is grandfather, for
"there was no knowing how he'd be treated, and his lordship's temper was
enough to fluster them with old heads on their shoulders, let alone a
child."

"But if you'll believe me, Mrs. Jennifer, mum," Mrs. Dibble had said,
"fear that child does not know--so Mr. Thomas hisself says; an' set an'
smile he did, an' talked to his lordship as if they'd been friends ever
since his first hour. An' the Earl so took aback, Mr. Thomas says, that
he couldn't do nothing but listen and stare from under his eyebrows. An'
it's Mr. Thomas's opinion, Mrs. Bates, mum, that bad as he is, he was
pleased in his secret soul, an' proud, too; for a handsomer little
fellow, or with better manners, though so old-fashioned, Mr. Thomas says
he'd never wish to see."

And then there had come the story of Higgins. The Reverend Mr. Mordaunt
had told it at his own dinner table, and the servants who had heard it
had told it in the kitchen, and from there it had spread like wildfire.

And on market-day, when Higgins had appeared in town, he had been
questioned on every side, and Newick had been questioned too, and in
response had shown to two or three people the note signed "Fauntleroy."

And so the farmers' wives had found plenty to talk of over their tea and
their shopping, and they had done the subject full justice and made the
most of it. And on Sunday they had either walked to church or had
been driven in their gigs by their husbands, who were perhaps a trifle
curious themselves about the new little lord who was to be in time the
owner of the soil.

It was by no means the Earl's habit to attend church, but he chose to
appear on this first Sunday--it was his whim to present himself in the
huge family pew, with Fauntleroy at his side.

There were many loiterers in the churchyard, and many lingerers in the
lane that morning. There were groups at the gates and in the porch, and
there had been much discussion as to whether my lord would really appear
or not. When this discussion was at its height, one good woman suddenly
uttered an exclamation.

"Eh," she said, "that must be the mother, pretty young thing." All who
heard turned and looked at the slender figure in black coming up the
path. The veil was thrown back from her face and they could see how fair
and sweet it was, and how the bright hair curled as softly as a child's
under the little widow's cap.

She was not thinking of the people about; she was thinking of Cedric,
an