boor.  He had been convinced the boy would be a clownish fellow if he were brought up in America.  He had no feeling of affection for the lad; his only hope was that he should find him decently well-featured, and with a respectable share of sense; he had been so disappointed in his other sons, and had been made so furious by Captain Errol’s American marriage, that he had never once thought that anything creditable could come of it.  When the footman had announced Lord Fauntleroy, he had almost dreaded to look at the boy lest he should find him all that he had feared.  It was because of this feeling that he had ordered that the child should be sent to him alone.  His pride could not endure that others should see his disappointment if he was to be disappointed.  His proud, stubborn old heart therefore had leaped within him when the boy came forward with his graceful, easy carriage, his fearless hand on the big dog’s neck.  Even in the moments when he had hoped the most, the Earl had never hoped that his grandson would look like that.  It seemed almost too good to be true that this should be the boy he had dreaded to see—­the child of the woman he so disliked—­this little fellow with so much beauty and such a brave, childish grace!  The Earl’s stern composure was quite shaken by this startling surprise.

And then their talk began; and he was still more curiously moved, and more and more puzzled.  In the first place, he was so used to seeing people rather afraid and embarrassed before him, that he had expected nothing else but that his grandson would be timid or shy.  But Cedric was no more afraid of the Earl than he had been of Dougal.  He was not bold; he was only innocently friendly, and he was not conscious that there could be any reason why he should be awkward or afraid.  The Earl could not help seeing that the little boy took him for a friend and treated him as one, without having any doubt of him at all.  It was quite plain as the little fellow sat there in his tall chair and talked in his friendly way that it had never occurred to him that this large, fierce-looking old man could be anything but kind to him, and rather pleased to see him there.  And it was plain, too, that, in his childish way, he wished to please and interest his grandfather.  Cross, and hard-hearted, and worldly as the old Earl was, he could not help feeling a secret and novel pleasure in this very confidence.  After all, it was not disagreeable to meet some one who did not distrust him or shrink from him, or seem to detect the ugly part of his nature; some one who looked at him with clear, unsuspecting eyes,—­if it was only a little boy in a black velvet suit.

So the old man leaned back in his chair, and led his young companion on to telling him still more of himself, and with that odd gleam in his eyes watched the little fellow as he talked.  Lord Fauntleroy was quite willing to answer all his questions and chatted on in his genial little way quite composedly.  He told him all about Dick and Jake, and the apple-woman, and Mr. Hobbs; he described the Republican Rally in all the glory of its banners and transparencies, torches and rockets.  In the course of the conversation, he reached the Fourth of July and the Revolution, and was just becoming enthusiastic, when he suddenly recollected something and stopped very abruptly.