; I am going to take him home and have
him thoroughly washed, however. When he is clean I will

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 33

decide what I shall do next. The thing that interests me
at present is, that I am curious to see what he will look
like when he has had a warm bath all over, and has been
purled with violet powder, and had his hair combed. I want
to see it done. I wonder what he will think is happen
ing to him. Nicholson will have to take care of him until
I find him a nurse. Look at his relatives and friends
escorting him in procession down the road. They have
already begun to regard him with veneration.&quot;

She beckoned to one of the men servants.

&quot; Greggs,&quot; she said, &quot;you and Hepburn must put the
child between you on the box. He is going back to San
Remo with me. See that he does not fall off.&quot;

Greggs went to the coachman, with a queer expression
of the nostrils.

&quot; We ve got a nice bunch of narcissuses to carry back
between us. Her ladyship says the boy is to go with us
on the box.&quot;

&quot;A nice go that is for two men that s a bit particular
themselves,&quot; said the coachman. &quot; Let s hope he won t give
us both typhus fever.&quot;

And under these auspices Piccino went forth to his
strange experience.

34 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

CHAPTER II

HE was too well accustomed to his dirt to think of it as
being objectionable, so the way in which Greggs lifted him up
on to the seat on the box did not at all explain itself to him.
He did not realize that in exactly the same manner the ex
cellent Greggs would have handled an extremely dirty lit
tle dog her ladyship had chosen to pick up by the wayside
and order him to take charge of.

But though he did not understand how he was regarded by
the illustrious signori in livery who sat near him, he was
conscious that he was not comfortable, and felt that somehow
they were not exactly friendly. His place on the box seemed
at an enormous height from the ground, and as they went
down hill over the winding road he was rather frightened,
particularly when they rounded a sharp curve. It seemed so
probable that he might fall off, and he was afraid to clutch at
Greggs, who kept as far from him as possible under the
circumstances.

It was a long, long drive to San Remo, and it seemed
longer to Piccino than it really was. San Remo to him
appeared a wonderful foreign country. He had never been
there, and only knew of it what Maria had told him. Maria
had once gone there in the small cart drawn by the donkey,

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 35

and she had never forgotten the exaltation of the adventure.
She was always willing to describe over again the streets,
the white villas, the shops, and the grand hotels.

Piccino was so tired that he fell asleep before the carriage
had left the curving road, but when it reached the city the
jolting of the wheels wakened him, and he opened his beautiful
drowsy eyes and found them dazzled by the lights. They
were not very bright or numerous lights, but they seemed so
very dazzling to him that he felt bewildered by them. If
Maria had been with him he would have clung to her and
asked questions about everything, but, even if he had not
been too much a baby and too shy, he could not have asked
questions of Greggs, who was sufficiently English to feel his
own language quite enough for a sensible footman. If the
Italians wished to speak Italian that was their own taste, and
they might bear the consequences of not being able to make
him understand them. English was enough for Greggs.

So Piccino was borne through the amazing streets in
silence. The people in the carriage had also become rather
silent, having been lulled, as it were, by the long drive
through the woods and olive groves. Lady Aileen, in fact,
had had time to begin to wonder if her new plan would
prove as satisfactory and amusing as she had fancied it
might. Mr. Gordon was quietly speculating about it him
self; the other man in the carriage was thinking of the Battle
of Flowers at Nice, and inventing a new scheme of floral
decoration for a friend s victoria. The only person who was

36 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

really thinking of Piccino himself was the girl who sat by
Lady Aileen. She was a clever girl, and kind, and she was
wondering how he would like the change in his life, and if
he had be^un to feel homesick.

The carriage had to go up-hill again before it reached
Lady Aileen s villa. It was a snowy white villa on an emi
nence, and it had a terraced garden and looked out over the
sea. When they drove through the stately gateway Piccino
felt his small heart begin to thump, though he did not know
why at all. There were shadows of trees and scents of roses
and orange blossom and heliotrope. And on the highest
terrace the white house stood, with a glow of light in its
portico and gleams in its windows. Poor little dirty peasant
baby, how could it be otherwise than that all this grandeur
and whiteness should alarm him !

But there was just one thing that gave him a homely
feeling. And oh ! he felt it so good that it was so ! As
they turned in at the gate he heard a familiar sound. It was
the hysteric sniffing and jumping and yelping whines of wel
come of a dog a poor, exiled doggie, whose kennel was
kept close by the gate, probably to guard it. He was fastened
by a chain, and evidently, being a friendly, sociable creature,
did not like being kept in this lonely place and not allowed to
roam with the world. He could not have friendly fights and
associates, and he could not rush about and jump on ladies
dresses and gentlemen s clothes and leave his dusty or muddy
affectionate paw-marks all over them. And so he was not

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 37

happy, and when he heard footsteps approaching always
strained at his chain, and sniffed and whined. As these
returning carriages belonged to his own domestic circle he
almost went wild with joy, and leaped and yelped and did
his best to make somebody speak to him. He was adoringly
fond of Lady Aileen, who scarcely ever noticed him at all,
but once or twice had said &quot;Good fellow! Nice dog!&quot; as
she went by, and once had come and looked at him and
given him two whole pats, while he had wriggled and fawned
himself nearly into hysterics of dog delight.

And so it happened that as the carriage turned into the
beautiful gateway Piccino heard this sound he knew that
loving, eager, pleading dog voice, which is as much Italian
as it is English, and as much peasant as it is noble. The
dogs in the hovels near Ceriani spoke just as Lady Aileen s
dog did, and asked for just the same thing that human
things should love them a little and believe that they them
selves love a great deal. And Piccino, who was only a beau
tiful little baby animal himself, understood it vaguely, and was
somehow reminded of his friend the donkey, and felt not
quite so many hundred miles from home and the tumble
down stable and Maria. He involuntarily lifted his soft,
dirty, blooming face to Greggs in the dark.

&quot;A chi il cane?&quot; he said. (Whose dog is that?)

&quot;What s that he s saying?&quot; said Greggs to the coach
man.

&quot; Must be something about the dog,&quot; answered Hepburn.

38 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

&quot; He said something or other about a carney, and carney
means dog. It s a deuce of a language to make out.&quot;

And so, not being answered, Piccino could only resign
himself, and, as the carriage rolled up the drive, listen to the
familiar homely dog sound and wish he could get down and
go to the kennel. And then the carriage stopped before
the door. And the door was thrown open by a liveried
servant, and showed the brilliantly lighted hall, where there
were beautiful pictures and ornaments, and curious things
hung on the walls, and rich rugs on the floor, and quaint
seats and bits of furniture about, so that to Piccino it looked
like a grand room.

Lady Aileen spoke to the footman at the door.

&quot; Send Nicholson to me,&quot; she said. &quot; Bring the child into
the hall,&quot; she said to Greggs.

So Piccino was taken down in as gingerly a manner as he
had been put up, and Greggs set him discreetly on a bit of
the floor not covered by rugs.

He stood there without moving, his luminous eyes resting
on Lady Aileen.

Lady Aileen spoke to her companions, but he did not
know what she was saying, because she spoke English.

&quot; He is exactly like some little animal,&quot; she said. &quot; He
does not know what to make of it all. I am afraid he is
rather stupid but what a beauty ! &quot;

&quot;Poor little mite!&quot; said the girl, &quot; I daresay he is
tired.&quot;

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 39

Nicholson appeared almost immediately. She was a neat,
tall, prim young woman, who wore black cashmere and collar
and apron of snow.

Lady Aileen made a gesture towards Piccino.

&quot; I have brought this child from Ceriani,&quot; she said.
&quot; Take him up-stairs and take his rags off and burn them.
Give him a bath perhaps two or three will be necessary-
Get his hair in order. Modesta can change my dress for me.
I shall come into the bathroom myself presently.&quot;

Piccino was watching her fixedly. What was she saying ?
What were they going to do to him ?

She turned away and went into the salon with her guests,
and Nicholson came towards him. She gave him the same
uncomfortable feeling Greggs had given him. He felt that
she did not like him, and she spoke in English.

&quot; Come up-stairs with me. I am going to wash you,&quot; she
said.

But Piccino did not understand and did not move. So
she had to take hold of his hand to lead him, which she
objected very much to doing. She took him up the staircase,
and through landings and corridors where he caught glimpses
of wonderful bedrooms that were of dainty colors and had silk
and lace and frills and cushions in them, and made him feel
more strange than ever. And at last she opened a door and
took him into a place which was all blue and white porcelain
walls and floors and everything else including a strange
large object in one corner, which had shining silver things at

40 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

one end. And she released his hand and went to the silver
things and twisted them round, and, as if by magic, two
streams of clear water gushed out and began to fill the blue
and white trough as the bed of a torrent is filled by the
spring rains.

Piccino s eyes grew bigger and more lustrous every
second as he stared. Was she doing this interesting but
rather alarming thing to amuse him ? Maria had never seen
anything like this in San Remo, or she would certainly have
told him. He was seeing more than Maria. For a moment
or so he was not sorry he had come. If the rich forestieri
had things like this to play with, they must have other things
as amusing. And somehow the water was hot. He could
see the pretty white steam rise from it. He came a little
closer to look. &quot; Nicola,&quot; as he called her in his mind, hav
ing heard Lady Aileen speak to her as &quot; Nicholson &quot; -Nicola
moved to and fro and collected curious things together a
white cake of something, a big, light, round thing made of
holes, large pieces of thick, soft, white cloth with fringe at
the ends, something these last which must be like the
things Maria had heard of as being used in churches by
the priests.

&quot;Che fai?&quot; (What are you doing?) he said to Nicola.

But she did not understand him, and only said something
in English as she took off her white cuffs and rolled up her
sleeves.

By this time the two rushing streams had splashed and

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 41

danced into the bed of the torrent until it was nearly full.
Nicola twisted the silver things as before, and by magic
again the rushing ceased and the clear pool was still, the
light vapor rising from it.

Nicola came to him and began to take off his clothes
with the very tips of her fingers, speaking in English as
she did it. He did not know that she was saying :

&quot; A pretty piece of work for a lady s maid to do. My
own clothes may go into the washtub and the rag-bag after
it. The filth of such people is past bearing. And it s her
ladyship all over to have such a freak. There s no end to
her whims. Burn them ! she might well say burn them.
The sooner they are in the fire the better.&quot; She took off
the last rag and kicked it aside with her foot. Piccino stood
before her, a little, soft, brown cherub without wings.

&quot; Upon my word!&quot; she said, &quot;he is pretty. I suppose
that s the reason.&quot;

Piccino was beginning to feel very queer indeed. The
rushing water was amusing, but what was her intention in

o o

taking off all his clothes ? That was not funny. Surely the
forestieri wore clothes when they were in San Remo. And,
besides, she had given his cherished trousers the beautiful
trousers of Sandro which had been given him for his own
a kick which had no respect in it, and which sent them
flying into a corner. His little red mouth began to look
unsteady at the corners.

&quot; Yes, that s the reason,&quot; she said. &quot; It s because he s

42 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

so pretty.&quot; And she picked him up in her arms and bore
him to the bath.

Piccino looked down into the blue and white pool which
seemed to him so big and deep. He felt himself being low
ered into it, and uttered a wild shriek. They were going
to drown him to drown him to drown him !

He was in the water. He felt it all around him nearly
up to his shoulders. He clung to Nicola and uttered shriek
after shriek, he kicked and splashed and beat with his feet,
the water leaped and foamed about him, and flew into his
eyes and nose and mouth.

&quot; Lasciatemi / Lasciatemi ! &quot; (Let me go ! Let me go!)
he screamed.

Nicholson tried her best to hold him.

&quot; My goodness ! &quot; she exclaimed, &quot; I can t manage him.
He is like a little wildcat. Keep quiet, you naughty boy!
Be still, you bad little pig, and let me wash you ! Good
gracious ! what am I to do ? &quot;

But Piccino would not be drowned without a struggle.

To be held in water like that ! to be suffocated by its
splashing in his nose and mouth, and blinded by its dash
ing in his eyes! He fought with feet and teeth, used his
head like a battering-ram, and shrieked and shrieked for
aid.

&quot; lo non ho fatto niente ! lo non ho fat to niente ! (I have
done nothing.) Maria ! Maria ! &quot;

And the noise was so appalling that almost immediately

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 43

footsteps were to be heard upon the stairs, swift movement
in the corridor, and the bathroom door opened.

It was Lady Aileen who came in, amazed, frowning, and
rather alarmed. The girl friend who had wondered if Piccino
would like his surroundings was with her.

Piccino threw back his head at sight of them and battled
and shrieked still more wildly. He thought they must have
come to his aid.

&quot;M amazza! M amazza! Aiuto ! &quot; he wailed.

&quot;Bless me, what is the matter?&quot; exclaimed Lady Aileen,
and came towards the bath.

&quot; He doesn t like to be washed, my lady,&quot; panted Nichol
son, struggling ; &quot; he seems quite frightened.&quot;

Suddenly Lady Aileen began to laugh.

&quot; Take him out for a moment, Nicholson,&quot; she said,
&quot;take him out. Isobel,&quot; to the girl, her words broken with
laughter, &quot; he thinks Nicholson is drowning him. Soap and
water are such unknown quantities to him that he thinks
that in this proportion they mean death.&quot;

Nicholson had lifted her charge out at once, only too
glad of the respite. Piccino stood, wet and quaking and
sobbing, by the bathtub.

Lady Aileen began to take off her gloves and bracelets.

&quot;Give me an apron,&quot; she said to Nicholson. And on
having one handed to her she tied it over her dress and
knelt down before her new plaything.

&quot; Little imbecile,&quot; she said in Italian, taking hold of his

44 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

wet shoulders, &quot; no one is going to hurt you. You are
only going to be made clean. You are too dirty to be
touched, and the water will wash the dirt off.&quot;

Piccino only looked up at her, sobbing. At least, she had
had him taken out of the great pool ; but what did she mean
by wanting his dirt removed by such appalling means ?

&quot; I am going to wash you myself,&quot; said Lady Aileen, lift
ing him in her strong white arms. &quot; Don t let me have any
nonsense. If you make a noise and fight I will drown you.&quot;
She was laughing, but Piccino was struck dumb with fear.
She looked so tall and powerful and such a grand lady, that
he did not know what she might feel at liberty to do in her
powerfulness.

11 It is only a bath,&quot; said the girl Isobel in a kind voice.
&quot; The water won t go over your head. Don t be frightened,
it won t hurt.&quot;

Lady Aileen calmly put him back in the tub.

Her white hands were so firm and steady that he felt the
uselessness of struo-ale. And if he fought she might drown

oo o o

him. He looked up piteously at the signorina with the
encouraging face and voice, and stood in the water, aghast,
and with big tears rolling down his cheeks, but passive in
helpless despair.

But ah ! what strange things were done to him !

The illustrious signora took the cake of white stuff and
the big porous thing, and rubbed them together in the water
and made quantities of snow-white froth ; then she rubbed

AM GOING TO WASH YOU MYSELF, SAID LAT&amp;gt;V AILEEN, LIFTING HIM IN HER STRONG WHITE ARMS

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 47

him over and over and over, then she splashed the water
over him until she washed the foam off his body, then she
scrubbed him with something, then she did strange things to
his ears, then she took a little brush and scrubbed his finger
nails covering them with the white froth and then washing it
off then she did the same thing to his feet and rubbed them
with a piece of stone.

Then she began with his head. Poor neglected little mop
of matted silk, what did she not do to it ? She rubbed it with
the cake of white stuff till it was a soft, slippery ball of foam,
then she scrubbed and scrubbed and thrust her hands in it
nd shook it about, and almost drowned him with the water
she poured on it. If he had not been so frightened he would
have yelled. But people who will do such things to you, what
will they not do if you make them angry! Under this ava-
lanche^of snowy stuff and this torrent of water a wild, despair
ing memory of Maria and the donkey came back to him.
Only last night he had fallen asleep in his corner among all
the familiar sights and sounds and smells, and without water
coming near him. And now he was nearly up to his neck in
it, it was streaming from his hair, his ears, his body he could
hear and see and taste nothing else. Oh ! could it be possible
that he had been all wrong in that first imagining that perhaps
the rushing streams were to amuse him ? Could it be that
this was all to amuse the forestieri themselves ? That they
had brought him to San Remo to make him live in water like
a fish? That they would never let him out?

48 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

Suddenly the magnificent signora lifted him out of the
pool. She set him streaming upon something soft and white
and dry, which Nicola had spread upon the blue and white
tiles of the floor.

&quot;There!&quot; she said. &quot; Now I think he is clean, for the
first time in his life. Nicholson, you may rub him dry.&quot;

She stood up, laughing, and rather flushed with exertion.

&quot; It has amused me,&quot; she said to Isobel ; &quot; I would not
have believed it, but it has amused me. Almost anything
new will amuse one the first time one does it. When you
have brushed his hair, Nicholson, put him to bed.&quot;

She laid aside the apron and picked up her gloves.

She went out of the room, smiling, and Piccino was left
to the big white cloths and Nicola.

What happened then was even more tiresome than the
bath, though it was not so alarming. He was rubbed as if
he were a little horse, and his hair received treatment which
seemed to him incredible. When it was dry, strange instru
ments were used upon it. The knots and tangles were
struggled with and dragged out. Sometimes it seemed as if
his curls were being pulled out by the roots, sometimes as
if his head itself was to be taken off. It seemed to him that
he stood hours by Nicola s knee, whimpering. If Maria had
been rash enough to attempt to subject him to such indig
nities he would have kicked and screamed and fought, but
in this wonderful house, among these wonderful people who
were all farestieri, he was terror stricken by his sense of

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 49

strangeness. To be plunged into water to be rubbed and
scrubbed to have the hair dragged from one s head who
would not be terrified ? Suddenly he buried his face in
Nicola s lap and broke into woful weeping. &quot;Voglio andare
a casa. Lasciammi andare a Maria ed il ciuco!&quot; (I want
to go home. Let me go home to Maria and the donkey !)
he cried.

&quot; Well, well, it is nearly done now,&quot; said Nicholson,
&quot; and a nice job it has been. And what I am to put you
to bed in I don t know, unless in one of her ladyship s own
dressing-jackets.&quot;

&quot;Voglio andare a casa!&quot; he wept. But Nicholson did not
understand him in the least. She went and found one of
the dressing-jackets and brought it back to the bathroom.
It was covered with rich lace and tied with ribbons; it was
too big, and he was lost in it ; but when Nicholson bundled
him up in it, and he stood with the lace frills dangling over
his hands, and his beautiful little face and head rising above
the great, rich ruff they made, he was a wonderful sight to see.

But he was not aware of it, and only felt as if he were
dressed in strange trickery ; and when he was picked up and
carried out of the room the beautiful trousers of Sandro
being left on the floor in the corner he felt that the final
indignity had been offered.

She carried him into one of the wonderful rooms he had
caught a glimpse of. It was all blue, and was so amazing with
its frills and blue flowers and lace and ornaments that he

50 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF P ICC I WO

thought it must be a place where some other strange thing-
was to be done to him. But Nicola only put him down on
a soft place covered with lace, and with a sort of tent of lace
and silk at the top of it.

She said something to him in English, and went away and
left him.

He sat and stared about him. Was it a place where peo
ple slept ? Did the forestieri lay their heads on those white
things ? Was this soft wonder he sat on, a bed ? He looked
up above him at the beautiful tent, and felt so lost and strange
that he could almost have shouted for Maria again. If she
had been there, or if he could have understood what Nicola
said, it would not have been so awful. But it was so grand
and strange, and Ceriani and Maria and the donkey seemed
in another world thousands of miles away. It was as if sud
denly he had been taken to Paradise, and had found himself
frightened and homesick because it was so far from Ceriani,
and so different.

Nicola came back with a plate. There were things to eat
on it, and she offered them to him. And then he realized that
a strange thing had happened to him, which had never hap
pened before in his life. There before him was a plateful of
good things things such as the forestieri brought in their
hampers. And he did not want them ! Something seemed
to have filled up his throat, and he could not eat. He, Pic-
cino, actually could not eat ! The tears came into his eyes,
and he shook his head.

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 51

&quot;Non ho fame&quot; (I am not hungry,) he whimpered. And
he poked the plate away.

&quot; I suppose he has been stuffed with cakes all day,&quot; said
Nicholson, &quot; and he is too sleepy. Good gracious, how
pretty he is ! &quot;

She turned down the frilled and embroidered sheets, and
gave the pillows a little thump. Then she picked Piccino up
again, put him into the bed and covered him up. He lay
among the whiteness, a lovely picture put to bed, his eyes
wide open, and shining with his awe.

&quot;Go to sleep/ she said, &quot;and don t be a bad boy.&quot;
And then she turned out the light and walked out of the
room, leaving the door a little open.

