“He is the best-bred-looking and handsomest little fellow I ever saw,” was what Mr. Havisham thought.  What he said aloud was simply, “And so this is little Lord Fauntleroy.”

And, after this, the more he saw of little Lord Fauntleroy, the more of a surprise he found him.  He knew very little about children, though he had seen plenty of them in England—­fine, handsome, rosy girls and boys, who were strictly taken care of by their tutors and governesses, and who were sometimes shy, and sometimes a trifle boisterous, but never very interesting to a ceremonious, rigid old lawyer.  Perhaps his personal interest in little Lord Fauntleroy’s fortunes made him notice Ceddie more than he had noticed other children; but, however that was, he certainly found himself noticing him a great deal.

Cedric did not know he was being observed, and he only behaved himself in his ordinary manner.  He shook hands with Mr. Havisham in his friendly way when they were introduced to each other, and he answered all his questions with the unhesitating readiness with which he answered Mr. Hobbs.  He was neither shy nor bold, and when Mr. Havisham was talking to his mother, the lawyer noticed that he listened to the conversation with as much interest as if he had been quite grown up.

“He seems to be a very mature little fellow,” Mr. Havisham said to the mother.

“I think he is, in some things,” she answered.  “He has always been very quick to learn, and he has lived a great deal with grownup people.  He has a funny little habit of using long words and expressions he has read in books, or has heard others use, but he is very fond of childish play.  I think he is rather clever, but he is a very boyish little boy, sometimes.”

The next time Mr. Havisham met him, he saw that this last was quite true.  As his coupe turned the corner, he caught sight of a group of small boys, who were evidently much excited.  Two of them were about to run a race, and one of them was his young lordship, and he was shouting and making as much noise as the noisiest of his companions.  He stood side by side with another boy, one little red leg advanced a step.

“One, to make ready!” yelled the starter.  “Two, to be steady.  Three—­and away!”

Mr. Havisham found himself leaning out of the window of his coupe with a curious feeling of interest.  He really never remembered having seen anything quite like the way in which his lordship’s lordly little red legs flew up behind his knickerbockers and tore over the ground as he shot out in the race at the signal word.  He shut his small hands and set his face against the wind; his bright hair streamed out behind.

“Hooray, Ced Errol!” all the boys shouted, dancing and shrieking with excitement.  “Hooray, Billy Williams!  Hooray, Ceddie!  Hooray, Billy!  Hooray!  ’Ray!  ’Ray!”