title," he went on grimly; "my father was a
younger son--the real heir was kidnapped, and supposed to be dead, so I
inherited. It is the grandson of that kidnapped heir who is Lord Arden.
I know his whole history. I know what he has done, to do honor to
himself and to help others." ("Hear, hear" from Beale.) "I know all his
life, and I am proud that he is the head of our house. He will do for
you, when he is of age, all that I would have done. And in the meantime
I am his guardian. This is Lord Arden," he said, throwing his arm round
the shoulders of Dickie, little lame Dickie, who stood there leaning on
his crutch, pale as death. "This is Lord Arden, come to his own. Cheer
for him, men, as you never cheered before. Three cheers for Richard Lord
Arden!"

CHAPTER XII

THE END

WHAT a triumph for little lame Dickie of Deptford!

* * * * *

You think, perhaps, that he was happy as well as proud, for proud he
certainly was, with those words and those cheers ringing in his ears. He
had just done the best he could, and tried to help Beale and the dogs,
and the man who had thought himself to be Lord Arden had said, "I am
proud that he should be the head of our house," and all the Arden folk
had cheered. It was worth having lived for.

The unselfish kindness and affection of the man he had displaced, the
love of his little cousins, the devotion of Beale, the fact that he was
Lord of Arden, and would soon be lord of all the old acres--the
knowledge that now he would learn all he chose to learn and hold in his
hand some day the destinies of these village folk, all loyal to the name
of Arden, the thought of all that he could be and do--all these things,
you think, should have made him happy.

They would have made him happy, but for one thing. All this was won at
the expense of those whom he loved best--the children who were his dear
cousins and playfellows, the man, their father, who had moved heaven and
earth to establish Dickie's claim to the title, and had been content
quietly to stand aside and give up title, castle, lands, and treasure to
the little cripple from Deptford.

Dickie thought of that, and almost only of that, in the days that
followed.

The life he had led in that dream-world, when James the First was King,
seemed to him now a very little thing compared with the present glory,
of being the head of the house of Arden, of being the Providence, the
loving over-lord o