Piccino lay among the softness, his eyes growing bigger
and bigger in the dark. He was so little, and everything
around him seemed so large and magnificent. This was the
way the king s son was put to bed bundled up in a strange
garment, with lace frills tickling his ears and cheeks, and with
big sleeves which prevented his using his hands. And he
could not hear the donkey in her stable the donkey, who
must be there this very moment, because she had not been
taken away, but had been bought back from Beppo. Oh, if
he could hear her now ! but perhaps perhaps he never could
get to the stable again ; \hzforestieri the strange, rich lady,
would never let him ^0 back never !

A little sob broke from him, under Lady Aileen s dress
ing-jacket his breast heaved piteously, he turned and

52 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF P ICC I NO

buried his face upon the pillow, and wept and wept and
wept.

He cried so that he found he was beginning to make
little sounds in spite of himself, and he tried to smother them,
because he did not know what the forcstieri did to children
who made a noise perhaps held them under the rushing
streams of water. But just at the moment when he was
trying to stifle his sobs and prevent their becoming wails, a
strange thing happened. The door was pushed open and
some one came into the room. At least, he heard a sound
of feet on the floor, though he did not see any one even when
he peeped. Feet ? They were not Nicola s feet, but softer
and more pattering. He held his breath to listen. They
came to his bed and stopped. And then he heard something
else a soft, familiar panting, almost as familiar as the
donkey s stirring in the stable. He sat up in bed.

&quot; un cane &quot; (It is a dog,) he cried.

And the answer was a leap, and a rough, dear, hairy
body was beside him, while a warm, excitedly lapping, affec
tionate tongue caressed his hands, his face, his neck.

For in some mysterious way the lonely dog at the en
trance gate had slipped his collar, and in rushing through
the house to find some one to love and rejoice over had heard
the little smothered sobs, and come in at once to answer
and comfort him, knowing in his dog heart that here was
one who was lonely and exiled too.

And Piccino fell upon him and caught him in his arms,

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 53

dragging him close to his side, rubbing his wet cheeks upon
the rough, hairy coat, and so holding him, nestled against
and pillowed his head upon him, rescued from his loneli
ness and terror almost as he might have been if the dog
had been the donkey.

54 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

CHAPTER III

IT was a great comfort to go to sleep embracing and
embraced by a shaggy friend of one s own world, but when
the morning came it seemed that, somehow, to the forestieri
it appeared a different thing. When Nicola came in she
uttered an exclamation of horror.

&quot;The dirty little thing! &quot;she cried. &quot; Ah, my goodness,
he has been asleep all night with that dusty, muddy dog !
What will my lady say ? Look at his face, and the sheets,
and her ladyship s jacket ! &quot;

Piccino sat up in his silk and lace tent, holding on to the
dog. Something was wrong, he. saw, though he understood
nothing. What could it be ?

&quot; Get out!&quot; cried Nicholson, slapping the dog vigorously.
&quot; Get out ! How in the world did you get here ? &quot; and she
pushed the shaggy friend off the bed and ran after him,
driving him out of the room.

Lady Aileen met her on the threshold.

&quot;What is that animal doing here?&quot; she asked.

&quot; Indeed, my lady, I don t know,&quot; said Nicholson. &quot; He
never did such a thing before. He must have sniffed out the
child. He has been sleeping with him all night.&quot;

&quot; Sleeping with him ! &quot; exclaimed Lady Aileen. She

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 55

stepped into the bedroom and stood for a moment gazing at
Piccino.

The dog had been both muddy and dusty. Both Piccino
and the bed revealed unmistakable signs of the fact.

&quot; Dear me ! &quot; said her ladyship. &quot; Nicholson, take him at
once and wash him.&quot;

And so he was taken again into the blue and white
porcelain bathroom. He could not believe the evidence of
his senses when Nicola turned the silver things again, and
the streams came rushing forth. He stood and looked at her,
quaking. And she came and took off his fantastic nightgown
as she had taken off his rags the night before. And she lifted
him up and put him into the deep water again, and soaped
and splashed and washed him almost as hard as she had done
it the first time.

He began to feel stunned and dazed. He did not scream
or fight or struggle. He simply gave himself up and stared
into space. Moment by moment Ceriani removed itself
farther and farther. The dog had brought it nearer, but the
dog had been torn away from him. And here he was in
the water, being scrubbed once more.

He was taken out and rubbed dry, and Nicola left him for
a moment again. When she came back she carried white
things. She began to put them on him a strange little fine
shirt with lace, curious little short things for his legs not the
beautiful masculine trousers of Sandro, alas ! but short white
things trimmed with embroidery, and only just reaching to his

56 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

knees and then a petticoat ! Yes, it was a petticoat ! Just
as if he had never been a man at all. He pushed it aside, his
cheeks crimson with indignation.

&quot;Roba di donna! No! no! Dove sono i mid panta-
loni ! lo porto pantaloni ! &quot; (Not women s clothes! Where
are my trousers ? I wear trousers.)

Nicholson gave him a sharp slap. She was tired of
his Italian exclaiming.

&quot;You naughty child!&quot; she said, &quot;behave yourself!
I don t know what you mean, but I won t have it!&quot; And
so, in spite of himself, the indignity was put upon him.
He was dressed in roba di donna, just like a girl. And
round his waist was tied a broad sash, and round his
neck was put a lace collar, and on his brown legs short
socks, which did not reach his calves. And at his back
there was a big bow, and under his chin a smaller one ;
and combs were dragged through his hair as before, and
brushes plied on it. And when it was all done he stood
feeling like a mountebank, and dumb and scarlet under his
sense of insult.

Let him once get away let him once get away, and
he would show them whether they would get him again !
He did not know how far it was to Ceriani, but if he
could steal out of a door when no one was looking, and
walk back, they might take the donkey if they liked, but he
would scream and kick and fight and bite until they were
afraid to touch him, before they should buy him again.

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 57

This was rankling in his mind as Nicholson pulled him
after her down the staircase and through the hall to the
breakfast-room. Nicholson was getting rather cross. She

o o

had not been engaged as a nurse, but as a maid. And
she had had to go through all that scrubbing in the
evening, and in the morning had had to rush out and

o o

borrow clothes for the child to wear from one of Lady
Aileen s married friends, and she had not enjoyed having
to get up and take a walk so early.

But her grievance was not so deep a one as Piccino s.

When he was taken into the breakfast-room Lady
Aileen made him feel sulkier than ever. It was the way she
looked at him, though he did not in the least know why.
If he had been old enough he might have known that
to be looked at as if one was not a person, but only a
curious little animal, is enough to make any one rebellious.
She called him to her just as she would have called her
black poodle.

&quot; Come here ! &quot; she said.

He went to her, sticking his red mouth out.

&quot;What are you pouting for?&quot; she asked. &quot;What is the
matter, Nicholson ? &quot;

&quot; I don t know, my lady,&quot; answered Nicholson, with rather
acid respectfulness. &quot; He doesn t like to be washed, and
he doesn t like to be dressed. I suppose he s not used to
being kept tidy.&quot;

&quot;Kept tidy!&quot; said Lady Aileen, &quot;I should think not.

58 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

You look very nice in your new clothes,&quot; she added to
Piccino, in Italian.

&quot;Ma quest e sono vestite di ragazza&quot; (But these are girl s
clothes,) he said, pouting.

&quot; You will wear what I wish,&quot; said Lady Aileen. &quot; Nich
olson, give him some porridge. I am going to feed him
as English children are fed. Heaven knows how he- will
behave at table! I am curious to see.&quot;

It was only that she was curious to see.

And the queer breakfast was given to him ; not nice
black bread and figs, or pasta or salad, but oatmeal por
ridge, which he had never seen before. He did not like
it. It seemed sloppy and flavorless to him, and he would
not eat it. He pushed it back, and sat and pouted, and
Lady Aileen was amused, and sat and talked English to
the visitors who were at table with her, and they told each
other how pretty he was and how like a picture, and how
interesting it was that, in spite of being dressed like an
English child and given porridge to eat, he was still more
than ever nothing but a beautiful little Italian peasant.

And all the day was like that, and baby as he was he
raged within his little soul, knowing somehow that he was
only there to be looked at and remarked upon, and to amuse
them by being a curiosity.

They took him out in a grand carriage and drove him
about the town, taking him to shops and buying clothes for
him always roba di donna and when they were tried on,

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 59

and he looked angry, Lady Aileen laughed, and even the
men or women in the shops made jokes aside. He would
have liked to fly at them and kill them, but they were so
big and he was so little only Piccino from Ceriani.
v And then they took him back to the villa the poor dog
leaping and straining at his chain by which he was fastened
again when they passed the gate and his face and hands
were washed once more, and his hair combed, and he was
given more strange things for dinner. A solid underdone
English chop without sauce seemed a horrible thing to him,
and nursery rice pudding filled him with amazement. He
stared at the big potato Nicola put on his plate, and wondered
if he was to be made to starve.

&quot; Goodness, what does the child want?&quot; exclaimed Nich
olson. &quot; I am sure he has never had such a dinner set
before him before.&quot;

That was exactly it. He had lived on things so different
that this substantial nursery food quite revolted him.

He thought of himself only as a prisoner. He began
to feel empty and furious. He was possessed by but one
thought how he could get away.

In the afternoon he was dressed again in another girl s
frock and sash and lace collar and a lot of ladies and gentle
men came to see Lady Aileen. Her five-o clock teas were
very popular, and this afternoon every one wanted to see the
child she had picked up at Ceriani. People were always
curious about her whims. So Piccino was talked about and

60 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

examined and laughed over as the most charming of jokes,
and the more he hung back and pouted the more he was
laughed at, until his cheeks were crimson all the time, and
he would not eat the cakes people kept giving him, just as
they would have fed a parrot to make it talk, or a poodle to
make it play tricks.

&quot; He seems rather a sulky child,&quot; said Lady Aileen, &quot; and
he evidently detests civilization. He thought Nicholson was
going to drown him, and fought like a little tiger when she
put him in his bath. The watch-dog broke loose and came
and slept with him last night. He has hardly eaten any
thing to-day. I wonder if one could civilize him.&quot;

While all the gay people were drinking tea and chocolate,
and eating cakes in the salon, and sauntering in. groups
among the flowers on the terrace, some strolling musicians
came into the grounds. A man and woman and some
children, who played guitars and mandolins and sang peasant
songs, seeing the bright dresses and hearing the voices, were
attracted by them. At such places they often got money.

When they began to play and sing Piccino ran to the
window. They sang as the people at Ceriani did, and he
was w r ild to see them. When he saw them he wanted to
get near them. There was a boy, who sang with the father
and mother, and a girl about the age of Maria who was not
singing. It was she who went round to beg for money, and
she stood aside, calmly munching a piece of black bread.
She had other pieces of something tied in her apron, and

THE GIRL STARED AT HIM &quot;

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 63

she looked so like Maria did when she had begged some
thing good, that Piccino s mouth watered and a bold idea
came to him.

Everybody was so busy amusing themselves that for a
while he was forgotten. He glanced furtively about him,
and slipped out of a side door.

The next minute the girl who was like Maria almost
jumped. From among the rose-trees and palms she stood
by, there came a strange little figure. It was a child dressed
grandly, as if he belonged to the richest of the foresticri,
but he had a beautiful little dark, rich-colored face and
immense black eyes, and he looked at her only as one little
peasant looks at another, and he spoke in the Italian only
spoken by peasant children.

&quot; I am hungry,&quot; he said. &quot;. I have had nothing to eat.
Give me some of your bread.&quot;

The girl stared at him, bewildered.

&quot; Some bread ! &quot; she exclaimed ; &quot; do you live here ? &quot;

&quot; I live at Ceriani,&quot; he said ; &quot; I am Piccino. The signora
took me away. Give me some bread.&quot;

She broke off a big piece, still staring wildly. She had
a vague idea that perhaps he- would give her something for
it. In her apron she had a piece of Salame sausage, well
flavored with garlic, and she broke off a piece of that and
gave it to him too.

Piccino seized it and devoured it. Never in his life
had anything seemed so good to him. He ate like a little

64 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

wolf, alternate bites of black bread and sausage. His face
and hands became smeared and covered with grease, he
clutched his Salaine so hungrily and ate in such a hurry.

&quot; Don t they feed you?&quot; asked the girl.

&quot; They have lumps of raw meat, and I cannot eat their
pasta,&quot; said Piccino.

It was in this guise mutton chops, oatmeal porridge, and
rice pudding appeared to him.

Mr. Gordon, who was one of the visitors, chanced to look
out of the window. He put up his eyeglass suddenly.

&quot; Piccino is fraternizing with the little girl musician, Lady
Aileen,&quot; he said with a laugh, &quot;and they are eating bread and

sausage.&quot;

&quot; Horrors!&quot; exclaimed Lady Aileen.

She sent Greggs out to bring him in at once.

Greggs returned in a few minutes, bringing him, hanging
back reluctantly, his cheeks and mouth glossy with sausage
grease, and exhaling such fragrance that people became aware
of him as he approached, and stepped aside, making a
pathway.

&quot; Horrors ! &quot; said Lady Aileen again, &quot; he recks with gar
lic ! Take him away at once, Greggs. Take him to Nich
olson and and tell her to wash him.&quot;

And so for the third time that day Piccino was deluged
with soap and water. But it was not possible for Nicholson
to wash away the fragrance of the garlic. Even when he
shone with cleanliness outwardly, and had had still another

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 65

frock put on, he was redolent of it and perfumed all the air
about him. He was not, of course, able to translate the names
Nicholson called him, but he knew very well that he was
being called names. He had often heard Maria scolded at
home, but he had not been exactly used to ratings himself.
But he could not mistake Nicholson. She was in a rage, and
thought him a dirty, troublesome little pig. She had been
dressed trimly for the afternoon, and had been enjoying her
self looking on at the party in the garden, and to be called
to wash and dress again a greasy little peasant, smelling of
garlic, was more than her temper could stand. In fact, it
happened at last, at some movement of resentment of Pic-
cino s, she gave him a sound slap for the second time that
day.

He opened his mouth, gave one howl of rage, and then as
suddenly stopped. If he had been twenty-six instead of six
he would have stuck his knife into her, if he had had one.
He belonged to a race of people who used knives. As it
was, the look in his handsome eyes gave Nicholson a queer
feeling.

He could not be taken back to the salon, and Nicholson
did not intend to sit in the room with him and inhale garlic.
So she set him smartly in an arm-chair and left him, going
out and shutting the door after her. She was going to
stay in an adjoining chamber and look out of the window,
coming to give him a glance now and then.

And there he sat, breathing passion and garlic, after she

66 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

had gone. Upon the wall opposite to him there hung an
oval mirror with a frame of flowers in Dresden china. He
could see himself in it his beautiful little face, his flashing
eyes, and fiercely pouting mouth, his lace collar and bow,
and his vestite di ragazza altogether. He did not know he
was pretty, he only felt he was ridiculous- that they had
kept putting him in water, that the servants despised him
and did not want to touch him, that he had been scolded
and slapped, and that the donkey would not know him.
Suddenly big tears rushed into his eyes. Was he going to
stay here always and be put in water every few hours, and
called names, and have no one to play with, and never
understand anybody, and never see Maria and the donkey
never never ! The big tears rolled hot and angry as well
as miserable down his soft cheeks.

&quot; Voglio andare a casa ! &quot; he sobbed. &quot; Voglio andare
a casa ! &quot; (I want to go home ! I want to go home !)

When Nicholson came to look at him he was lying
against the cushioned arm of the chair, fast asleep.

&quot;Goodness knows I am not going to waken him!&quot; she
said. &quot; I shall let him sleep until I have had my dinner and
it is time to give him his. If her ladyship intends to keep
him she must have a regular nurse.&quot;

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 67

CHAPTER IV

IT was dusk when he wakened. Lady Aileen s callers
had departed some time ago, and Lady Aileen herself
had departed to take a twilight drive, which was a thing
she was fond of doing. The servants were enjoying them
selves in their own fashion in the kitchen, and all the
house seemed very quiet.

It seemed so still to Piccino when he slipped off his
chair and stood on his feet rubbing his eyes, that for a
moment he felt a little frightened. He was so accustomed
to living in a hovel crowded with children and only parti
tioned off from the donkey, that Lady Aileen s villa seemed
enormous to him. It was not enormous, but it seemed so.
He looked round him and listened.

&quot; Nobody is here!&quot; he said. &quot; Everybody has gone
away. Nicola has gone away.&quot;

He certainly did not want Nicholson, but his sense of
desolation overwhelmed him.

And then, as he stood there, there came a sound which
seemed to alter everything. It came through the window,
which was open, and which he ran towards at once. It
was the voice of the friend who had come to him the
night before the dog who lived .in the fine kennel at

68 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

the gate, and wanted human things so much, and was so
unhappy.

Piccino listened to him a moment, and his breath began
to come quickly. He turned round and went to the door.
It was not locked Nicholson had not thought of that.
It was easy enough to open, and when he had opened it
he made his way quickly towards the stairs.

He did not go out at the big front door at which he
had been brought in. That was shut, and he knew he was
too little to open it, but he remembered the side entrance
into the garden, out of which he had slipped when he went
to the girl who looked like Maria. He found it again and
passed through it, and was out among the flowers in a
moment, running quickly down the broad drive to the gate.

How the dog jumped and yelped and covered him with
caresses when he reached the kennel! He knew his small
bed-fellow again well enough. Perhaps, too, he liked the
fragrance of the garlic, which was still as perceptible as
ever. The two embraced and rubbed against each other,
and tumbled affectionately about, until Piccino was quite
dirty enough for the bathtub again. But there was to be
no more bathtub if he could help it. He wanted the
dog to come with him, though, and help him to find his
way ; and he fumbled and struggled with the chain and
collar until his friend was loose, and, finding that nothing
held him, began to race up and down in breathless rapture
and run in circles, darting like a wild thing.

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 69

Come,&quot; said Piccino, &quot; come with me. I am going
home.&quot;

He did not realize the number of chances there might
be that he would be caught and carried back into bondage.
He was not old enough to think much of that, but he just
knew enough to teach him that it was best to keep in the
shade when he saw any one coming. He trudged along,
keeping under trees and near walls, and he was clever
enough to do it until he turned off the highway which led
through the city. He passed by houses and shops and
villas and gardens, but at last he turned into the road which
sloped up among the olive vineyards, into the hills. Then
he felt that he was at home. He did not know that he was
still miles and miles away from Ceriani; he only knew that
the big trees and the little ones were familiar things, that
when he lifted his face he could see the sky he knew so
well, and that the wind that blew softly up from the sea
among his curls was something he seemed to have been far
away from during these last strange two days. These
things made him feel that Ceriani must be near.

He was used to running about and being on his legs
all day, or he would have been tired out long before he
was. When he did beein to be tired he sat down on the

grass, and the dog sat with him. In their own way they
talked to each other. Then they would get up and trudge
on.

They had rested and trudged on many times before he

yo TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

began to be really discouraged. But his legs were so short,
and in time he began to feel as if Ceriani was too far away !
Stars were beginning to come out, and he suddenly realized
that he was very little, and it had taken the big carnages of
\k& forestieri quite a long time to return to San Remo after
their picnic. He sat down suddenly and began to cry.

&quot; We can t find it ! &quot; he said to the dog. &quot; We can t find
it!&quot;

The dog looked very much grieved. It is probable that
he knew quite well what Piccino said. He shook his head
until his ears made a flapping noise. Then he pushed close
to Piccino and kissed him, lapping the salt tears off his
soft cheeks as they rolled down. He knew he could have
found the place all by himself, and got there without any
particular trouble, but he could not leave his friend, and
such a little friend, too, by the roadside. So he pressed
close to him and looked sympathetic, and kissed his tears
off cheeringly.

o J

&quot; We can t find it ! &quot; wailed Piccino. &quot; Maria ! Maria !
Maria ! Ma-ri-a ! &quot;

Up the curve of the road below there toiled a donkey
dragging a cart. It was one of the little peasant carts,
floored with a lattice-work of ropes, and there were three
people in it. They were a boy and two very young men.
They had been to z.festa, and the boy was fast asleep, and
the two young men were in very good spirits. They had
been dancing and enjoying themselves, and had had so

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 71

much wine that they were not quite sure of what they
were doing. They alternately sang songs and made jokes
and laughed at each other. One of the favorite jokes was
about a pretty peasant girl they had both been dancing
with, and as it chanced, her name was Maria. After a
good deal of such joking they had both been silent for
a while, being a little stupid with the wine they had
had, and quieted a little by the motion of the cart as
the donkey jogged along with it. It was very peaceful in
this place, with the gentle wind from the sea, and the
occasional rustle of the olives, and the stars shining sweetly
above the many shadows.

&quot; What are you thinking of, Pietro?&quot;said one to the
other at last, with a little laugh.

&quot; Maria! Maria! Ma-ri-a !&quot; wailed Piccino, a few hun
dred feet above them.

They both burst out laughing at once.

&quot; Of Maria ! Maria ! &quot; said Alessandro. &quot; The very trees
call out to you ! &quot; And they found this such a beautiful
joke that they laughed until the very donkey was afraid
they would roll off the cart.

By the time they stopped they were close to Piccino,
and, whether because she wanted a rest or from some queer
instinct, the donkey stopped too.

