Then his mother went for Cedric and brought him back into the parlor.  Mr. Havisham heard him talking before he entered the room.

“It’s infam-natory rheumatism,” he was saying, “and that’s a kind of rheumatism that’s dreadful.  And he thinks about the rent not being paid, and Bridget says that makes the inf’ammation worse.  And Pat could get a place in a store if he had some clothes.”

His little face looked quite anxious when he came in.  He was very sorry for Bridget.

“Dearest said you wanted me,” he said to Mr. Havisham.  “I’ve been talking to Bridget.”

Mr. Havisham looked down at him a moment.  He felt a little awkward and undecided.  As Cedric’s mother had said, he was a very little boy.

“The Earl of Dorincourt——­” he began, and then he glanced involuntarily at Mrs. Errol.

Little Lord Fauntleroy’s mother suddenly kneeled down by him and put both her tender arms around his childish body.

“Ceddie,” she said, “the Earl is your grandpapa, your own papa’s father.  He is very, very kind, and he loves you and wishes you to love him, because the sons who were his little boys are dead.  He wishes you to be happy and to make other people happy.  He is very rich, and he wishes you to have everything you would like to have.  He told Mr. Havisham so, and gave him a great deal of money for you.  You can give some to Bridget now; enough to pay her rent and buy Michael everything.  Isn’t that fine, Ceddie?  Isn’t he good?” And she kissed the child on his round cheek, where the bright color suddenly flashed up in his excited amazement.

He looked from his mother to Mr. Havisham.

“Can I have it now?” he cried.  “Can I give it to her this minute?  She’s just going.”

Mr. Havisham handed him the money.  It was in fresh, clean greenbacks and made a neat roll.

Ceddie flew out of the room with it.

“Bridget!” they heard him shout, as he tore into the kitchen.  “Bridget, wait a minute!  Here’s some money.  It’s for you, and you can pay the rent.  My grandpapa gave it to me.  It’s for you and Michael!”

“Oh, Master Ceddie!” cried Bridget, in an awe-stricken voice.  “It’s twinty-foive dollars is here.  Where be’s the misthress?”

“I think I shall have to go and explain it to her,” Mrs. Errol said.

So she, too, went out of the room and Mr. Havisham was left alone for a while.  He went to the window and stood looking out into the street reflectively.  He was thinking of the old Earl of Dorincourt, sitting in his great, splendid, gloomy library at the castle, gouty and lonely, surrounded by grandeur and luxury, but not really loved by any one, because in all his long life he had never really loved any one but himself; he had been selfish and self-indulgent and arrogant and passionate; he had cared so much for the Earl of Dorincourt and his pleasures that there had been no time for him to think of other people; all his