“And what would you do in such a case?” demanded the Earl.

Fauntleroy drew a little nearer, and laid one hand on his knee, with the most confiding air of good comradeship.

“If I were very rich,” he said, “and not only just a little boy, I should let him stay, and give him the things for his children; but then, I am only a boy.”  Then, after a second’s pause, in which his face brightened visibly, “You can do anything, can’t you?” he said.

“Humph!” said my lord, staring at him.  “That’s your opinion, is it?” And he was not displeased either.

“I mean you can give any one anything,” said Fauntleroy.  “Who’s Newick?”

“He is my agent,” answered the earl, “and some of my tenants are not over-fond of him.”

“Are you going to write him a letter now?” inquired Fauntleroy.  “Shall I bring you the pen and ink?  I can take the game off this table.”

It plainly had not for an instant occurred to him that Newick would be allowed to do his worst.

The Earl paused a moment, still looking at him.  “Can you write?” he asked.

“Yes,” answered Cedric, “but not very well.”

“Move the things from the table,” commanded my lord, “and bring the pen and ink, and a sheet of paper from my desk.”

Mr. Mordaunt’s interest began to increase.  Fauntleroy did as he was told very deftly.  In a few moments, the sheet of paper, the big inkstand, and the pen were ready.

“There!” he said gayly, “now you can write it.”

“You are to write it,” said the Earl.

“I!” exclaimed Fauntleroy, and a flush overspread his forehead.  “Will it do if I write it?  I don’t always spell quite right when I haven’t a dictionary, and nobody tells me.”

“It will do,” answered the Earl.  “Higgins will not complain of the spelling.  I’m not the philanthropist; you are.  Dip your pen in the ink.”

Fauntleroy took up the pen and dipped it in the ink-bottle, then he arranged himself in position, leaning on the table.

“Now,” he inquired, “what must I say?”

“You may say, ‘Higgins is not to be interfered with, for the present,’ and sign it, ‘Fauntleroy,’” said the Earl.

Fauntleroy dipped his pen in the ink again, and resting his arm, began to write.  It was rather a slow and serious process, but he gave his whole soul to it.  After a while, however, the manuscript was complete, and he handed it to his grandfather with a smile slightly tinged with anxiety.

“Do you think it will do?” he asked.

The Earl looked at it, and the corners of his mouth twitched a little.

“Yes,” he answered; “Higgins will find it entirely satisfactory.”  And he handed it to Mr. Mordaunt.

What Mr. Mordaunt found written was this: 

“Dear mr.  Newik if you pleas mr. higins is not to be intur feared with for the present and oblige.  Yours rispecferly,