&quot; Maria !&quot; cried Piccino. &quot;Voglio andare a casa ! Voglio
an-dar-e ! &quot;

&quot; It is a child,&quot; said Pietro. &quot;It is lost!&quot; They had

72 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF P ICC I NO

had wine enough to be good-natured, and ready for any
adventure. Pietro got out of the cart and rather unsteadily
went to the side of the road, where Piccino sat crying with
his dog.

&quot; Who are you ? &quot; he said, &quot; and what are you doing
here ? &quot;

Piccino answered him with sobs. He was not so clear
as he thought he was, and Pietro and Alessandro laughed
a good deal. They thought he was a great joke all the
more when they saw how he was dressed. Their heads
were not clear enough to permit them to quite understand
what was meant by the childish rambling and disconnected
story about the forestieri and the water and Nicola and
the donkey, but they found out that somehow the young
one lived near Ceriani and wanted to get home to Maria.
They themselves lived not far from Ceriani, and if they had
been quite sober might have put this and that together
and guessed something of the truth ; but as it was, it hap
pened to seem enough of a joke for them to be inclined
to carry it out.

&quot; Let us take him in the cart as far as we go,&quot; said
Alessandro. &quot; He can find his way home after we leave
him. Perhaps he will talk to us about his Maria. She
may be prettier than the other one.&quot; And so he was
lifted into the cart, and the dog trotted joyfully by the
donkey s side. The two probably talked to each other
confidentially, and everything was explained between them

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF P ICC I NO 73

as far as the dog could explain it. At all events, he
could explain the loneliness of living in a kennel with a
chain round your neck, and grand people passing you,
laughing and talking, and taking no notice, however much
you jumped and whined and begged to have a pat and
a word, and not seeing that you loved everybody.

Piccino sat in the cart and leaned against Pietro or

the boy, and enjoyed himself. He answered questions
about Maria, and did not know why his rescuers laughed
at everything he said. Maria seemed a very mature
person to him, and he did not know that the young
men s impression that she was a pretty young woman
was not the correct one. Pietro had some good things
he had brought from the festa in a paper, and he gave
him some. That he was such a pretty, soft, rabbit-like
little thing, made things pleasant for him even when he
was picked up from the roadside by two young peasants
full of cheap wine. They laughed at his disconnected
babbling, and thought him great fun, and when he was
sleepy let him cuddle down and be comfortable.

He was very fast asleep when they wakened him,
having reached the end of their journey.

&quot;Here!&quot; they said, shaking him good-naturedly enough,
&quot; you can find your way to Maria now.&quot;

He stood unsteadily in the road where Pietro put him,
rubbing his eyes, and feeling the dog greeting him again
by jumping at him and kissing him.

74 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

&quot; Where is Maria?&quot; he said, sleepily.

Pietro and Alessandro were sleepy too by this time ;
they had almost had time to forget him while he was
asleep.

&quot;Go on and you will find her,&quot; they said. &quot; Ceriani
is near here.&quot;

When he saw the donkey led away Piccino was on
the point of crying because he was to be left, but before
he quite began he saw by the light of the moon, which
had risen since he fell asleep, a familiar tree a big-
twisted and huge-trunked olive he had sat under many
a time when he had strayed down the road with Maria.
It made his heart begin to beat fast and his rising tears
dry in their fountain. It was true! He was near Ceriani!
He was near home ! He could find it ! He began to run
as fast as his short legs could carry him. The white
villa and the grand signori who had joked about him
all day, the bathtub and Nicola and the dreadful pasta,
seemed as far away now as Ceriani and the donkey had
been this morning. The tears that had dried for joy
suddenly began to rise again for joy. He did not know
anything about it himself, but it was joy which made
him begin to choke this beautiful little savage peasant
who had been taken away to a world so much too grand
for him.

He ran and ran, and at every yard he saw something
that he knew, and felt that he loved it because he knew it.

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 75

The late moon shone down on him, a little white figure
running eagerly ; the trees rustled as he passed.

&quot; Maria ! Maria!&quot; he said, but he did not say it loud,
but softly.

And at last he had reached it his own dear hovel which
he seemed to have left a thousand years ago. He stood
and beat on the door with his little soft fists.

&quot; Maria ! Maria!&quot; he said, &quot; open the door! I have
come home. Let me in ! &quot;

But inside they slept the heavy sleep of worn-out peas
ants and of tired childhood. They could not have heard
him even if he had been able to make more noise. His
child hands could make very little. They slept so heavily
that he could hear them.

And there he stood in the moonlight, thumping on the
old door, unanswered. And the dog stood by him, wagging
his tail and looking up at him with such a companionable
air that he could not feel he was alone, and actually did
not begin to cry. At all events he had got home, and was
among the hills again, with the trees growing close around
him, and Maria and the donkey.

His whimper lost itself in a sudden sense of relief. Yes,
there was the donkey in her stable, and the door would keep
nobody out.

11 The donkey will let us in,&quot; he said to the dog. &quot; Let
us go in there.&quot;

And a few moments later the donkey was roused from

76 TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO

her sleep by something soft stumbling against her as she
lay down, and, being a donkey with a memory, she realized
that a familiar friend had come to her at this untimely hour,
and she knew the little voice that spoke, and the little body
which cuddled against her side as if she were a pillow, and
being also affectionate and maternal, she did not resent the
intrusion by any unfriendly moving.

And in the early, early morning, when Rita opened the
stable door and let in a shaft of the gold sunlight which
was lighting up the darkness of the olive-trees, the first
thing it shone upon was the beautiful, tired little travel-
stained figure of Piccino, who lay fast asleep against the
donkey s gray side, his arms around her neck, and the dog s
body pressed close and lovingly against his own.

Upon the whole, Lady Aileen was not very much sur
prised and not at all disturbed when it was found that he
was gone. She sent some one to Ceriani, and when the
news was brought back to her that he was discovered there,
she only laughed a little. In fact, she had found it too
tiresome an amusement to undertake the management of a
lovely little wild animal, to whom civilization only repre
sented horror and dismay. She sent Rita some money
not too much, but enough to make her feel quite rich for a
few weeks. For the rest, she only remembered Piccino as
part of an anecdote it was rather amusing to tell to those

TWO DAYS IN THE LIFE OF PICCINO 77

of her friends in London who were entertained by anec
dotes.

&quot; He thought we were savages or mad,&quot; she used to
say. &quot; I think he might have borne anything, perhaps, but
the bathtub. He said that we put him in water! &quot;

THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST

THERE never were another like him, that s certain.
I ve seen a good many young gentlemen in my day,
being in the army, and under officers as was what you
may call swells, and had families of their own, some of them,
but I never saw a young gentleman as could hold a candle to
Master Lionel ; no, nor as were fit to black his boots, for the
matter of that. And I knew him, too, from the time he
were a young gentleman in long clothes, being carried about
in his ayah s arms, and many s the time I ve carried him
myself, and been proud to do it. I had no children of my
own, though I d always been taken with them. I wasn t a
married man, and knew I never should be, for that matter,
after curly-headed little Maggie Shea died of the fever
that blazing hot year when the disease was like a plague
among us. She d given me her promise only a week before ;
and I never saw the woman I wanted after her. Sometimes
I ve thought I was fonder of the children because of it.
She had been fond of them, and like a little mother she was
to the seven that were sisters and brothers to her. And

82 THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST

there was a sort of reason Master Lionel was more to me
than the rest. I d known his father, Captain Dalgetty, in
his best days, when he first came out to India with his regi
ment at the time of the Mutiny, and won such a name by
his dare-devil bravery and determination. That was before
he offended his crusty old father by marrying pretty Miss
Rosie Terence, the drunken old Irish major s daughter,
who had nothing to her fortune but her dimples and her big
blue eyes and black lashes, except the coaxing ways that
drove the whole station wild with love for her. It were said
as Miss Rosie s mother sent her out to her father to make a
match, but if she did the old lady must have been terribly
disappointed, because no sooner did the captain s father hear
of the marriage than he sent for his lawyer, and sat down
then and there and made a will cutting the poor fellow off
with a shilling, and leaving all his money to hospitals and
churches.

So the captain and Miss Rosie began life on love and
short commons ; and, neither of them understanding econ
omy, made a good many mistakes, as might have been
expected. They didn t know how to contrive, and they got
into debt, and when the children came and expenses grew
heavier they lost spirit and patience, like a good many more,
and let things go their own way. The captain lost his tem
per and the mistress grew careless and fretted, and when
the young master was born the one as I m telling about
things were about as bad and as comfortless as they could

I POLISHED AWAY AT THE CAPTATN s SABRE

THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST 85

be. Not wishing to say a disrespectful word, or a harmful
one, I must say as I d even thought the captain were getting
tired of his love-match, for he was aging uncommon fast
and his temper was getting uncommon sharp, and now and
then Mrs. Dalgetty and him would have words as would end
in him striding out of the bungalow, leaving her crying and
worriting among the children. I can t say even as he were
over fond of the children, or that they were over welcome
when they came six girls, one after another though they
were pretty little things, all of them. But when Master
Lionel were born it struck me as he were rather better
pleased than he had been before, for he were the first boy.

Well I remember the day the captain came out of his
quarters and told me about his having made his appearance
rather unexpected.

I had been so long with them, and there were so many
little things I could do as was a help, that I d got into the
way of doing them ; and I happened this morning to be
polishing about, and sees the captain coming out, looking
half-way pleased with something or other ; and when I drew
myself up and saluted as usual, says he :

&quot; Rabbett,&quot; says he, &quot; there s a change in the pro
gramme this time.&quot;

I drops my swab in a minute and draws up and salutes
again.

&quot; What, sir ? &quot; says I. &quot; Boy, sir ? &quot;

&quot;Yes,&quot; says he. &quot; Boy, and a fine little fellow too.&quot;

86 THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST

So in the course of the week I smartens myself up a bit
more than common, in honor of the occasion, and goes into
the house and gets the ayah to let me have a look at the
young gentleman as he lay in his cradle in the nursery, next
to the mistress s room. They was rather fond of me in that
nursery, I may say, and it wasn t the first time I d been
there by many a one. But though I stepped light enough
for fear of wakening the little fellow, somehow or other he
did waken that very minute. As I bent over his cradle he
opens his eyes, and he actually stares at me as if he was ask
ing me a question or so. At least, it looked that way to me,
and then, as sure as I m a living man, he does something
with his face as if he was doing his best to laugh ; and when
I laughs back and lifts his bit of a red hand, he opens it out
and lets it lay on mine, quite friendly and sociable.

I won t say as he knew what he were doing, but I will
say as he looked as if he did. And from that minute to the
last hour of his life Master Lionel and me was friends fast
and firm. Not being a family man, as I have said before, I
took to him all the more, and I m happy to say he did the
same by me. When he got big enough to be carried out by
his ayah I used to meet the woman, and take him off her
hands whenever she would let me ; which was often enough,
because she knew both the captain and Mrs. Dalgetty knew
I was safe to trust. I d take him off into the shade and
walk about with him him a-layin his cheek against my red
coat, sometimes laughing at the jokes I d make with him,

THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST 87

suiting them to his size, and sometimes a-staring up at me
serious, but both of us always understanding each other and
being cheerful, whatever was a-goin on betwixt us. The fact
was that I got that there used to him, with nursing him so
much, that when he d have a little choke or a disturbance of
any kind, I got to be as handy as a woman about settling
him and turning him over and patting his back, and though
it may sound like a exaggeration to outsiders, I must say
as I saw clear enough he had his own way of thanking me
and showing me his gratitude for any small favors of the
kind. Ay, and many an hour I ve thought how it might
have been if little Maggie Shea had got through that blaz
ing summer many and many an hour as I walked up and
down, him nestling up against me as my own flesh and
blood might have done, but never would.

So we began by being fond of one another, and we
keeps on a-bein fond of one another, and what s more,
we gets fonder and fonder of each other as we grows
older.

And such a boy as he were, and such ways as he had !
There weren t no end to him, he were that manly and
handsome and well-grown and ready, by the time he
were seven or eight year old. People as never looked
at a child looked at him and was took by him, and the
ladies at the station run wild about his beauty. Tall he
was and well set up, and with a way of carrying himself
a brigadier-general might have been proud of. And a

88 THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST

fine-cut face, and a big, brave black eye as looked at
a man as if he was equal to leading a regiment ; and
yet was thoughtful and loving, and had a softness, too,
when he was talking to a friend. And that quick he
were to notice things as others of his age would never
have seen. Why, he was only six years when one day,
as he was standing by watching me at work, he looks
up at me all at once and says he :

&quot; Rabbett,&quot; he says, &quot;my mamma is very pretty, isn t
she?&quot;

&quot; Well,&quot; says I, &quot; Master Lionel, I should say she were!&quot;

&quot; I thought so,&quot; he says; &quot;I thought everybody must
think she was pretty, just as I do, only I am very fond
of her, you see.&quot; And he rather puzzles me by looking
at me again in a wistful, questioning sort of way.

&quot;Just so, Master Lionel,&quot; I answers, &quot;just so, sir.&quot;

&quot; Yes,&quot; he goes on, &quot; I am very fond of her, and
and I suppose my papa is very fond of her, too.&quot;

Being a trifle upset by this, I polished away at the
captain s sabre for a minute or so, and even then I could
only say :

&quot;Yes, sir; nat rally, sir, of course.&quot; For the truth were
as things had been getting worse and worse, and the tiffs
had been growing into rows rows as couldn t go on
without being heard in a bungalow, where walls was thin
and rooms not over far from each other. And what he
had heard the Lord only knows, but it had been a-workin*

THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST 89

in his innercent mind and troubling him, and he was
coming to me for comfort, and that I saw in his fine,
loving, wistful black eye, and in his handsome little chin,
as was not quite steady.

&quot; Yes, of course, he is very fond of her,&quot; he said, &quot; and
she is very fond of him ; because people who are married
people who are married always are, aren t they, Rabbett ? &quot;

&quot; Ah, sir,&quot; says I, &quot; that they are ; there ain t nothin
like it.&quot;

&quot; No,&quot; he says, his little face trying to keep itself
steady, &quot;and I m very glad of of that I m very glad of
that.&quot; And quite sudden he faces round and walks off,
a-holding his head up like a field officer. But well I
knowed why he d gone. Something had hurt his little
heart and set him to thinking, so that he could not
manage his looks even before Rabbett. And, gentleman as
he was, he was not willing to let it be known what his
child s trouble was.

When the family began to grow up the regiment was
ordered back to England ; and I came back with them, you
see. The captain was not rich, and as the family expenses
got bigger, year by year, money got scarcer with him, and
they couldn t live as they did before ; and so, somehow I
think it was because I liked the children, and especially my
young master I fell into a way of being part valet, part
waiter, part man-of-all-work for the captain and his.

This wasn t all. The captain s fine way for he was

90 THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST

handsome still, and a gentleman born, and no mistake
brought him fine friends ; and his -fine friends brought him
debt, because he was obliged to keep up with them. Every
thing was badly managed, because Mrs. Dalgetty, as I said,
knew nothing about managing ; so the servants ran wild,
and were nothing but trouble and expense, and there were
nothing but struggling to keep up, and threatening to break
down, from day to day.

&quot; The captain is worse than ever,&quot; Mrs. Dalgetty would
say, sometimes, when things looked bad, and she had a
crying fit on. &quot; And Rose is so expensive, and the other
girls are growing up. I wish Lionel was older. He is
the only one who seems to feel for me at all.&quot;

The real truth were, as Lionel were that sweet-natured
he felt for them all ; and I must say as they couldn t
help being as fond of him in their way as he was of them
in his.

&quot; RabbeU,&quot; says he to me once, when they was all going
out he was about nine years old then, or thereabout
&quot; Rabbett, if you would like to see Rose before she goes,
just stand in the passage, when I go into the drawing-room
with her cloak and handkerchief. She has just sent me
for them.&quot;

Now my young master loved his mother dearly, but he
loved Rose even better ; he was allers talking to me of
her beauty.

So says I, &quot; I would like to see her.&quot; And he

THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST

runs up-stairs, quite pleased, and is down again in a
minute.

&quot; I ll leave the door open,&quot; he says. And in he goes,
with the cloak over his arm, and does leave it open, quite
wide enough for me to see through.

Miss Rose was standing by the fire, and beautiful she
looked, in her grand evening dress, and so like what her
mother had been that it gave me quite a start. There was
a gentleman at her side, a-laughing and talking to her, and
when Master Lionel goes in this party turns toward the
-door, to look at him, and I sees his face, and I gives a start
again, for it were Captain Basil Roscoe.

Now I knew surn at of Captain Basil Roscoe, you see,
and that s what made me give a start. If ever there was a
villain, and he to be called a gentleman, Captain Basil Ros
coe were one. I knew things of him that he little guessed ;
we servants get to know many queer things. I felt, when I
sees him, as if I saw a snake.

&quot; Here comes the wrap,&quot; says Captain Basil, and he held
out his hand, as if he meant to put it on for himself, but
Miss Rose laughs and stops him.

&quot; No,&quot; says she. &quot; Lionel wouldn t like that. Would
you, Lionel ? He always puts my cloak on for me.&quot;

The captain drew back a bit, and gave the boy a sharp
glance, but Miss Rose did not see it, for she was bending
down to have the cloak put over her white shoulders, and
Master Lionel was a-folding it around her, as pleased as

92 THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST

could be, laughing, too, boy-like, but, for all that, doing
it as deft and graceful as if he d been born to it.

And then, when it was done, Miss Rose put her little
hands on the shoulders of his jacket, and kissed him half-a-
dozen times, so coaxing and merry and happy that I could
not bear to think the time would ever come when life would
look harder to her than it did just then going out to a
grand ball, in a pretty dress, and with her lover by her
side.

Unless it is true that the devil shrinks from and hates
them as has no sins of their own, I should like to know why
it was that Basil Roscoe were so ready in taking a dislike to
a innocent-faced boy, as never harmed or differed with him ;
for nothing is more certain than that from the first he did
take a dislike to Master Lionel. It struck me, once or twice,
as he not only couldn t bear the sight of him, but that,
if he had had the chance, he would not have been sorry
to do him a harm. His sneering manner showed it, and his
ill-looking, handsome face showed it, apart from a hundred
other bits of things. Master Lionel himself found it out
soon enough.

&quot; Rabbett,&quot; says he, private and confidential, &quot;he doesn t
like me and I don t like him, and I wish he wasn t so fond
of Rose. I never did him any harm, you know, Rabbett.&quot;

Nateral enough, his spirit is hurt about it, and he takes
it a bit hard. But he never says much about it, until one
night he comes to me, and I sees he is wonderful quiet, and

&quot;MISS ROSE PUT HER HANDS ON HIS SHOULDERS*

THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST 95

after a while I made bold to ask what ails him. And the
minute I asks him I sees, by the look in his eyes, that what
ails him is something uncommon.

&quot; It s something about Rose,&quot; he says, &quot;and it s some
thing about Captain Roscoe.&quot;

A slight huskiness comes in my throat, as makes it neces
sary for me to clear it.

-Oh !&quot; I says. Indeed, sir?&quot;

&quot;Yes,&quot; he answers. &quot;As I was coming here I passed
him, standing at the corner of the street with a gentleman,
and they were both talking aloud, Rabbett, and laughing.
And they were talking about Rose.&quot;

Knowing the man so well, and having heard so much
of his villany, my blood fairly boiled at the thought of what
he might have been saying ; but I made up my mind to
speak quietly.

&quot;Did you hear what they said, sir?&quot; I asked. &quot;Are
you sure it was her they were speaking of?&quot;

&quot;Yes,&quot; says he, &quot;sure, for I heard the gentleman say,
What? Pretty Rose Dalgetty? And then Roscoe an
swered, * Even she might get tiresome/ And they both
laughed. Rabbett &quot; and he turned his troubled, question
ing boy s face to me, as if he was just awakening to some
sort of bewildered fear, and wanted help &quot;what did he
mean when he said she might get tiresome ? And what
made them laugh as they did ? They were laughing at her
my sister Rose.&quot;

96 THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST

&quot; No gentleman would have done it, sir,&quot; I answered,
not knowing what else to say.

&quot; I know that,&quot; he says. &quot; But what did they mean ?
You are older than me, Rabbett, and perhaps you can
understand more than that it was not what a gentleman
would have done.&quot;

But of course I could not tell him that. If it meant
nothing worse, it at least did mean as Miss Rose s lover had
so little respect for her that he could bandy her name
among his companions with something like a sneer ; so I
tried my best to lead him away from the subject. If he d
been an ordinary kind of young gentleman, and he so very
young yet, I might have managed it ; but being the little
fellow he was, the suspicion that his sister had been some
what slighted stuck to him, and settled itself deep in his
mind, and made him thoughtful beyond his years.

And this was far from being the end of it. Little by little
I began to hear a whisper here and there, even among the
men, about what people said of Captain Roscoe being so
friendly with the Dalgettys, and partic ler with Miss Rosie.
There was not one of them but said that it would do the
pretty young creature no good, if it did her no harm, to be
so ready to let him be attentive. He had been such an
open rascal in his time, and his character was so well known,
that no careful mother would have let her daughter be seen
with him, and he was only tolerated in his own set, and
among those who were as bad as himself. But Mrs. Dal-

THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST 97

getty was too thoughtless and indifferent to see the wrong
in him, or to be troubled by what she heard, and the cap
tain was rarely at home ; so Miss Rose was left to herself,
and, of course, did as any other innocent girl would have
done, fell in love with a handsome face, and believed in it.

But at last so much was said by outsiders that something
came to the captain s ears as must have roused him, for one
evening he comes up to the house in a towering rage, and
shuts himself up with Miss Rose and her mother in the
parlor, and has a tremendous row, and makes them both
cry, and ends up by forbidding them to speak to Roscoe
again.

But though Mrs. Dalgetty gave in, as she always did
when the captain gave his orders, of course Miss Rose
would not believe anything against her lover. Things had
gone so far by that time that she would have stood out for
him against the whole world ; and as she dared not openly
disobey her father, she fretted until she lost her pretty color
and bright spirits, and went about the house looking ill and
wretched.

But the matter was not put an end to, as you may
imagine. Once or twice, in going from the house to the
barracks, I found Captain Basil Roscoe loitering about not
far from the street s end, and more than once I could have
sworn that I passed him at dusk with a familiar little figure
clinging to his arm. And one night Miss Rosie calls her
brother to her, as he was going out on an errand, and, as

98 THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST

she bends over him in the doorway, slips a note into his.
hand, crying pitifully.

&quot; You will take that for me, won t you, dear?&quot; she says.
&quot; He is waiting in the square for it, and he does want it.
so so much.&quot; And she kisses him, and gives a little sob
and runs up-stairs.

I don t think it could have been more than three min
utes after that when he comes to me, all pale and breathless
with running, and lays that there note on the table.

&quot; She wants me to take it to him, Rabbett,&quot; he says,
&quot; and she was crying when she asked me, and what
must we do ? &quot;

It is not to be expected as we two hadn t talked things
over, being the friends we were. I got up and took the note
from the table, making a resolution all of a sudden.

&quot; If you ll stay here, sir,&quot; I said, &quot; I ll take it myself.&quot;
And take it I did, and found the rascal waiting, as Miss.
Rose had said he would be. He gave a black enough scowl
when he saw it were me, and it certainly didn t die out when
I spoke to him.

&quot; Sir,&quot; says I, &quot; I ve come here on a poor errand, and I ve
come unwilling enough, God knows. I ve got a note in my
hand here a pitiful little letter from a trusting, innocent
girl to a man who, if he does not mean her harm, surely
cannot mean her good, or he would not be leading her to
meet him, and write to him in underhand ways. And I ve
been making up my mind, as I came along, to make a appeal

THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST 99

to that man, as surely he ll listen to if he has a man s heart
in his breast. She is scarcely more than a child, sir, and she
knows nothing of the world. Leave her alone, and she may
be a happy woman ; go on as you ve begun, and it will be
death and heartbreak to her, and her wrongs will lie at your
door.&quot;

He stands there and looks at me, and by the light of the
lamp we was standing under I sees his handsome, devilish
face, sneering and triumphing and scorning me, as if I was
a worm in the dirt under his feet.

&quot; My good fellow,&quot; he says, &quot; you are a little too late.
Hand me that letter, and be off, before I find it necessary to
help you. How you got hold of the note I don t know, but
I do know it was never given to you to deliver, and that I
should be well warranted in kicking you back to your quar
ters, for your deuced impudence and presumption.&quot;

But I held to the letter tight.

&quot;Very well, sir,&quot; I answers, respectful, but firm as a
rock. &quot; This letter goes back to the house, and before night
is over the captain will have read it himself, and can judge
for himself what is best

I didn t finish, for the next thing I knew was that he
strode up to me and grasped hold of me by my collar, and
the minute I saw what he meant to do I felt I had made a
mistake in bringing the letter at all, and in fancying that any
appeal could touch or move him. There was a struggle
between us, but it did not last long ; he being strong and

ioo THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST

lithe, and so much the younger man, gave me no chance ;
and it were scarcely three seconds before he threw me on
the pavement, and leaving me there, a trifle stunned, walked
off with the letter in his hand.

I knew things must be pretty bad then. He would
never have been so desperate and determined if he had not
meant to do his worst, and when I made my way back I
felt sick with fear. Master Lionel was sitting by the bit
of fire in the grate when I opened the door, and he turns
round and looks at me, and changes color.

&quot; Rabbett,&quot; he says, &quot;there is blood on your face.&quot;

&quot; Perhaps so, sir,&quot; I says. &quot; I ve had a fall.&quot;

And then I sits down and tells him all about it ; about
what I had meant to do, and what I had done, and I ends
up by asking him what he thinks we had better do, now
that my plans had failed.

&quot; Master Lionel/ 8 I says, &quot; it would seem a dreadful hard
sort of thing to do, if we spoke to the captain.&quot;

He turns quite pale at the thought of it.

&quot;Oh, no,&quot; he says, &quot;Rabbett, I wouldn t do it. He
would be so angry with Rose, and even with mamma. You
remember my telling you what he said before.&quot;

I remembered well enough, and a pretty hard thing it
was to say, even if it had been said in a passion, and not
half meant. He had threatened to turn Miss Rose out of
doors if she spoke to Roscoe again. He must have heard
something bad enough, to have been so roused.

THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST. ^ \ ?&

&quot; Well,&quot; I ventures, &quot; what can we do, sir ? &quot;

&quot; Watch,&quot; says he. &quot; I can think of nothing else to do
just yet, Rabbett. I will watch Rose, and you shall watch
Roscoe ; and if the worst comes, and we must tell papa, we
must. I suppose, Rabbett, that Roscoe will try to run away
with Rose, as Farquhar ran away with that pretty Miss
Lewis ? &quot;

&quot;Yes, sir,&quot; I answers, &quot; I m afraid he will. But he is a
worse man than Farquhar ; and if Miss Rose goes away
with him, I m afraid he ll treat her hard enough when he
tires of her, as such men as him always tires of young
ladies.&quot;

&quot;It would be better, Rabbett,&quot; says he, fixing his dark
eyes solemnly on the fire, &quot; it would be better that Rose
should die. I know that.&quot;

&quot; I am afeard, sir,&quot; says I, &quot; that you are right.&quot;

God knows how he had learned to understand, but
understand he did, and he were that sad and wise about it
that my very heart ached. He had seen an old enough
side of life, had Master Lionel, living among the set he
did, but he were a young gentleman as nothing could spoil,
his nature were that fine-grained.

We kept our watch faithful all that week and part of
the next, but we found out very little, though we had our
suspicions, Master Lionel and me, as things was going on
pretty badly in a secret way. But at last the very worst
thing as could have happened burst upon us all at once.

*bj; t \\iisTfi CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST

I was up at the house one evening, doing something
or other for Mrs. Dalgetty, when of a sudden I heard a
tremendous loud ring at the door-bell ; and, going in a
hurry to answer it, the captain himself strode past me
into the hall, all in a flame with the wine he had been
drinking and the passion he were in. I had seen him in
towering enough tempers often before, but I had never
seen him look as he did then. It was my impression he
were pretty near mad ; indeed, I thought so then, and have
thought so since. How could he have done what he did
that night, unless he had not been quite himself ?

&quot; Rabbett,&quot; says he, &quot; where s Miss Rose ? &quot;

&quot;In her own room, sir,&quot; says I, wishing with all my
heart that I could have told him she were not in.

&quot;Rabbett,&quot; says he, &quot;where s Mrs. Dalgetty?&quot;

&quot; In her own room,&quot; says I, &quot;lying down, a-trying to get
rid of a headache.&quot;

&quot; Then,&quot; says he, &quot;go and tell Miss Rose to come down
to me at once.&quot;

I think I must have looked upset, myself, when I
knocked at Miss Rose s door to deliver the captain s
message, for the minute the words were out of my mouth
she turned quite pale and scared-looking, and began to
tremble.

&quot;Oh, Rabbett,&quot; she says, the tears coming into her
great, pretty dark eyes, &quot;is anything the matter? does he
look angry ? &quot;

THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST 103

&quot; I must say, miss,&quot; I answers, &quot; as he seems a bit
more pepperyer than common, but I hope it s nothing
much.&quot;

&quot; Oh, Rabbett,&quot; she says, beginning to cry, and wringing
her poor little helpless hands, &quot; I know it is something
dreadful. I daren t go down. I am so frightened.&quot;

But she were obliged to go down, and go down she did,
a-trembling all over, and out-and-out faint with fear. She
had always been a timid little affectionate creature, and the
captain were pretty hard to face when his temper were up.

I am not ashamed to confess as I stayed as near within
hearing distance as I could, without positively eavesdrop
ping. I own up as I had my fears as to what the end of
it all would be, knowing the captain were drove too wild
to be wise, or even reasonable, and I wanted to be near
enough to see Miss Rose when she came out of the room,
and say a comforting word to her, if she seemed to need
one.

But she came out of the room in a different manner
to what even I had expected. The minute she went in I
heard the sound of Mrs. Dalgetty crying and the captain
storming, and for a quarter of an hour after the storm fairly
raged. The captain stamped and swore, Mrs. Dalgetty
sobbed, and tried to put in a word now and then, but
Miss Rose seemed to be too much stunned to speak. I
never heard her voice after the first few moments, and at
last the door opened again, and she came running out, her

104 THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST

beautiful dark eyes wide open, her innocent face as white
as death. She did not see me, but ran past where I stood,
up to her own bedroom, and there was that in her look
as brought my heart into my mouth, and, queer as it may
seem to you, the first thing I thought of was Master
Lionel.

&quot; There s harm been done,&quot; says I to myself, &quot; deadly
harm, and no one can undo it but one as loves her, and
that she s fond of herself in her girl s way ; the one as she
needs now is that there fine little fellow as was almost
like a little lover to her.&quot;

And when she came down I feels surer of it than ever ;
for in three minutes more she did come down, with her hat
and jacket on, ready to go out. And her face was even
whiter than before ; and when she sees me she holds out
her hand, her eyes looking big and bright with a dangerous
sort of shine.

&quot;Good-by, Rabbett,&quot; she says. &quot; I am going.&quot;

&quot;Miss Rose,&quot; says I, &quot;where are you going to?&quot;

Then she smiles sad and bitter, and a bit hard.

&quot; Ask papa,&quot; she answers. &quot; He ought to know. He
sent me away. I don t exactly know myself, unless unless
one person in the world loves me well enough to take me.&quot;

&quot;Miss Rose,&quot; I breaks out, &quot;for God s sake don t go
to Basil Roscoe!&quot;

She dragged her hand away from mine, and her eyes
flashed fire.

THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST 105

&quot;You all hate him!&quot; she cried; &quot;but I have chosen
him before all the world. Papa said I must choose, and
I have chosen. I am going to Basil Roscoe ! &quot;

And before I could speak another word she had darted
out of the door, all on fire, and desperate, as one might say,
and was gone.

I knew it would be of no use speaking to the captain.
Since he had as good as turned the poor innocent creature
out of house and home, he was not the one to go to for
help. When he was cooler he would see his mistake, and
repent it bitter enough ; but just now to go to him would
only make him madder than ever.

Well, just at that very minute in come Master Lionel.
There might have been some sort of a fate in it. He jumps
up them stone steps, two at a time, and bangs at that open
front door, clean out of breath, and looking wonderful like
his sister, in his excitement.

&quot; Where s Rose gone to, Rabbett ? &quot; he says. &quot; I have
just seen her walking fast almost running down the
street, and she would not stop for me. What has been
the matter?&quot;

I ups and tells him. I weren t afeard of doing it.
I knew him to be that there ready and brave and
affectionate.

&quot; Rabbett,&quot; he said, in a jiffy, &quot; come along with me.&quot;

&quot;Master Lionel,&quot; I asks, &quot;where to?&quot; For the fact
were my head weren t as clear as his, and I were a bit

io6 THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST

bothered as to what would be the best thing to be done
first.

&quot; I am going to Captain Roscoe s lodgings,&quot; he an
swers, as steady as you please.

And so, if you ll believe me, off we goes, out into the
street, him a-keeping step beautiful, as he always did, but
not saying a word until at last I speak to him.

&quot;Master Lionel,&quot; I says, &quot;what are you thinking
about?&quot;

&quot; I am thinking,&quot; he answers, his dark eyes shining,
&quot; about what I am going to say to Roscoe.&quot;

But it weren t so easy to find Roscoe. We did not
know exactly where his lodgings were, and so we had to
inquire in first one place and then another. The people
we fancied could tell us knew nothing definite, when we
went to them ; and when we got the name of the street, it
were hard to find. But we did find it at last, after a great
deal of trouble and a great deal of delay, which was worse.
The delay was what upset us, for both of us felt pretty
certain that Captain Basil Roscoe would lose very little
time in getting Miss Rose away out of the reach of her
friends, if he once found her willing to go with him.

By the time we reached the end of the street where he
lived, Master Lionel were that worked up and excited that
he was growing paler and paler, and his eyes were like
lanterns in his face, and he caught hold of my hand and
held it hard and fast.

THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST 107

&quot; Rabbett,&quot; he says, what if we should be too late?&quot;

&quot; I can t think such bad luck could happen to us, sir,&quot;
I answers him back.

And then it were just at that instant as his sharp
young eyes spied something out ahead of us, for he drew
his hand away, and started running, just throwing back a
word or so to me.

&quot;There s a carriage before the door,&quot; he said, &quot;and they
are getting into it.&quot;

He were up that street like a deer, and in half a minute
I were with him ; but when I comes up, all out of breath, he
were on the carriage-step, holding the cloor open ; and,
what s more, holding at bay the black rascal who stood
near, sneering and raging at him- by turns. &quot; Rabbett,&quot; he
cries out, &quot; help me to hold the door open. No go to
the horses heads. Now, Rose, get out.&quot;

I went to the horses heads, as I would have done if the
captain himself had give the order, instead of &quot; The Cap
tain s Youngest.&quot; It made my heart ache, too, to hear the
ring in the little chap s voice, so like his father s, and then
to remember what the captain might have been and what
he were. Even the driver were struck all of a heap by the
youngster s pluck, and were so busy looking at him that
he let me take my stand, without a word against it.

&quot; Look here, mate,&quot; he says to me, &quot;here s a rum go!&quot;

&quot; It s bad enough,&quot; says I. &quot; Perhaps you ll oblige me
with them reins ? &quot;

io8 THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST

&quot; If you don t come down from that step,&quot; says Roscoe,
saying every word slow, as if he was trying to hold him
self back from striking the boy a blow as would kill him,
&quot;you impudent young devil, I will take the whip from the
box there and cut you to pieces ! &quot;

Then Miss Rose bends forward. It is my impression
as the cruel, murderous sound in the fellow s voice was
something she had never heard before, and it frightened her.

&quot;Don t speak to him in that way, Basil,&quot; she says.
&quot; Oh, Lionel, dear, you shouldn t have come. You must
go back. You must, indeed. I shall never come home
again, Lionel.&quot; And she burst out crying.

&quot; I shall go back, Rose,&quot; says the boy, &quot; but you must
come with me. Rabbett and I came to fetch you, and
we shall not leave you.&quot; And then he looks at Roscoe
square. &quot; I am not afraid of your cutting me to pieces
with your whip, sir,&quot; he says. &quot; Rabbett will see to that.
But,&quot; and the fire blazed up in his voice and his face and
his eyes, as grand as if he had been the captain himself,
&quot; if I had come alone I would not have left this carriage
door unless Rose had come with me. You might have
used your whip, but you couldn t have made me do that.&quot;

&quot;Am I,&quot; says Roscoe, panting with the passion he dare
not let out, &quot;am I to throw you into the street under the
horses hoofs, you impudent young devil?&quot;

But Master Lionel s back was turned to him. He was
pleading with his sister.

THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST 109

&quot; Rose, dear,&quot; he says, &quot;come home with me. You will
come home with me, I know.&quot; And he caught hold of
her hand.

God knows how it all happened I don t. If I had
only been quick enough to see in time, the captain s young
est might have been alive this day, a brave young fellow,
such as the captain had been in those first days in India
a brave, handsome young soldier, as would have been
a honor to his country, and a stanch friend yet to me.

But that weren t to be. Just as he stood there, his
foot on the carriage-step, a-holding his sister s hand, the
passion in the heart of the rascal watching him broke forth.
He caught him by the shoulder, there were a short strug
gle as the boy tried to free himself, and before I could
reach them he had whirled him away from the door
with greater force than he intended, I ve tried to believe.
The frightened horses lashed out their hoofs and sprang
forward, struggling over the child s very body as he lay
stunned under their feet.

Scoundrel as he was, I never could make it look square
to myself as the man meant the harm he did. His face
was out and out deathly, as he leaped forward to save him
as quick as I did myself. But we were both too late.
We could only drag at the reins, and stop the horses in
time to prevent the wheels passing over him that were
all.

We had him out in a minute, and Miss Rose was out of

no THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST

the carnage, kneeling on the pavement by him, and the
driver was down off his box.

&quot; Great God ! &quot; says Roscoe, &quot; I never meant to do him
such a harm. He s dead ! &quot; And he shuddered all over,
with fear, perhaps, as much as anything else.

But he weren t dead, and he hadn t even fainted, though
he were stunned at first. I had lifted him in my arms, and
he lay against me, panting a bit, and stone-white, all but for
a stain of blood on one temple. It weren t his head as was
so badly hurt, it were his side, where one of the horses had
lashed out and struck him. And as sure as I m a living
man, in a few minutes he opens his eyes and lays hold
of his sister s hand.

&quot; Rose,&quot; he says, &quot;will you go home with me now?&quot;

She knelt over him, wrinmnof her hands, and sobbing as

o o o

if her heart would break. She would not let her lover
come near her. When he tried to speak, she shrank away,
shuddering.

It s my belief as what she had seen in his face during the
last ten minutes would have broke her faith in him, even if
the young master had met no hurt. And now she were that
terrified that she were as helpless as a child.

&quot; Is he much hurt?&quot; she kept saying. &quot; Rabbett, oh,
Rabbett ! let me take him home to mamma. Put him into
the carriage.&quot; And then she turned upon Roscoe, fierce
and wild. &quot;Go away,&quot; she cried out. &quot;You have killed
him ! Go away, and never let me see you again ! &quot;

THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST

There were a dreadful house when we took him home.
Mrs. Dalgetty went out of one faint into another, as she
always did when she were frightened. The servants ran
backward and forward, doing nothing, the children crowded
round us, crying, and the captain looked on at all we did like
a man in a dream.

He were hurt and bruised and broken that bad poor
little fellow ! that when the doctor came, and were begin
ning to go to work on him, he looks up at me with his
bright, troubled eye, and says to me :

&quot; Rabbett, please take hold of my hand.&quot;

I were that near breaking down and sobbing out loud
that I were ashamed of myself. It were a comfort to me, in
many a day after, to think I had took hold of his hand, and
that he had asked me to do it.

And when the hard job was over, the doctor put his
hands into his coat pockets, and stands looking at him for a
minute or so, and then he turns to me and beckons me out
of the room.

&quot; Sir,&quot; I ventured to say, &quot; Master Lionel will he
But I could not finish, somehow. I meant to say, &quot; Will he
get over it ? &quot;

&quot; No,&quot; says he. &quot; I am very sorry to say it ; but he will

not.&quot;

Will you believe me as the words struck me like a slung-
shot. Not having no family of my own, and never having
clung to nothing on earth as I had clung to that there gener-

ii2 THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST

ous, neglected little fellow, just at that minute I felt as if I d
got a blow as was too hard to stand up against. I couldn t
face it straight. When I had been lonely in my way, he had
been lonely in his, and we had been a help and a comfort to
each other in ways as outsiders never understood.

&quot; Sir,&quot; I puts it to him, quite hoarse when I gets my voice
back, &quot;when And 1 couldn t finish that question

neither.

11 Well,&quot; he answers me back, &quot; I am afraid before morn-
ing.&quot;

I went back to the room and stayed there all night.

It seemed a strange sort of thing that at the very last
him and me was together alone, as we always had seemed to
be. He had coaxed Miss Rose to go to bed ; he would not
rest until she went; and when she bent down to kiss him,
he says to her, in a whisper, quite bright and cheerful :
&quot;Don t cry, Rose. It s all right.&quot;

And then the captain gets tired, and begins to doze,
and Mrs. Dalgetty falls asleep on the sofa ; and so Master
Lionel and me was left together ; me watching him, and
listening to the clock ticking ; him lying quiet, with his
eyes shut.

But toward daybreak he gets a bit restless, and stirs,
and the next thing I sees him looking at me, quite wide
awake.

&quot; Rabbett,&quot; says he, in a bit of a hurry, &quot;open the
window.&quot;

&quot; AND I SHALL ALWAYS BE FOND OF YOU, RABBETT &quot;

THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST 115

And when I goes and does it, and comes back, he
puts out his hand.

&quot;Rabbett,&quot; he says, &quot;I m very fond of you;&quot; and
something wistful comes into his eyes, and I sees a faint
gray shadow creeping up over his face. &quot; I was always
fond of you, and I always shall be fond of you,&quot; says he.
&quot; Don t let my hand go, Rabbett.&quot;

And the next minute the gray shadow has changed his
brave, handsome, childish face all at once and altogether.
He gives me a innocent, bright look just one, as if he
were wondering why I shook so and shuts his eyes. He
would never open them again on me, as was so fond and
proud of him in my poor way. When they opened again
he would see something brighter than the morning sky, as
was just growing red and golden before the east window.
* * * * *

Qf course they fretted over him for a while, finding
out most likely as he d made himself dearer than they d
thought before he were gone. They could not have helped
missing him if they had been more careless than they were.
Sometimes I fancied the captain was checked a bit and sad r
and blamed himself in secret, but his days of being open and
soft-hearted was over, and it were hard to tell. I know it
was a long time before he forgave Miss Rosie, though for
her sake the matter was hushed up, and no one but them
selves knew exactly how the accident happened. Miss
Rose could never bear the sound of Basil Roscoe s name

n6 THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST

again, and she married a good man a few years after, and
made him a good wife. So the poor little fellow as gave
his life for her did not lose it for nothing, though, if
you were to ask me which of the two but, there, it s not
for me to take on myself to argue out ! But he were
only a boy to them only a child. They didn t know him
as I did, and so after a while their grief died out, and in
a year or so he was half forgotten.

But it weren t so easy for me. His handsome little
face and his pleasant ways is as clear to me to-day as they
ever was. When I sit lonely over my fire of a winter s
night and I am a lonely man, things being as they are and
the years going on I think of him for hours in a way of my
own, and make a sort of dream of him. I think of him as he
lay in his cradle and we made friends when he wasn t but a
week old. I think of him as he was, with his little soldier
ways about the quarters, carrying himself as military as if
he d been twenty ; a-helping me in one way and another,
and finding out he might be confidential, though I wasn t
nothing but a private and him a officer s son. I think
about him as he looked when he came to me in his inner-
cent trouble that night and told me about his sister s
lover. And then I see him lying there, with the light from
the east window falling on him, and I hear him saying :

&quot; I am very fond of you, Rabbett. I always was fond
of you, and I always shall be fond of you. Don t let my
hand go, Rabbett.&quot;

THE CAPTAIN S YOUNGEST 117

Ay and that ain t all. I make a picture of what
might have been. I sees him grown into a young man-
a handsome, smart young officer and make a picture of
some beautiful young girl, and tells myself what a pretty love
story they would have had betwixt them, and what a lover,
and what a young husband he would have been ! Why,
there s been nights when I ve even seen little children like
him, and thought they would have been fond of me, as
he was. It s made me forget where I was, and when I d be
roused up by something or other I ve found myself choke
up with something as might almost have been my heart in
my throat, to think as it were only a sort of dream after
all. And the captain s youngest lies out under the stars
in the churchyard, the wind a-blowing over the snow as
lies on a grave as is only the grave of a child.

LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER

STORY

LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER

STORY

JAM Betty s kitten at least, I was Betty s kitten once.
That was more than a year ago. I am not a kitten now,
I am a little cat, and I have grown serious, and think a
great deal as I sit on the hearthrug, looking at the fire and
blinking my eyes. I have so much to think about that I even
stop to ponder things over when I am lapping my milk or
washing my face. I am very careful about lapping my milk.
I never upset the saucer. Betty told me I must not. She
used to talk to me about it when she gave me my dinner.
She said that only untidy kittens were careless. She liked to
see me wash my face too, so I am particular about that. It is
always Betty I am thinking about when I sit on the rug and
blink at the fire. Sometimes I feel so puzzled and so anxious
that if her mamma or papa are sitting near I look up at them
and say :

&quot; Mee-azow ? Mee-aiow ? &quot;

But they do not seem to understand me as Betty did.
Perhaps that is because they are grown-up people and she
was a little girl. But one day her mamma said

122 LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER STORY

&quot; It sounds almost as if she were asking a question.&quot;
I was asking a question. I was asking about Betty. I
wanted to know when she was coming back.

I know where she came from, but I do not know where
she is gone, or why she went. She usually told me things,
but she did not tell me that. I never knew her to go away be
fore. I wish she had taken me with her. I would have kept
my face and paws very clean, and never have upset my milk.

I said I knew where she came from. She came from
behind the white rose-bush before it began to bloom, and
when it had nothing but glossy green leaves and tight little
buds on it.

I saw her! My eyes had only been open about two
weeks, and I was lying close to my mother in our bed under
the porch that was round the house. It was a nice porch,
with vines climbing over it, and I had been born under it.
We were very comfortable there, but my mother was afraid of
people. She was afraid lest they might come and look at us.
She said I was so pretty that they would admire and take me
away. That had happened to two or three of my brothers
and sisters before their eyes had opened, and it had made
my mother nervous. She said the same thing had happened
before when she had had families quite as promising, and
many of her lady friends had told her that it continually
happened to themselves. They said that people coming and
looking at you when you had kittens was a sort of epidemic.
It always ended in your losing children.

LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER STORY 123

She talked to me a great deal about it. She said she felt
rather less nervous after my eyes were opened, because peo
ple did not seem to want you so much after your eyes were
opened. There were fewer disappearances in families after
the first nine days. But she told me she preferred that I
should not be intimate with people who looked under the
porch, and she was very glad when I could use my legs and
get farther under the house when any one bent down and
said, &quot; Pussy ! Pussy ! &quot; She said I must not get silly
and flattered and intimate even when they said, &quot; Pretty
pussy ! poo ittle kitty puss ! &quot; She said it might end in
trouble.

So I was very cautious indeed when I first saw Betty. I
did not intend to be caught, but I was not so much afraid
as I should have been if she had not been so very little and
so pretty.

Not very long before she went away she said to me one
day, when we were in the swing together :

&quot; Kitty, I am nearly five o clock ! &quot;

So when she came from behind the white rose-bush per
haps she was four o clock.

I shall never forget that morning, it was such a beau
tiful morning. It was in the early spring, and all the world
seemed to be beginning to break into buds and blossoms.
There were pink and white flowers on the trees, and there
was such a delicious smell when one sniffed a little. Birds
were chirping and singing, and every now and then darting

124 LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER STORY

across the garden. Flowers were coming out of the ground,
too ; they were blooming in the garden beds and among the
grass, and it seemed quite natural to see a new kind of flower
bloom out on the rose-bush, which had no flowers on it then,
because the season was too early. I was such a young kitten
that I thought the little face peeping round the green bush
was a flower. But it was Betty, and she was peeping at me !
She had such a pink bud of a mouth, and such pink, soft
cheeks, and such large eyes, just like the velvet of a pansy
blossom. She had a tiny pink frock and a tiny white apron
with frills, and a pretty white muslin hat like a frilled daisy,
and the soft wind made the curly, soft hair falling over her
shoulder as she bent forward sway as the vines sway.

&quot; Mother,&quot; I whispered, &quot;what kind of a flower is that?
I never saw one before.&quot;

She looked, and began to be quite nervous.

&quot;Ah, dear! ah, dear!&quot; she said, &quot;it is not a flower at all.
It is a person, and she is looking at you.&quot;

&quot; Ah, mother,&quot; I said, &quot; how can it be a person when it is
not half as high as the rose-bush ? And it is such pretty
colors. Do look again.&quot;

&quot; It is a child person,&quot; she said, &quot;and I have heard they
are sometimes the worst of all though I don t believe they
take so many away at a time.&quot; The little face peeped farther
round the green of the rose-bush, and looked prettier and
prettier. The pink frock and white frills began to show them
selves a little more.

LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER STORY 125

&quot; Get behind me,&quot; said my mother ; and I began to shrink
back.

Ah! how often I have wondered since then why I did not
know in a minute that it was Betty just Betty ! It seemed
so strange that I did not know it without being told. She
came nearer and nearer, and her cheeks seemed to grow
pinker and pinker, and her eyes bigger and bigger. Suddenly
she gave a little jump, and began to clap her hands and
laugh.

&quot; Ah, &quot;she said, &quot;it is a little kitty. It is a surely little
kitty.&quot;

&quot;Oh, my goodness!&quot; said my mother. &quot; Fts-fts-ftss !
Fttss-ffttssss ! &quot;

I could not help feeling as if it was rather rude of her,
but she was so frightened.

But Betty did not seem to mind it at all. Down she went
on her little knees on the grass, bending her head down to
peep under the porch, until her cheek touched the green
blades, and her heap of curls lay on the buttercups and
daisies.

&quot; Oh, you dee little kitty,&quot; she said. &quot; Pretty pussy, pussy,
puss! Kitty kitty! Poo ittle kitty. I won t hurt you!&quot;

She made a movement as if she were going to put out
her dimpled hand to stroke me, but a side window opened,
and I heard a voice call to her.

&quot;Betty Betty!&quot; it said, &quot;you mustn t put your hand
under there. The pussy is frightened, and it makes her

i26 LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER STORY

cross, and she might scratch you, Don t try to stroke her,
dearie.&quot;

She turned her bright little face over her shoulder.

&quot; I won t hurt her, mamma,&quot; she said. &quot; I surely, surely
won t hurt her. She has such a pretty kitty ; come and
look at it, mamma! &quot;

&quot; Ffttssss-ss ! &quot; said my mother. &quot; More coming ! Grown
ups this time ! &quot;

&quot; I don t believe they will hurt us,&quot; I said, &quot;The little
one is such a pretty one.&quot;

&quot; You know nothing about it,&quot; said my mother.

But they did not hurt us. They were as gentle as if they
had been kittens themselves. The mother came and bent
down by Betty s side and looked at us, too, but they did
nothing which even frightened us. And they talked in quite
soft voices.

&quot; You see, she is a wild little pussy,&quot; the mother said.
&quot; She must have been left behind by the people who lived
here before we came, and she has been living all by herself
and eating just what she could steal or, perhaps, catching
birds. Poor little cat ! And now she is frightened because,
evidently, some of her kittens have been stolen from her, and
she wants to protect this one.&quot;

&quot; But if I don t frighten her,&quot; said Betty, &quot; if I keep com
ing to see her and don t hurt her, and if I bring her some
milk and some bits of meat, won t she get used to me and let
her .kitten come out and play with me after a while ? &quot;

LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER STORY 127

&quot; Perhaps she will/ 1 said the mother. &quot; Poor pussy, puss,
pussy, pretty pussy ! &quot;

She said it in such a coaxing voice that I quite liked her,
and when Betty began to coax, too, she was so sweet and so
like a kitten herself that I could scarcely help going a trifle
nearer to her, and I found myself saying &quot; Mee-ow &quot; quite
softly in answer.

And from that time we saw her every day ever so many
times. She seemed never tired of trying to make friends
with us. The first thing in the bright mornings we used to
hear her pretty child voice and see her pretty child face. She
used to bring saucers of delightful milk to us two or three
times a day. And she always was so careful not to frighten
us. She would just call us, &quot; Pretty, pretty pussy ! Pretty
kitty puss ! &quot; in a voice as soft as silk, and then she would put
the saucer of milk near us and go away behind the rose-bush
and let us drink in comfort and peace.

We thought at first that she went back to the house when
she set the saucer down, but after a few days, when we were
beginning to be rather less afraid, we found out that she just
hid behind the rose-bush and peeped at us through the
branches. I saw her pink cheeks and big, soft, pansy eyes
one day, and I told my mother.

&quot; Well, she is a well-behaved child person,&quot; mother said.
&quot; I sometimes begin to think she does not mean any harm.&quot;

I was sure of it. Before I had lapped three saucers of
milk I had begun to love her a little.

128 LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER STORY

A few days later she just put the saucer down near us and
stepped softly away, but stood right by the rose-bush, without
hiding behind it. And she said, &quot; Pretty pussy, pussy ! &quot; so
sweetly, without moving towards us, that even my mother
began to have confidence in her.

About that time I began to think it would be nice to
creep out from under the house and get to know her a
little better. It looked so pleasant and sunshiny out on
the grass, and she looked so sunshiny herself. I did like
her voice so, and I did like a ball I used to see her playing
with, and when she bent down to look under the porch,
and her curls showing, I used to feel as if I should like to
jump out and catch at them with my claws. There never
was anything as pretty as Betty, or anything which looked
as if it might be so nice to play with.

&quot; I wish you would like me and come out and play, kitty,&quot;
she used to say to me sometimes. &quot;I do so like kitties! I
never hurt kitties ! I ll give you a ball of string.&quot;

There was a fence not far from the house, and it had a
sort of ledge on top, and it was a good deal higher than
Betty s head, because she was so very little. She was quite
a little thing, only four o clock.

So one morning I crept out from under my porch and
jumped on to the top of that fence, and I was there when
she came again to peep, and say, &quot; Pretty pussy.&quot; When she
caught sicrht of me she be^an to lau^h and clap her little

O &amp;gt; O O J.

hands, and jump up and down.

LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER STORY 129

&quot; Oh, there s the kitty,&quot; she said. &quot; There s my kitty. It
has come out its own self. Kitty, kitty, pretty, pretty kitty ! &quot;

She ran to me, and stood beneath me, looking up with her
eyes shining and her pink cheeks full of dimples. She could
not reach me, but she was so happy because I had come
out that she could scarcely stand still. She coaxed, and
called me pretty names, and stood on her tiptoes, stretching
her short arm and dimpled hand to try to see if I would let
her touch me.

11 I won t pull you down, pussy,&quot; she said, &quot; I only want
to stroke you. Oh, you pretty kitty ! &quot;

And I looked down at her, and said, &quot; Meeiou,&quot; gently,
just to tell her that I wasn t very much afraid now, and that
when I was a little more used to being outside instead of
under the house, perhaps I would play with her.

&quot; Mee-iaou ! &quot; I said, and I even put out one paw as if
I was going to give her a pat, and she danced up and down
for joy.

My dear little Betty! I wish I could see her again. I
cannot understand why she should go away when I loved her
so much, and when everybody loved her so much.

Oh, how happy we were when I came down from the
fence. I did it in three days. She brought some milk and
coaxed me, and then she put it on the grass close to the
fence and moved away a few steps, and looked at me with
such a pretty, imploring look in her pansy eyes that suddenly
I made a little leap down and stood on the grass, and began

130 LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER STORY

to lap the milk and even to purr ! That was the beginning.
From that time we played together always. And oh, what
a delightful playmate Betty was! And such a conversa
tionalist ! She was not a child who thought you must not
talk to a kitten because it could not talk back. She had so
many things to tell me and show me. And she showed me
ever} T thing, and explained it all, too. She had a playhouse
in a box in a nice grassy, shady place, and she told me all
about it, and showed me her teacups and her dolls, and we
had tea-parties, with bits of real cake and tiny cups with
flowers on them.

&quot; They don t hold much milk, kitty,&quot; she said, &quot; but it s a
dolls tea-party, so you must pretend, and I ll give you a big
saucerful afterwards.&quot;

I pretended as hard as ever I could, and it was a beautiful
party, though I did not like the Sunday doll, because she
looked proud, and as if she thought kittens were too young.
The everyday doll was much nicer, though her hair was
a little tufty and she was cracked.

How Betty did enjoy herself that lovely sunny afternoon
we had the first tea-party in the playhouse ! How she
laughed and talked, and ran backwards and forwards to her
mamma for the cups of milk and bits of cake. I ran after
her every time, and she was as happy as a little bird.

&quot; See how the kitty likes me now, mamma,&quot; she said.
&quot;Just watch, it runs every time I run. It isn t afraid of me
the leastest bit. Isn t it a pretty kitty ? &quot;

I DID NOT LIKE THE SWING AT FIRST

LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER STORY 133

I never left her when I could help it. She was such fun.
She was a child who danced about and played a great deal,
and I was a kitten who liked to jump. We ran about and
played with balls, and we used to sit together in the swing.
I did not like the swing very much at first, but I was so fond
of Betty that I learned to enjoy it, because she held me
on her knee and talked. She had such a soft, cosey lap and
such soft arms that it was delightful to be carried about by
her. She was very fond of carrying me about, and she liked
me to lay my head on her shoulder so that she could touch
me with her cheek. My pretty little Betty, she loved me

so!

She used to show me the flowers in the garden and tell
me which ones were going to bloom, and what color they
would be. We were very much interested in all the flowers,
but we cared most about the white rose-bush. It was so big
and we were so little that we could sit under it together, and
we were always trying to count the little, hard, green buds,
though there were so many that we never counted half of
them. Betty could only count up to ten, and all we could do
was to keep counting ten over and over.

&quot; These little buds will grow so big soon,&quot; she used to
say, &quot;that they will burst, and then there will be roses, and
more roses, and we will make a little house under here and
have a tea-party.&quot;

We were always going to look at that rose-bush, and
sometimes, when we were playing and jumping, Betty would

134 LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER STORY

think she saw a bud beginning to come out, and we would
both run.

I don t know how many days we were so happy together,
playing ball, and jumping in the grass, and watching the
white rose-bush to see how the buds were growing. Perhaps
it was a long time, but I was only a kitten, and I was too
frisky to know about time. But I grew faster than the rose
buds did. Betty said so. But oh, how happy we were ! If
it could only have lasted, perhaps I might never have grown
sober, and sat by the fire thinking so much.

One afternoon we had the most beautiful play we had ever
had. We ran after the ball, we swung together, Betty knelt
down on the grass and shook her curly hair so that I could
catch at it with my paws, we had a tea-party on the box, and
when it was over we went to the rose-bush and found a bud
beginning to be a rose. It was a splendid afternoon !

After we had found the bud beoqnnincr to be a rose we sat

o o

down together under the rose-bush. Betty sat on the thick
green grass, and I lay comfortably on her soft lap and
purred.

&quot;We have jumped so much that I am a little tired, and
I feel hot,&quot; she said; &quot;are you tired, kitty? Isn t it nice
under the rose-bush, and won t it be a beautiful place for a
tea-party when all the white roses are out? Perhaps there
will be some out to-morrow. We ll come in the morning
and see!&quot;

Perhaps she was more tired than she knew. I don t

LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER STORY 135

think she meant to go to sleep, but presently her head
began to droop and her eyes to close, and in a little while
she sank down softly and was quite gone.

I left her lap and crept up close to the breast of her little
white frock, and curled up in her arm and lay and purred,
and looked at her while she slept. I did so like to look at
her. She was so pretty and pink and plump, and she had
such a lot of soft curls. They were crushed under her warm
cheek and scattered on the grass. I played with them a
little while she lay there, but I did it very quietly, so that I
should not disturb her.

She was lying under the white rose-bush still asleep,
and I was curled up against her breast, watching her, when
her mamma came out with her papa, and they found us.

&quot; Oh, how pretty ! &quot; the mamma said. &quot; What a lovely
little picture ! Betty and her kitten asleep under the white
rose-bush, and just one rose watching over them. I wonder
if Betty saw it before she dropped off. She has been look
ing at the buds every day to see if they were beginning to
be roses.&quot;

&quot; She looks like a rose herself,&quot; said her papa, &quot; but it is
a pink rose. How rosy she is!&quot;

He picked her up in his arms and carried her into the
house. She did not waken, and as I was not allowed to sleep
with her I could not follow, so I stayed behind under the
rose-bush myself a little longer before I went to bed. When
I looked at the buds I saw that there were several with

136 LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER STORY

streaks of white showing through the green, and there were
three that I was sure would be roses in the morning, and I
knew how happy Betty would be and how she would laugh
and dance when she saw them.

I often hear people saying to each other that they should
like to understand the strange way I have of suddenly saying
&quot;Meeiaou! Mee-iaou ! &quot; as if I was crying. It seems strange
to me that they don t know what it means. I always find
myself saying it when I remember that lovely afternoon when
we played so happily, and Betty fell asleep under the rose
bush, and I thought how pleased she would be when she
came out in the- morning.

I can t help it. Everything was so different from what
I had thought it would be. Betty never came out in
the morning. Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! she never came out
again !

I got up early enough myself, and it was a beautiful,
beautiful morning. There was dew on the grass and on the
flowers, and the sun made it sparkle so that it was lovely
to look at. I did so want Betty to see it ! I ran to the
white rose-bush, and, sure enough, there were four or five
roses such white roses, and with such sparkling drops of
dew on them !

I ran back to the house and called to Betty, as I always
did. I wanted her to come.

But she did not come ! She was not even at breakfast,
eating her bread and milk. I looked for her everywhere

I LEFT HER LAP AND CURLED UP IN HER ARM

LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER STORY 139

except in her bedroom. Her bedroom door was closed, and
I could not get in.

And though I called and called, nobody seemed to take
any notice of me. Somehow, something seemed to be the
matter. The house was even quieter than usual, but I felt as
if every one was busy and in trouble. I kept asking and ask
ing where Betty was, but nobody would answer me. Once I
went to her closed bedroom door and called her there, and
told her about the white roses, and asked her why she did
not come out. But before I had really finished telling her,
my feelings were quite hurt by her papa. He came, and
spoke to me in a way that was not kind.

&quot;Go away, kitty,&quot; he said, &quot;don t make such a noise;
you will disturb Betty.&quot;

I went away waving my tail. I went out into the garden
and sat under the rose-bush. As if I could disturb Betty !
As if Betty did not always want me ! She wanted me to
sleep with her in her little bed, but her mamma would not
let me.

But ah, how could I believe it! she did not come out
the next day, or the next, or even the next. It seemed as if
I should go wild. People can ask questions, but a little cat
is nothing to anybody unless to some one like Betty. She
always understood my questions and answered them.

In the house they would not answer me. They were
always busy and troubled. It did not seem like the same
house. Nothing seemed the same. The garden was a

140 LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER STORY

different place. In the playhouse the Sunday doll and the
everyday doll sat and stared at the tea-things we had used
that happy afternoon at the party. The Sunday doll sat
bolt upright and looked prouder than ever, as if she felt she
was being neglected ; but the everyday doll lopped over, as
if she had grieved her strength away because Betty did not
come.

I had made up my mind at the first tea-party that I
would never speak to the Sunday doll, but one day I was
so lonely and helpless that I could not help it.

&quot;Oh, dear!&quot; I meeiaoued, &quot;oh, dear! do you know
anything about Betty? Do you? do you?&quot;

And that heartless thing only sat up and stared at me, and
never answered, though the tears were streaming down my
nose.

What could a poor little cat do ? I looked and looked
everywhere, but I could not find her. I went round the house
and round the house, and called in every room. But they
only drove me out, and said I made too much noise, and
never understood a word I said.

And the white rose-bush it seemed as if it would break
my heart. &quot; There will be more roses, and more roses.&quot;
Betty had said, and every morning it was coming true. I
used to go and sit under it, and I had to count ten over and
over, there were so many. It was such a great rose-bush
that it looked at last like a cloud of snow-white bloom.
And Betty had never seen it !

LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER STORY 141

&quot;Ah, Betty! Betty! &quot; I used to cry when I had counted so
many tens that I was tired. &quot; Oh ! do come and see how
beautiful it is, and let us have our tea-party. Oh, white rose
bush, where is she ? &quot; They drove me out of the house so
many times that I had no courage ; but one morning the
white rose-bush was so splendid that I made one desperate
effort. I went to the bedroom door and rubbed against it,
and called with all my strength :

&quot; Betty, if you are there ! Betty, if you love me at all,
oh, speak to me and tell me what I have done ! The white
rose-bush has tens and tens and tens of flowers upon it. It
is like snow. Don t you care about it ? Oh, do come out
and see ! Betty, Betty ! I am so lonely for you, and I
love you so !&quot;

And the door actually opened, and her mamma stood there
looking at me, with great tears rolling down her cheeks. She
bent down and took me in her arms and stroked me.

&quot; Perhaps she will know it,&quot; she said in a low, strange
voice to some one in the room. She turned and carried me
into the bedroom, and I saw that it was Betty s papa she had
spoken to.

The next instant I sprang out of her arms on to the bed.
Betty was there my Betty !

It seemed as if I felt myself lose my senses. My Betty !
I kissed her and kissed her and kissed her! I rubbed her
little hands, her cheeks, her curls. I kissed her and purred
and cried.

142 LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER STORY

t( Betty,&quot; said her mamma, &quot; Betty, darling, don t you
know your own little kitty ? &quot;

Why did not she ? Why did she not ? Her cheeks were
hot and red, her curls were spread out over the pillow, her
pansy eyes did not seem to see me, and her little head moved
drearily to and fro.

Her mamma took me in her arms again, and, as she
carried me out of the room, her tears fell on me.

&quot; She does not know you, kitty,&quot; she said. &quot; Poor kitty,
you will have to go away.&quot;

#$*&$

I cannot understand it. I sit by the fire and think and
think, but I cannot understand. She went away after that,
and I never saw her again.

I have never felt like a kitten since that time.

I went and sat under the white rose-bush all day, and
slept there all night.

The next day there were more roses than ever, and I
made up my mind that I would try to be patient and stay
there and watch them until Betty came to see. But two or
three days after, in the fresh part of the morning, when every
thing was loveliest, her mamma came out, walking slowly,
straight towards the bush. She stood still a few moments
and looked at it, and her tears fell so fast that they were like
dew on the white roses as she bent over. She began to

gather the prettiest buds and blossoms one by one. Her
tears were falling all the time, so that I wondered how she

LITTLE BETTY S XI T TEN TELLS HER STORY 143

could see what she was doing, but she gathered until her
arms and her dress were full she gathered every one ! And
when the bush was stripped of all but its green leaves, I gave
a little heart-broken cry because they were Betty s roses,
and she had so loved them when they were only hard little
buds and she looked down and saw me, and oh ! her tears
fell then, not like dew, but like rain.

&quot; Betty,&quot; she said, &quot; kitty, Betty has gone where where
there are roses always.&quot;

And she went slowly back to the house, with all my
Betty s white roses heaped up in her arms. She never told
me where my Betty had gone no one did. And no more
roses came out on the bush. I sat under it and watched,
because I hoped it would bloom again.

I sat there for hours and hours, and at last, while I was
waiting, I saw something strange. People had been going
in and out of the house all morning. They kept coming, and
bringing flowers, and when they went away most of them
had tears in their eyes. And in the afternoon there were
more than there had been in the morning. I had got so
tired that I forgot, and fell asleep. I don t know how long
I slept, but I was awakened by hearing many footsteps going
slowly down the garden walk towards the gate.

They all seemed to be people who were going away.
And first there walked before them two men who were carry
ing a beautiful white and silver box of some kind on their
shoulders. They moved very slowly, and their heads were

144 LITTLE BETTY S KITTEN TELLS HER STORY

bent as they walked. But the white and silver box was
beautiful. It shone in the sun, and oh, how my heart beat!
all my Betty s snow-white roses were heaped upon and
wreathed around it. And I sat under the stripped rose-bush
breaking my heart. She had gone away my little Betty
and I did not know where ; and all I could think was that this
was the very last I should ever see of her ; because I thought
there must be something which had belonged to her in the
white and silver box under the roses, and because she was
gone they were carrying that away, too.

Oh, my Betty, my Betty ! and I am only a little cat, who
sits by the fire and thinks, while nobody seems to care or
understand how lonely and puzzled I am, and how I long for
some kind person to explain. And I could not bear it, but
that we loved each other so much that it comforts me to think
of it. And I loved her so much, that when I say to myself
over and over again what her mamma said to me, it almost
makes me happy again almost, not quite, because I m so
lonely. But if it is true, even a little cat who loved her
would be happy for her sake.

Betty has gone where there are always roses. Betty
has gone where there are always roses.

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

AND A VERY REAL LITTLE BOY BECAME AN

IDEAL ONE

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

AND A VERY REAL LITTLE BOY BECAME AN

IDEAL ONE

CHAPTER I

HIS ENTRANCE INTO THE WORLD

IT has always been rather interesting to me to remem
ber that he first presented himself in an impenetrable

disguise. It was a disguise sufficiently artful to have
disarmed the most wary. I, who am not at all a far-
sighted person, was completely taken in by him. I saw
nothing to warrant in the slightest degree any suspicion
that he had descended to earth with practical intentions ;
that he furtively cherished plans of making himself into
the small hero of a book, the picturesque subject of illus
trations, the inspiration of a fashion in costume, the very
jeune premier in a play over which people in two conti
nents would laugh and cry.

Perhaps, in periods before he introduced himself to his
family that morning of April 5, 1876, in a certain house
in Paris, he may have known all this, and laid out his

148 HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

little plans with adroitness and deliberation ; but when I
first examined him carefully, as he lay on my arm, look
ing extremely harmless and extremely fast asleep in his
extremely long nightgown, he did not bear at all the
aspect of a crafty and designing person ; he only looked
warm and comfortable, and quite resigned to his situa
tion.

He had been clever enough to disguise himself as a
baby a quite new baby, in violet powder and a bald head
and a florid complexion. He had even put on small, in
definite features and entirely dispensed with teeth, besides
professing inability to speak, a fastidious simplicity of taste
in the matter of which limited him to the most innocuous
milk diet. But beneath this disguise there he lurked, the
small individual who, seven years later apparently quite
artlessly and unconsciously presented his smiling, ingen
uous little face to the big world, and was smiled back
upon by it Little Lord Fauntleroy. He was a quite
unromantic little person. Only a prejudiced maternal
parent could have picked him out from among seventy-
five other babies of the same age ; but somehow we always
felt that he had a tiny character of his own, and somehow
it was always an amusing little character, and one s natural
tendency was to view him in rather a jocular light.

In the first place, he had always been thought of as a
little girl. It was the old story of &quot; Your sister, Betsey
Trotwood ; &quot; and when he presented himself, with an un-

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 149

flinching firmness, in the unexpected character of a little
boy, serious remonstrance was addressed to him.

&quot; This habit you have contracted of being a little boy,&quot;
his mamma said to him, &quot; is most inconvenient. Your
name was to be Vivien. Vivien is Early English, and
picturesque and full of color ; Vivian, which is a boy s
name, I don t think so much of. It sounds like a dandy,
and reminds me of Vivian Grey ; but, after the way you
have behaved, it is about all I can do for you, because I
am too tired of thinking of names to be equal to invent
ing anything else.&quot;

If it had not been for his disguise, and his determina
tion not to be betrayed into the weakness of speech, it is
quite possible he might have responded :

&quot; If you will trust the matter to me, I will manage to
reconcile you to the name, and make you feel there is
some consolation for the fact that I preferred to be myself,
instead of Vivien. Just give me time.&quot;

We were, of course, obliged to give him time, and he
wasted none of it. One of the favorite jokes was that
he was endeavoring to ingratiate himself with us, and by a
strict attention to business to merit future patronage. We
felt it very clever of him to elect to do this quietly ; to
occupy the position he had chosen for himself with such
unobtrusiveness that no one could possibly object to him.
This might really have been the deepest craft. To have
proved one s self an individual to whom no one can object

1 5 o HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

on any pretext, is really an enormous step in the direction
of gaining a foothold. It is quite possible that he realized
that the step he had taken had been somewhat premature ;
that to introduce himself to a family absorbed in study and
foreign travel, and an elder brother aged eighteen months,
had not been entirely discreet, and that a general decorum
of manner would be required to obliterate the impression
that he had been somewhat inconsiderate.

His elder brother had decided to become a stately
beauty, and after some indeterminate months had set up as
premonitory symptoms large brown eyes, a deepening golden
tinge of hair, and a distinguished and gracefully exclusive de
meanor. His opinion of the new-comer was that he was an
interloper. I think his private impression was that he was
vulgar, also that he was fatuous and unnecessary. He used
to stand by his nurse s knee when she held the intruder, and
regard her with haughty reflection from under his eyelids.
She had hitherto been his sole property, and her defection
seemed to him to denote inferior taste and instability of
character. On one occasion, after standing by her in dis
approving silence for some time, while he alternately looked
at her and then at the white bundle on her knee, he waved
his hand toward the grate, remarking, with more dignity of
demeanor than clearness of enunciation :

&quot; F ow him in er fire ! &quot;

We were sure that the new member of the family appre
ciated the difficulty of his position. We wondered if he had

FAUNTLEROY S WELCOME INTO THE WORLD: &quot; F OW HIM IN ER FIRE !

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 153

understood when he had heard us refer to him as the &quot; Little
Calamity.&quot; After a few days acquaintance with him we
were afraid he had, and felt a delicacy in using the term,
which we had at first thought rather a good joke.

Dear Little Calamity, how often we have spoken of
that misnomer since ! From his first hour his actions
seemed regulated by the peaceful resolve never to be in
the way. and never to make any one uncomfortable.

The unvarying serenity with which he devoted himself
to absorbing as much nourishment as his small system
would hold, and then sleeping sweetly for hours and most
artistically assimilating it, was quite touching.

&quot; Look at him,&quot; his mamma would say. &quot; He is trying
to insinuate himself. He intends to prove that he is
really an addition, and that no family should be without
him. But no family can have him,&quot; she burst forth in a
very short time, &quot;no family but ours. Nobody is rich
enough to buy him. He has made his own price, and it
is five hundred thousand million dollars ! &quot; When he had
selected her as a parent he had probably observed that
she was a susceptible person peculiarly susceptible to
the special variety of charms he had to offer. He had
analyzed her weakness and his strength, and had known
she w r as a fitting victim for his seductive arts.

The unflinchingness with which he applied himself to
the fine art of infant fascination was really worth reflecting
upon. At thirty there are numerous methods by which a

1 54 HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

person may prove that he is worthy of affection and admira
tion ; at three months his charms and virtues are limited to
a good digestion, a tendency to somnolence, and an unob
trusive temper. The new arrival did not obtrude upon us
any ostentatiously novel attractions. He merely applied
himself to giving his family the most superior specimens
of the meritorious qualities his tender age was entitled to.
He never complained of feeling unwell, he was generally
asleep, and when he was awake he would lie upon his back
without revolt for a much longer period than is sub
mitted to usually by persons of his months. And when he
did so he invariably wore the air of being engaged in sweet-
tempered though profound reflection.

He had not seemed to regret being born in Paris, but
he seemed agreeably impressed by America when he was
taken there at the age of six weeks. Feeling himself
restored to a land of republican freedom, he began to feel
at liberty to unfold his hitherto concealed resources. He
began by giving less time to sleep and more to agreeable,
though inarticulate, conversation. He began to sit up
and look around him with soft, shadowy, and peculiarly
thoughtful eyes. The expression the clear little dreamy,
reflective expression of his eyes was his most valuable
possession. It was a capital. It attracted the attention
of his immediate relatives and ensnared them into discuss
ing his character and wondering what he was thinking of.

o o o

His eyes were brown, and having heard their color re-

HO IV FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 155

marked on in a complimentary manner, he, with great
artistic presence of mind, stealthily applied himself to
developing upon his hitherto bald head golden hair with a
curl in it.

It was his mamma who first discovered this. She was
lying upon a grassy slope, playing with him, and holding
him up in the sunlight at arm s length ; she saw in the
brightness a sort of faint little nimbus of gold crowning him.

&quot;Oh, the Lammie day!&quot; she cried out. (&quot;Lammie day&quot;
is not in the dictionary ; it was a mere maternal inspiration.)
&quot; See what he is doing now ! He is putting out a lovely
little golden fuzz all over his head, and there is a tiny
curl at the ends like little duck-tails ! He has asked
somebody or something, perhaps a fairy, what kind of
hair I like with brown eyes, and he is doing it on purpose.&quot;
It seemed not improbable that, on inquiring into her
character before selecting her, he had grounded himself
thoroughly in the matter of her tastes, and had found that
an insistent desire for a certain beauty in the extremely
young was one of her weaknesses also.

From his earliest hours he considered her. He had not
anticipated walking alone at nine months old/but in their
intimate moments he discovered she had really set her
heart upon his doing so.

&quot; Your brother walked alone beautifully when he was
nine months old,&quot; she would remark, &quot;and if you wait until
you are ten months old I shall feel that you have dishonored

156 HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

your family and brought my reddish hair with sorrow to
the grave.&quot;

This being the case, he applied himself to making deter
mined, if slow, little pilgrimages upon the carpet on his
hands and knees. His reward was that the first time he
essayed this he was saluted with cries of adulation and joy,
notwithstanding the fact that his attempt was rather wab
bly in character, and its effect was marred by his losing his
balance and rolling over in a somewhat ignominious manner.

&quot; He is creeping ! &quot; his mamma said. &quot; He has begun
to creep ! He is going to walk as soon as Lionel did ! &quot;
and everything available in the form of an audience was
gathered together in the room, to exult with acclamations
over the enrapturing spectacle of a small thing dragging
its, brief white frock and soft plump body, accompanied
and illumined by a hopeful smile, over a nursery carpet.

&quot; He is so original ! &quot; his unprejudiced parent exclaimed,
with fine discrimination. &quot; He s creeping, of course, and
babies have crept before, but he gives it a kind of air, as
if he had invented it, and yet was quite modest.&quot;

Her discrimination with regard to his elder brother
had been quite as fine. There were even persons who
regarded her as being prejudiced by undue affection. It
has never been actually proved that the aspirant for pedes
trian honors had privately procured a calendar and se
creted it for daily reference as to the passage of time, but
if this were not the case, it was really by a rather singular

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 157

coincidence that the day before his ninth month was
completed he arrested his creeping over the carpet, and,
dragging himself up by a chair to a standing position, cov
ered himself with glory by staggering, flushed, uncertain,
but triumphant, at least six steps across the floor unaided
and alone.

He was snatched up and kissed until he was breathless.
He was ruffled and tumbled with delightful little shakes
and ecstatic little hugs. He bore it all with the modest
composure of a conqueror, who did not deign trivial airs and
graces. His cheeks were warm and pink ; he made no
remark whatever, but there was in his eyes a soft, coy little
smile which only a person of his Machiavellian depth of
character could have accomplished. By that time, by adroit
machinations and an unbounded knowledge of human weak
ness, he had assured his position in the respectable family
of which he had chosen to become a member. It would
have been impossible to oust him, or to work upon the
feelings of his relatives in any such manner as would have
induced them to listen for a moment to any animadversions
upon his conduct. His eyelashes, his indefinite features,
his totter, his smile, were considered to become matters of
the most thrilling national importance. On the magnificent
occasion when he first decided to follow his mamma up
stairs, and consequently applied himself to the rather pro
longed and serious athletic task of creeping up step by step
on his dusty little hands and soft knees, and electrifying

158 HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

her by confronting her, when she turned and saw him, with
a sweetly smiling and ardent little upturned face on that
occasion it seemed really that it could only be by the most
remarkable oversight that there were not columns of edito
rials on the subject in the London Times.

&quot; They wrote about the passing of bills in Parliament,&quot;
his parent remarked, &quot; and about wars and royal marriages ;
why don t they touch on things of really vital importance ?&quot;
It was at this period of existence that his papa was fre
quently distracted in moments of deep absorption in scien
tific subjects, by being implored to leave his essay upon
astigmatism and revert his attention upon his offspring.

&quot; Don t waste him! &quot;he was besought. &quot;He could not
possibly keep up this degree of fascination always. He
might grow out of it, and then just think how you would feel
when you reflected that you had read medical books when
you might have been watching him pretending to be looking
at pictures. He ought to be economized every moment ! &quot;

But the most charming feature of his character was that
his knowledge of the possession of glittering accomplish
ments, which were innumerable, never betrayed him into for
getting that his attitude toward the entire world was one of
the most perfect good-fellowship. When he was spoken to,
he smiled ; when he was kissed, even by unprepossessingly
familiar persons, he always comported himself with graceful
self-control and dignity. The trying fact, which I am sure
was more apparent to no one than to himself, that there were

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 159

individuals whose idea of entertaining him was to make bla
tant idiots of themselves, was never resented by him openly.
When they uttered strange sounds, and poked his soft
cheeks, or tumbled him about in an unseemly manner, it
was his habit to gaze at them with deep but not dis
dainful curiosity and interest, as if he were trying to be
just toward them and explain to himself their point of view.

&quot; It really must be rather fatiguing to him not to be able
to express himself,&quot; was his mamma s opinion. &quot; He has
evidently so many opinions in reserve.&quot;

He was so softly plump, he was so sweet-tempered, he
was so pretty ! One forgot all about his Early English sister
Vivien. It was as if she had never been contemplated for
a moment. The word &quot;calamity&quot; was artfully avoided in
conversation. One felt unworthy, and rather blushed if one
caught sight of it in literature. When he invented a special
little habit of cuddling up to his mamma in a warm, small
heap, and in his sleep making for her a heavenly downy
necklace of both his arms, with his diminutive palms locked
together to hold her prisoner through the night, she began
to feel it quite possible that his enslaving effect upon her
might be such as to enfeeble an intellect even of the most
robust. But she knew him by this time well enough to
realize that it would be useless to rebel, and that she might
as well succumb.

She succumbed more and more as the days went by.
But she also observed that everybody else succumbed.

160 HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

While making the most of his mental charms and graces he
gave a great deal of attention to his physical attractions. It
was believed that he concentrated his attention upon his
hair. He encouraged it to develop from the golden fuzz
into a golden silk, from the tiny duck-tails to shining rings,
from rings to a waving aureole, from the aureole to an
entrancing mop of yellow, which tumbled over his forehead
and gave his up-looking eyes a prettiness of expression.

And how like him it was to make a point of never
objecting to have this wayward, though lovely, growth
brushed ! What a supplice he might have made of the
ceremony for his family if he had resented it and rebelled !
But, on the contrary, it was believed that he seized upon
the opportunity offered by it to gild the refined gold of his
amiability of disposition, as it were. Speaking as a person
with some knowledge of the habits of the extremely young,
I should say that there may be numbers of maternal parents
who will scarcely believe that one of the most enchanting
hours of the day was a certain time in the morning, when he
leaned against his mamma s knee and gave himself up to
engaging conversation while his tangles were being taken
out. He made not the slightest objection to being curled
and brushed and burnished up and made magnificent. His
soft, plump body rested confidingly against the supporting
knee, and while the function proceeded he devoted himself
to agreeable remark and analytical observation.

There was an expression of countenance it was his

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 161

habit to wear at such times which was really a matter
of the finest art. It combined philosophic patience, genial
leniency, and a sweet determination to make the very best
of a thing, which was really beautiful to behold. It was at
these times that a series of nursery romances, known as
&quot; The Hair-Curling Series,&quot; was invented and related.
They were notable chiefly for good, strong, dramatic color
ing, and their point w r as the illustration of the useful moral
that little boys with a great deal of beautiful curly hair
are naturally rewarded if they are always good when it
is brushed by delightful adventures, such as being played
with by fairies and made friends with by interesting wild
animals, whose ravenous propensities are softened to the
most affectionate mildness by the sight of such high-minded-
ness in tender youth. There was one story, known as
&quot;The Good Wolf,&quot; which lasted for months, and was a
never-ending source of delight, as it rejoiced in features
which could be varied to adapt themselves to any circum
stance or change of taste in playthings. It was the lauda
ble habit of the good wolf to give presents to little boys
who were deserving, besides taking them delightful rides in
a little sleigh, and one could vary the gifts and excursions
to an unlimited extent. Another, known as &quot; The Mournful
Story of Benny,&quot; was a fearful warning, but ended happily,
and as it was not of a personal nature was not disapproved
of, and was listened to with respectful and sympathizing
interest, though &quot; The Good Wolf &quot; was preferred.

1 62 HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

A delightfully intelligent little expression and an occa
sional dear little gurgling laugh when the best points were
made, convinced me that the point of view of the listener
was an appreciation of the humor between the lines quite
as clear, in a four-year-old way, as that of the relater of the
incidents. He revelled in the good wolf and was concerned
by the misfortunes of Benny, who had brought tragedy
upon himself by being so lost to all sense of virtue as to
cut off his curls, but he knew they were highly colored
figures, and part of a subtile and delightful joke.

But long before this he had learned to talk, and it was
then that we were introduced to the treasures of his
mind.

What was the queer little charm which made every one
like him so much, which made every one smile when he
looked at them, which made every one listen when he
spoke, which made arms quite involuntarily close around
his small body when he came within reach ?

The person who made the closest study of his character
devoted five or six years to it before she was quite sure
what this charm consisted in. Then she decided that it
was formed of a combination of fortunate characteristics
which might have lost all their value of fascination but
for their being illumined by the warmth and brightness
of a purely kind little heart, full of friendliness to the
whole world.

He was pretty, but many little boys were pretty; he

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 163

was quaint and amusing, but so are many scores. The dif
ference between this one tiny individuality and others was
that he seemed to have been born without sense of the
existence of any barrier between his own innocent heart
and any other.

I think it had never occurred to him that any one could
possibly be unfriendly or unloving to him. He was a per
fectly human little thing, not a young cherub, but a rational
baby, who made his frocks exceedingly dirty, and rejoiced
sweetly in the making of mud pies. But, somehow, his
radiant smile of belief in one s sympathy, even with his mud
pies, minimized the trouble of contending with the earthly
features of him.

His opinion evidently was that the world was made of
people who loved him and smiled if they saw him, of things
one could play with and stories one could listen to, and of
friends and relations who were always ready to join in the
play and tell the stories. He went peacefully to the curl-
brushing ordeal, perhaps because of this confiding sureness
that any hand that dealt with him would touch him tenderly.
He never doubted it.

One morning, before he was three years old, he trotted
into the dining-room with a beautifully preoccupied expres
sion, evidently on business thoughts intent. The breakfast
was over, but his mamma was still sitting at the table,
reading.

She heard the tiny pattering of feet coming down the

1 6 4 HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

hall before he entered. She had thought him with his
nurse, but he appeared to be returning from some unusual
expedition to the front door, which, as it was a warm, early
summer morning, stood open.

She was always curious about his mental processes, and
so, when he trotted to the table with his absorbed air, and
stood upon his tiptoes, making serious efforts to gain pos
session of a long loaf of French bread, she regarded him
with interest he was so little, and the roll of bread was
so long, and his intentions to do something practical with
it were so evident. Somehow, one of his allurements was
that he was always funny, and he was so purely because
his small point of view was always so innocently serious.

&quot;What does mamma s baby want?&quot; she asked. He
looked at her with an air of sweet good faith, and
secured the bread, tucking it in all its dignity of propor
tion under the very shortest possible arm.

&quot; Lacly,&quot; he said, &quot;lady, font door want b ead,&quot; and
he trotted off, with a simple security in the sense of doing
the right and only admissible thing, which it was repose
ful to behold.

His mamma left her book hurriedly and trotted after
him. Such a quaint baby figure he was, with the long
French roll under his arm ! And he headed straight for
the front door.

Standing upon the top step was an exceedingly dilapi
dated and disreputable little negro girl with an exceed-

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 167

ingly dirty and broken basket on her arm. This basket
was intended to contain such scraps of food as she might
beg for. She was grinning a little, and at the same time
looking a little anxious, as the baby came toddling to
her, the sun on his short curls, the loaf under his short
arm.

He dropped the loaf into her basket with sweet
friendliness.

&quot; B ead, lady,&quot; he said. And as she scurried away he
turned to smile at his approaching mamma with the con
fidence of a two-year-old angel.

&quot;Lady, b ead,&quot; he remarked succinctly, and the situa
tion was explained.

The dirty little colored girl was a human thing in
petticoats, consequently she was a lady. His tender mind
saw no other conclusion to be arrived at. She had
expressed a desire for bread. On his mamma s breakfast
table there was a beautiful long loaf. Of course it must
be given to her. The question of demand and supply
was so easily settled ; so he trotted after the bread. The
mere circumstances of short legs and short arms did not
deter a spirit like his.

And it was this simple and unquestioning point of view
which made him adorable.

i68 HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

CHAPTER II

IN WHITE FROCK AND SASH

IN the drawing-room, in full war-paint of white frock and
big sash, he was the spirit of innocent and friendly hos
pitality, in the nursery he was a brilliant entertainment,
below stairs he was the admiration and delight of the domes
tics. The sweet temper which prompted him to endeavor to
sustain agreeable conversation with the guest who admired
him led him, also, to enter into friendly converse with the
casual market-man at the back door, and to entertain with
lively anecdote and sparkling repartee the extremely stout
colored cook in the kitchen. He endeavored to assist her in
the performance of her more arduous culinary duties, and
by his sympathy and interest sustained her in many trying
moments. When he was visiting her department chuckles
and giggles might be heard issuing from the kitchen when
the door was opened. Those who heard them always knew
that they were excited by the moral or social observations
or affectionate advice and solace of the young but dis
tinguished guest.

&quot;Me an Carrie made that pudding,&quot; he would kindly

HO IV FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 169

explain, at dinner. &quot; It s a very good pudding. Carrie s
such a nice cook. She lets me help her.&quot;

And his dimples would express such felicity, and his eyes
beam from under his tumbling love-locks with such pleasure,
at his confidence in the inevitable rapture of his parents at
the announcement of his active usefulness, that no one pos
sessed sufficient strength of mind to correct the grammati
cal structure of his remarks.

There is a picture not one of Mr. Birch s which I
think will always remain with me. It is ten years since
I saw it, but I see it still. It is the quaint one of a good-
looking, stout, colored woman climbing slowly up a back
staircase with a sturdy little fellow on her back, his legs
astride her spacious waist, his arms clasped round her neck,
his lovely mop of yellow hair tumbling over her shoulder,
upon which his cheek affectionately and comfortably rests.

It does not come within the province of cooks to toil
up-stairs with little boys on their backs, especially when the
little boys have stout little legs of their own, and are old
enough to wear Jersey suits and warlike scarfs of red, but in
this case the carrying up-stairs was an agreeable ceremony,
partly jocular and wholly affectionate, engaged in by two
confidants, and the bearer enjoyed it as much as did her
luxurious burden.

&quot; We re friends, you know,&quot; he used to say. &quot; Carrie s
my friend, and Dan s my friend. Carrie s such a kind cook,
and Dan s such a nice waiter.&quot;

i yo HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

That was the whole situation in a nutshell. They were
his friends, and they formed together a mutual admiration
society.

His conversation with them we knew was enriched by
gems of valuable and entertaining information. Among his
charms was his desire to acquire information, and the amia
ble readiness with which he imparted it to his acquaintances.
We gathered that while assisting in the making of pudding
he was lavish in the bestowal of useful knowledge. Inti
mate association and converse with him had revealed to
his mamma that there was no historical, geographical, or
scientific fact which might not be impressed upon him in
story form, and fill him with rapture. Monsoons and
typhoons, and the crossing of the Great Desert on camels,
he found absorbing ; the adventures of Romulus and Remus,
and their good wolf, and the founding of Rome, held him
spellbound. He found the vestal virgins and their task of
keeping up the sacred fires in the temple sufficiently inter
esting to be made into a species of dramatic entertainment
during his third year. It was his habit to creep out of his
crib very early in the morning, and entertain himself agree
ably in the nursery until other people got up. One morning
his mamma, lying in her room, which opened into the
nursery, heard a suspicious sound of unlawful poking at
the fire.

&quot; Vivvie,&quot; she said, &quot; is that you ? &quot;

The poking ceased, but there was no reply. Silence

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 171

reigned for a few moments, and then the sound was heard
again.

&quot; Vivian,&quot; said his anxious parent, &quot; you are not allowed
to touch the fire.&quot;

Small, soft feet came pattering hurriedly into the room ;
round the footboard of the bed a ruffled head and seriously
expostulatory little countenance appeared.

&quot; Don t you know,&quot; he said, with an air of lenient re
monstrance, &quot;don t you know I s a westal wirgin?&quot;

It would be impossible to explain him without relating
anecdotes. Is there not an illustration of the politeness of
his demeanor and the grace of his infant manners in the
reply renowned in his history, made at the age of four,
when his mamma was endeavoring to explain some inter
esting point in connection with the structure of his small,
plump body? It was his habit to ask so many searching
questions that it was necessary for his immediate relatives
to endeavor to render their minds compact masses of
valuable facts. But on this occasion his inquiries had
led him into such unknown depths as were beyond him
for the moment only for the moment, of course. He
listened to the statement made, his usual engaging expres
sion of delighted interest gradually becoming tinged with
polite doubtfulness. When the effort at explanation was
at an end he laid his hand upon his mamma s knee with
apologetic but firm gentleness.

&quot; Well, you see,&quot; he said, &quot;of course you know I believe

1 72 HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

you, dearest &quot; (the most considerate stress was laid upon
the &quot; believe&quot;), &quot; but, ascuse me,&quot; with infinite delicacy,
&quot; asciise me, I do not think it is true.&quot;

The tender premonitory assurance that his confidence
was unimpaired, even though he was staggered by the
statement made, was so affectionately characteristic of him,
and the apologetic grace of the &quot; ascuse me, dearest,&quot; was
all his own.

There might be little boys who were oblivious of, and
indifferent to, the attractions of simooms, who saw no charm
in the interior arrangements of camels, and were indifferent
to the strata of the earth, but in his enterprising mind such
subjects wakened the liveliest interest, and a little habit
he had, of suddenly startling his family by revealing to
them the wealth of his store of knowledge, by making
casual remarks, was at once instructive and enlivening.

&quot; A camel has ever so many stomachs,&quot; he might sweetly
announce, while sitting in his high chair and devoting
himself to his breakfast, the statement appearing to evolve
itself from dreamy reflection. &quot; It fills them with water.
Then it goes across the desert and carries things. Then
it isn t thirsty.&quot;

He was extremely pleased with the camel, and was
most exhaustive in his explanations of him. It was not
unlikely that Carrie and Dan might have passed a strict
examination on the subject of incidents connected with
the crossing of the Great Desert. He also found his

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 173

bones interesting, and was most searching in his inquiries
as to the circulation of his blood. But he had been
charmed with his bones from his first extremely early
acquaintance with them, as witness an incident of his third
year, which is among the most cherished by his family of
their recollections of him.

He sat upon his mamma s knee before the nursery
fire, a small, round, delightful thing, asking questions. He
had opened up the subject of his bones by discovering
that his short, plump arm seemed built upon something
solid, which he felt at once necessary to investigate.

&quot;It is a little bone,&quot; his mamma said, &quot;and there is
one in your other arm, and one in each of your legs.
Do you know,&quot; giving him a caressing little shake, &quot;if I
could see under all the fat on your little body I should
find a tiny, weenty skeleton ? &quot;

He looked up enraptured. His dimples had a power
of expressing delight never equalled by any other baby s
dimples. His eyes and his very curls themselves seemed
somehow to have something to do with it.

&quot;If you did,&quot; he said, &quot;if you did, woiild you give it
to me to play with ? &quot;

He was a very fortunate small person in the fact that
nature had been extremely good to him in the matter of
combining his mental sweetness and quaintness with the
great .charm of physical picturesqueness. All his little
attitudes and movements were picturesque. When he

i 7 4 HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

stood before one to listen he fell unconsciously into some
quaint attitude ; when he talked he became ingenuously
dramatic ; when he sat down to converse he mentally
made a droll or delightful and graceful little picture of
himself. His childish body was as expressive as his glow
ing little face. Any memory of him is always accom
panied by a distinct recollection of the expression of his
face, and some queer or pretty position which seemed to be
part of his mental attitude. When he wore frocks his habit
of standing with his hands clasped behind his back in the
region of a big sash, and his trick of sitting down with a
hand upon each of the plump knees a brevity of skirt
disclosed, were things to be remembered ; when he was
inserted into Jersey suits and velvet doublet and knicker
bockers, his manly little fashion of standing hands upon
hips, and sitting in delicious, all unconsciously aesthetic, poses
were positively features of his character. What no dancing-
master could have taught him, his graceful childish body
fell into with entire naturalness, merely because he was a
picturesque small person in both body and mind.

Could one ever forget him as he appeared one day at
the seaside, when coming up from the beach with his brief
trousers rolled up to his stalwart little thighs? He stood
upon the piazza, spade and bucket in hand, looking with
deep, sympathetic interest at a male visitor who was on
the point of leaving the house. This visitor was a man
who had recently lost his wife suddenly. He was a near

HOW FAUNLTEROY OCCURRED 177

relative of a guest in the house, and the young friend of
all the world had possibly heard his bereavement discussed.
But at six years old it is not the custom of small boys to
concern themselves about such events. It seems that this
one did, however, though the caller was not one of his
intimates. He stood apart for a few moments, looking at
him with a tenderly reflective countenance. His mamma,
seeing his absorption, privately wondered what he was
thinking of. But presently he transferred both spade and
bucket to one hand, and came forward, holding out the
other. I do not think anything could have been quainter
and more sweet than the kind little face which uplifted
itself to the parting guest.

&quot; Mr. Wenham,&quot; he said, &quot; I m very sorry for you, Mr.
Wenham, about your wife being dead. I m very sorry
for you. I know how you must miss her.&quot;

Even the sympathy of six years old does not go for
nothing. There was a slight moisture in Mr. Wenham s
eyes as he shook the small, sandy hand, and his voice was
not quite steady as he answered, &quot;Thank you, Vivvie, thank
you.&quot;

It was when he was spending the summer at this place
that he made the acquaintance of the young lady whose
pony he regarded as a model of equine strength and beauty.
It was the tiniest possible pony, whose duty it was to draw a
small phaeton containing a small girl and her governess.
But I was told it was a fine sight to behold the blooming

1 78 HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

little gentleman caller standing before this stately equipage,
his hands on his hips, his head upon one side, regard
ing the steed with quite the experienced air of an aged
jockey.

That s a fine horse,&quot; he said. &quot; You see, it s got
plenty of muscle. What I like is a horse with plenty of
muscle.&quot;

And when we drove away from the cottage at the end
of the summer, I myself perhaps a shade saddened, as one
often is by the thought that the days of sunshine and roses
are over, he put his small hand in mine and looked up at
me wistfully.

&quot;We liked that little house, didn t we, dearest?&quot; he
said. &quot; We will always like it, won t we ? &quot;

&quot; Do you know my friend Mrs. Wilkins ? &quot; he inquired
one day, when he was still small enough to wear white
frocks, and not old enough to extend his explorations
further than the part of the quiet street opposite the house
he lived in.

&quot;And who is your friend Mrs. Wilkins?&quot; his mamma
inquired.

&quot; She is a very nice lady that saw me through her
window when I was playing on the pavement, and we
talked to each other, and she asked me to come into her
house. She s such a kind lady, and she paints beautiful
cups and saucers. She s my friend. And her cook is a
nice lady too. She lives in the basemen and she talks to

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 179

me through the window. She likes little boys. I have
two friends in that house.&quot;

&quot; My friend Mrs. Wilkins &quot; became one of his cherished
intimates. His visits to her were frequent and prolonged.

&quot; I ve just been to see my friend Mrs. Wilkins,&quot; he
would say ; or, &quot; My friend Mrs. Wilkins s husband is very
kind to me. We go to his store, and he gives me oranges.&quot;

It is not improbable that he also painted china during
his calls upon his friend Mrs. Wilkins. It is certain that,
if he did not otherwise assist, his attitude was that of an
enthusiastic admirer of the art. That his conversation with
the lady embraced many subjects, we have evidence in an
anecdote frequently related with great glee by those to
whom the incident was reported. I myself was not present
during the ingenuous summing up of the charm of social
life, but I have always mentally seen him taking his part in
the scene in one of his celebrated conversational attitudes,
in which he usually sat holding his plump knee in a man
ner which somehow seemed to express deep, speculative
thought.

&quot; Are you in society, Mrs. Wilkins ? &quot; he inquired, ingen
uously.

&quot; What is being in society, Vivvie ? &quot; Mrs. Wilkins
replied, probably with the intention of drawing forth his
views.

&quot; It s well there are a great many carriages, you
know, and a great many ladies come to see you. And they

i8o HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

say, How are you, Mrs. Burnett? So glad to find you
at home. Gabble, gabble, gabble, gabble. Good morning !
And they go away. That s it.&quot;

I am not quite sure that I repeat the exact phrasing, but
the idea is intact, and the point which inspired the hearers
with such keen joy was that he had absolutely no intention
of making an unfriendly criticism. He was merely painting
an impressionist s picture. On his own part he was fond of
society. It delighted him to be allowed to come into the
drawing-room on the days when his mamma was &quot;at home.&quot;
This function impressed him as an agreeable festivity. As
he listened to the &quot; gabble, gabble, gabble,&quot; he beamed with
friendly interest. He admired the ladies, and regarded them
as beautiful and amiable. It was his pleasure to follow the
departing ones into the hall and render them gallant assist
ance with their wraps.

&quot; I like ladies, dearest,&quot; he would say. &quot; They are so
pretty.&quot;

At what age he became strongly imbued with the
stanchest Republican principles, it would be difficult to say.
He was an unflinching Republican.

&quot; My dearest Mamma,&quot; he wrote me in one of the
splendid epistolary efforts of his earliest years, &quot; I am sorry
that I have not had time to write to you before. I
have been so occupied with the presidential election.
The boys in my school knock me clown and jump on
me because they want me to go Democrat. But I am

ARE YOU IN SOCIETY, MRS. WILKINS ? &quot;

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 183

still a strong Republican. I send you a great many hugs
and kisses.

4&amp;lt; Your obedient and humble son and servant.

&quot; VIVIAN.&quot;

He was given to inventing picturesque terminations
to his letters, and he seemed particularly pleased with the
idea of being my humble or obedient son and servant. The
picture the letter brought to my mind of a flushed and
tumbled but stanch little Republican engaged in a sort of
kindergarten political tussle with equally flushed and tumbled
little Democrats wore an extremely American aspect. Fig
uratively speaking, he plunged into the thick of the elec
tioneering fray. He engaged in political argument upon
all available occasions. Fortunately for his peace of mind,
Carrie and Dan favored the Republican party. Dan took
him to see Republican torchlight processions, and held him
upon his shoulders while he waved his small hat, his hair
flying about his glowing face while he shouted himself hoarse.
No unworthy party cry of &quot; Rah for Hancock!&quot; went un
answered by the clarion response. At the sound of such a
cry in the street the nursery windows flew open with a bang,
and two ecstatic Republicans (himself and brother) almost pre
cipitated themselves into space, shouting &quot; Rah for Garfield ! &quot;
Without such precautions he felt his party would be lost.
I think he was six when he discovered that he was a sup
porter of the movement in favor of female suffrage. It
was rather a surprise to us when this revealed itself, but

1 84 HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

his reasons were of such a serious and definite nature that
they were arguments not to be refuted.

When he gave them he was leaning against a window-
ledge in a room in a seaside home, his hands in his red sash,
his countenance charming with animation.

&quot; I believe they ought to be allowed to vote if they like
it,&quot; he said, &quot; cause what should we do if there were no
ladies ? Nobody would have any mothers or any wives.&quot;

&quot; That is true,&quot; his maternal audience encouraged him by
saying. &quot;The situation would be serious.&quot;

&quot; And nobody could grow up,&quot; he proceeded. &quot; When
any one s a baby, you know, he hasn t any teeth, and he
can t eat bread and things. And if there were no ladies to
take care of him when he was very first born he d die. I
think people ought to let them vote if they want to.&quot;

This really seemed so to go to the root of things that
the question appeared disposed of.

One laughed and laughed at him. All his prettiness was
quaint, and so innocent that its unconsciousness made one
smile. Only sometimes quite often while one was smil
ing one was queerly touched and stirred.

What a picture of a beautiful, brave little spirit, aflame
with young fervor, he was the day I went into a room
and found him reading for the first time in his brief life
the story of the American Revolution !

He sat in a large chair, one short leg tucked under him,
a big book on his knee, his love-locks tumbling over his

HO IV FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 185

ecstasied child face. He looked up, glowing, when I entered.
His cheeks were red, his eyes were beautiful.

&quot; Dearest,&quot; he said, &quot; dearest, listen. Here s a brave man,
here s a brave man ! This is what he says, * Give me liberty
or give me death ! It was somehow so movingly incon
gruous this &quot; pretty page with dimpled chin &quot; stirred so
valiantly by his &quot; liberty or death.&quot; I kissed his golden
thatch, laughing and patting it, but a little lump was in
my throat.

Where did he learn faithful and tender heart to be
such a lover as he was ? Surely no woman ever had such
a lover before ! What taught him to pay such adorable
childish court, and to bring the first-fruits of every de
light to lay upon one shrine? In the small garden where
he played a toddling thing, accumulating stains of grass
and earth in truly human fashion on his brief white frock
the spring scattered sparsely a few blue violets. How he
applied himself to searching for them, to gather them with
pretty laboriousness until he had collected a small, warm
handful, somewhat dilapidated before it was large enough
to be brought up-stairs in the form of a princely floral
gift!

It is nearly fourteen years since they were first laid at
my feet these darling little grubby handfuls of exhausted
violets but I can hear yet the sound of the small feet
climbing the staircase, stoutly but carefully, the exultant
voice shouting at intervals all the way up from the first

1 86 HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

flight: &quot;Sweet dearest! Sweet de-ar-est ! I got somefin
for you ! Please le me in.&quot;

So many beautiful names had been tried by turns by
himself and brother, but they found &quot; sweetest &quot; and &quot; sweet
dearest&quot; the most satisfactory. Finally they decided upon
&quot;dearest&quot; as combining and implying the sentiment they
were inspired by.

There was in a certain sacred workroom at the top of
the house a receptacle known as the &quot;treasure drawer.&quot; It
was always full of wonderful things, rich gifts brought care
fully and with lavish generosity from the grass in the back
yard, from dust heaps, from the street, from anywhere ; bits
of glass or pebble, gorgeous advertising cards, queerly
shaped twigs or bits of wood, pictures out of papers, small,
queer toys, possessing some charm which might make them
valuable to an appreciative maternal relative. And just
before they were presented I always heard the small feet
on the stairs, the knock on the door, and the delightful, con
fiding voice outside : &quot; Please, may I come in? I ve brought
a treasure for you, dearest.&quot;

We always spoke of them as &quot; treasures.&quot; They seemed
so beautiful and valuable to the donor, that love brought
them at once as a gift to love, and the recipient saw them
with his eyes.

The very first bud which appeared on the old-fashioned
rose-bushes at the back of the house was watched for and
discovered when it was a tiny, hard, green thing.

HO IV FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 187

There s a bud,&quot; he would say, and I m watching till
it is a rose, so that I can give it to you.&quot;

There is nothing so loving as a child who is loved. What
valuable assistance he rendered in the matter of toilet!
How charmed he was with any pretty new thing! How
delighted to be allowed to put on slippers or take them off,
to stand by the dressing-table and hand pins, and give the
benefit of his admiring advice. And how adorable it was
to come home late from a party and find the pincushion
adorned with a love-letter, scrawled boldly in lead pencil and
secured by a long pin. In conjunction with his brother
who was the troubadour of love from his infancy, and who
has a story of his own he invented the most delightful
surprises for those late returns. Sometimes pieces of candy
wrapped in paper awaited the arrival, sometimes billets doux,
sometimes singular rhymes courageously entitled &quot; A Val
entine.&quot; The following was the fine flower of all :

&quot; MY MAMA
&quot; O my swetest little mama,

Sweteness that can ne er be told

Dwells all decked in glory behind thy bosom folds.

In love and tender sweteness

Thy heart has no compare

And as through the path of sorrow

Thy heart goes wangering on

Thow always lend a helping hand

To all who are alone.

&quot; ESEX ESSEX.&quot;
ii

1 88 HO IV FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

&quot; What does Essex mean, darling?&quot; I asked.

&quot; I don t know what it means,&quot; he said, sweetly, &quot; and I
didn t spell it right at first. But, you know, when any one
writes poetry they nearly always put another name at the
end, and I thought Essex would do.&quot; He was so desirous
of making it complete !

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 189

CHAPTER III

IN BOYHOOD AND NOW

AS a travelling companion what a success he was ! How
he made friends in the train, at railway stations, on
steamers ! How, if one lost sight of him for a
moment, he invariably reappeared full of delight, with the
information that he had &quot; found a friend.&quot;

As I was struggling in the usual manner up the crowded
gangway of an ocean steamer on one occasion, his flushed
and radiant countenance appeared over the rail, where he
had climbed.

&quot; Dearest, dearest,&quot; he said, &quot; I ve found a friend. He s
a French gentleman and can t speak English.&quot; He had found
him on the tug, and they had apparently sworn eternal amity
between the wharf and the steamer, though how this had
been accomplished I was never quite able to determine, as
he had only just begun to attack valiantly a verb or so of
the first conjugation. But with the assistance of &quot;dormer,&quot;
&quot;aller,&quot; &quot;aimer,&quot; and a smile like his, nothing was im
possible.

His circle of acquaintances during an ocean voyage was

1 9 o HOW EAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

choice and large. And one languid passenger, lying in her
steamer chair with cushions behind her and fur robes over
her, was never passed without the affectionate, inquiring
smiles of a protector, and at intervals through all the day
he presented himself to &quot; look after &quot; her.

&quot; Are you all right, dearest ? &quot; he would say. &quot; Do you
want your feet tucked in ? Did the deck steward bring you
your lunch ? Are your cushions comfortable ? &quot; And these
matters being attended to he would kiss her gayly and run
off to explore engines, or gather valuable information about
walking-beams.

On several occasions he and his brother made some
rather long railroad journeys alone. It was quite safe to
send them. If they had not been able to take care of them
selves, half the world would have taken care of them. Con
ductors conversed with them, passengers were interested in
them, and they arrived at the end of their travels laden
with tribute. After one such journey, taken together be
tween Washington and Boston, with what joy they per
formed their toilets through an entire summer with the
assistance of a large box of wonderful soaps and perfumes,
sent to them by an acquaintance made en voyage.

&quot; He was Lionel s friend,&quot; Vivian explained. &quot; I think he
said he was a drummer. He was so nice to us. My friend
that I made was a professor in a college, I believe, and he
gave me this to remember him by.&quot;

&quot;This&quot; was a pretty nugget of gold, and was accompa-

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 191

nied by a card on which the donor had written the most
affectionately kind things of the pleasure he had had in
his brief acquaintance with his young travelling companion,
whose bonne mine he should not soon forget.

One could always be quite sure that he would give no
trouble during a journey, that he would always be ready to
perform any service, that no railroad nor ocean boat official
could withstand him when he presented himself with a smil
ing request.

It is easy to call to mind, at any moment, some mem
ory of him, his face flushed, his hair damp on his fore
head, his eyes courageous, as he struggled with something
too big for him, he had felt it his duty to take charge of,
as he swayed with the crowd down the gangway of some
steamer at Southampton or some paquebot at Calais.

&quot; It is too heavy for you, darling,&quot; one would say.
&quot; You look so hot. Let me carry it.&quot;

&quot; Oh, no,* would be his valiant answer. &quot; I m all right,
dearest. It s rather a warm day, but a boy doesn t mind
being warm.&quot;

Even foreign languages did not appall him.

11 I m only a little boy, you know,&quot; he would say, cheer
fully. &quot; It doesn t matter if it does sound funny, just so
that they understand me. I like to talk to them.&quot;

So he conversed with Annunciata in the kitchen, and
Luigi in the dining-room, as it had been his habit to con
verse with Carrie and Dan years before, for by this time

1 92 HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

his love-locks had been cropped and had changed to brown,
but he still remained the same charming and engaging little
person.

&quot; Boys are sometimes a great trouble,&quot; commented Luigi,
in referring to him and his brother, &quot; but these they are
little signorini?

Fauntleroy had &quot;occurred&quot; nearly four years before
the time when he exhausted all the resources of the Paris
Exposition, but it was still Fauntleroy, though a taller
one, in schoolboy suit and Eton collar, and shorn of his
boucles blondes, who marched off at nine o clock every morn
ing for two weeks, and spent the day exploring the treas
ures of the exhibition. Sometimes he was quite alone,
sometimes he had appointments with some &quot;friends&quot; he
had made in the passage from New York to Havre three
interesting men whose connection with the electrical exhibit
inspired him w r ith admiration and delight. My impression
is that they did not speak French, and that it enraptured
him to place his vocabulary at their disposal.

&quot;They are so kind to me, dearest,&quot; he said, just as he
had said it at three years old, when he visited his &quot; friend
Mrs. Wilkins.&quot;

&quot; It must be an entertaining spectacle,&quot; I often thought,
&quot;to see him walk into the restaurant quite unattended,
order his little dejeuner a la fourchette, dispose of it in
dignified solitude at a small table, and present the gar (on
with a pourboire as if he were forty. I should like to be a

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 193

spectator from afar. No doubt the waiters know him and
make jocular remarks among themselves.&quot;

But it was when he was only seven that Fauntleroy
really occurred. He had been so amusing and interesting
that summer, and I had reflected upon him so much ! Every
few days I heard some delightful anecdote about him, or
saw him do something incomparably quaint. What led
me most into speculation was the effect he invariably pro
duced upon people, touching little fascinations he exercised.

&quot; Do you know, I never saw a child like him ! &quot; said a
clever man of the world who had spent an hour talking to him.

And, curiously enough, it was exactly the idea expressed
by an old colored aunty years before. &quot; Dat chile,&quot; she said,
4 he suttanly ain t like no other chile. Tain t jest dat he s
smart though cose he s smart, smart as they make em.
It s sump n else. An he s the frien liest little human I ever
seed he suttanly is ! &quot;

I had been ill that year and the year before it, and of
that illness I have many memories which are beautiful and
touching things. One is of many disturbed and weary
nights, when the door of my room opened quietly and a
little figure entered such an adorable little figure, in a
white nightgown, and with bright hair, tumbled by sleep,
falling about a serious, small face.

&quot; I ve come to take care of you, dearest,&quot; he would say,
with his indescribable protecting and comforting air. &quot; I ll
sit by you and make you go to sleep.
13

i 9 4 HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

And somehow there seemed to emanate from his child
ish softness a sort of soothing which could not have been
put into words.

It was his special province to put me to sleep when I
was restless. He assumed it as a sacred duty, and had
the utmost confidence in his power to do it.

&quot; I ll put you to sleep,&quot; he would say. &quot; I will just
sit by you and hold your hand and make you quiet.&quot;

How long had he sat by me on that one night which I
shall always remember ? I do not know. But he had been
so quiet, and had sat holding my hand so long, that I coulcl
not find it in my heart to let him know that the charm had
not worked and that I was not really asleep. I pretended
that I was, lying very still, and breathing with soft regu
larity.

He stayed quite a long time after I knew he thought I
was quiet for the night, he was so determined to be quite
sure that nothing would disturb me. At last he began with
the most cautious softness to take his hand away. When
he had been a baby I had sometimes laid him down to
sleep with just such cautious movement. How gradually
and softly the small fingers released themselves one by one,
how slowly, with what infinite precaution of slowness, the
warm, kind little palm was detached from mine. Then
there was a mysterious, careful movement, and I knew he
was leaving his chair. I dared not open my eyes for fear
he would see me, and be heartbroken because I was awake.

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 195

What was he doing ? There were no footsteps, and yet he
was moving a little a very little, it seemed. And the
movement was so slow, and interrupted by such pauses, that
the length of time it lasted added to my curiousness. What
idea had he been inspired by ? Whatsoever he was doing
he was putting his entire soul into, and he should not be
crushed by the thought that it was all in vain. When I
could hear that he had reached the door I opened an eye
very cautiously. The opening of the door was as clever
and quiet as the mysterious movement. It was opened
only a little, there was more careful movement, and then it
was drawn to. But though I had been looking directly at
the slip of light I had not seen him. Somehow he had
passed through without coming within my line of vision.

I lay mystified. The incomprehensibleness of it gave
me something to think about. His room was near my
own, and I knew that he went to it and got into bed. I
knew, also, that he would be asleep as soon as his curly
head touched the pillow.

He had been asleep perhaps an hour when his brother
came in. He had been spending the evening at the house
of a friend. He was usually a tender and thoughtful thing
himself, but this night the excitement of festivity had in
toxicated him and made him forgetful. He came up the
staircase and ran into the bedroom with a childish rush.

Exactly what happened I could only guess at. I had
reason to suppose that my young protector and medical

196 HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

attendant was wakened with some extra sense of flurry
taking place. He evidently sat up in bed in reproachful
despair.

&quot;What have I done?&quot; said his brother. &quot;What is
the matter? &quot;

I heard tears in the plaintive little voice that answered
actual tears.

&quot; Oh ! &quot; he said, &quot;I know you ve wakened her! I know
you have ! It was so hard to get her to sleep. And at
last I did, and then I was so afraid of wakening her that
I went down on the floor and crawled out of the room
on my hands and knees. And I think it took an hour.&quot;

&quot; Darling,&quot; I murmured, in the drowsiest possible tone,
when he crept into the room to look at me, &quot;I ve had
a lovely sleep, and I m going to sleep again. You made
me so quiet.&quot; But with the most serious difficulty I re
strained myself from clutching him in my arms with a force
which would have betrayed to him all my adoring duplicity.

It was things such as these I remembered when he
was so deliciously amusing, and I heard stories of him
every day.

Sometimes, when swinging in my hammock on the
piazza, I caught sight of him flying on his small bicycle
down the tree-shaded avenue, a delightful, animated picture,
his strong, graceful child body beautifully defined in his
trim, close-fitting Jersey suit, his red scarf and fez brilliant
touches of color, his waving, flying hair brightened to gold

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 197

as he darted through the sunshine and into the shade. I
used to say to myself: &quot;He is so good to look at! He is
so pretty ! That is why every one likes him so.&quot; And then,
when I heard him say some quaint thing which was an
actual delight through its droll ingenuousness, I said : &quot; It
is because he is so amusing!&quot;

So I studied him day after day, often trying to imagine
the effect his fearless candor and unsophisticated point of
view would have upon certain persons who did not know
his type.

I was convalescing from my long illness, and had plenty
of time to amuse myself with such speculations. He was
such a patriotic young American ; he was so engaged in an
impending presidential election at the time ; his remarks
were so well worth hearing. I began, among other fancies
about him, to imagine his making them with that frankly
glowing face to conservative English people. He had
English blood in his veins, and things more unheard-of
had occurred than that, through a combination of circum
stances, he might be surrounded by things very new to him.

&quot;When a person is a duke,&quot; he had said to me once,
&quot;what makes him one? What has he done?&quot; His opinion
evidently was that dukedoms were a species of reward for
superhuman sweetness of character and brilliant intellectual
capacity. I began to imagine the interest that would be
awakened in his mind by the contemplation of ducal per

sonages.

1 98 HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

It amused me to analyze the subject of what his point
of view would be likely to be. I knew it would be pro
ductive of immense entertainment to his acquaintances. I
was sure that the duke would be subjected to sweet but
searching cross-questioning, and that much lively interest
would be felt in the subject of coronets. He would regard
them as a species of eccentric hat. What questions he
would ask, what enthusiasm he would display, when he was
impressed by things beautiful or stately and interesting !
Would he seem u a cheeky little beggar&quot; to less republican
minds than his own ? I asked myself this curiously. But
no, I was sure he would not. He would be so simple ; he
would expect such splendor of mind and of noble friend
liness that the hypothetical duke would like him as Dan
and Carrie did, and he would end by saying &quot; My friend
the Duke of Blankshire,&quot; as affectionately as he had said
&quot; My friend the milkman.&quot;

It was only a thread of fancy for a while, but one day
I had an idea.

&quot; I will write a story about him,&quot; I said. &quot; I will put
him in a world quite new to him, and see what he will do.
How shall I bring a small American boy into close rela
tionship with an English nobleman irascible, conservative,
disagreeable ? He must live with him, talk to him, show
him his small, unconscious, republican mind. He will be
more effective if I make him a child who has lived in the
simplest possible way. Eureka ! Son of younger son,

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED 199

separated from ill-tempered noble father because he has
married a poor young American beauty. Young father
dead, elder brothers dead, boy comes into title ! How it
would amaze him and bewilder him ! Yes, there it is, and
Vivian shall be he -just Vivian, with his curls and his eyes,
and his friendly, kind little soul. Little Lord Something-
or-other. What a pretty title Little Lord , Little
Lord what ? &quot;

And a day later it was Little Lord Fauntleroy. A
story like that is easily written. In part, it was being
lived before my eyes.

&quot; I can wash myself quite well, thank you,&quot; he said,
scrubbing vigorously one day. &quot; I can do it quite well,
dearest, if some one will just zamine the corners.&quot;

He had always spoken very clearly, but there were a
few words his pronunciation of which endeared them in
expressibly to me. On the evening of the day before
&quot; Fauntleroy &quot; spent his first morning with &quot; Lord Dorin-
court &quot; he brought into my room a parlor base-ball game
to show me.

It was a lovely thing to see his delight over it, and to
note the care with which he tried to make all technical
points clear to an interested but unintelligent parent.
What vigorous little attitudes he threw himself into when
he endeavored to show me how the ball was thrown in the
real game !

&quot; I m afraid that I am a very stupid little mammy,&quot;

200 HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

I said. &quot; What does the first base do ? And what is the
pitcher for ? I m very dull, you see.&quot;

&quot; Oh, no ! &quot; he said. &quot; No, you re not, dearest. It s me,
you know. I m afraid that I m not a very good splainer.
And besides, you are a lady, you know, and ladies don t
play base-ball.&quot;

Almost every day I recorded something he had said or
suggested.

And how delightful it was to read the manuscript to
him and his brother! He used to sit in a large arm-chair
holding his knee, or with his hands in his pockets.

&amp;lt;4 Do you know,&quot; he said to me once, &quot;I like that boy!
There s one thing about him, he never forgets about dearest.&quot;

When the first appearance of the false claimant occurred,
he turned quite pale ; so did his brother.

&quot;Oh, dearest!&quot; they gasped, &quot; why did you do that?
Oh, don t do it ! &quot;

&quot;What will he do ? &quot; the occupant of the arm-chair
asked. &quot; Won t he, dearest, be the Earl s boy any more ? &quot;

&quot; * That other boy, said Fauntleroy tremulously to Lord
Dorincourt, the next day, he will have to to be your boy
now as I was won t he ?

&quot; No, answered the Earl, and he said it so fiercely
that Cedric quite jumped.

&quot; Shall I be your boy even if I m not going to be
an earl ? he said. Shall I be your boy just as I was
before ? &quot;

HOW FAUNTLEROY OCCURRED

But it was a real little heart that had beaten at the
thought.

He has been considered such an ideal little person
Cedric Errol, Lord Fauntleroy and he was so real after
all. Perhaps it is worth while explaining that he was only
a simple, natural thing a child, whose great charm was
that he was the innocent friend of the whole world.

I have reason to believe that an impression exists that
the passage of years has produced no effect whatever on
the great original, that he has still waving golden hair, and
wears black velvet doublets and broad collars of lace. This
is an error. He is sixteen. He plays foot-ball and tennis,
and battles sternly with Greek. He is anxious not to
&quot;flunk&quot; in geometry, and his hair is exceedingly short and
brown. He has a fine sense of humor, and his relatives
consider it rather a good joke to present him to intimates,
as he appears before them, looking particularly cheerful and
robust, in the words first heard by Havisham :

II This is Little Lord Fauntleroy.&quot;

But there are things which do not change with the
darkening of golden hair and the passage of boyish years.

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