“Eh,” she said, “that must be the mother, pretty young thing.”  All who heard turned and looked at the slender figure in black coming up the path.  The veil was thrown back from her face and they could see how fair and sweet it was, and how the bright hair curled as softly as a child’s under the little widow’s cap.

She was not thinking of the people about; she was thinking of Cedric, and of his visits to her, and his joy over his new pony, on which he had actually ridden to her door the day before, sitting very straight and looking very proud and happy.  But soon she could not help being attracted by the fact that she was being looked at and that her arrival had created some sort of sensation.  She first noticed it because an old woman in a red cloak made a bobbing courtesy to her, and then another did the same thing and said, “God bless you, my lady!” and one man after another took off his hat as she passed.  For a moment she did not understand, and then she realized that it was because she was little Lord Fauntleroy’s mother that they did so, and she flushed rather shyly and smiled and bowed too, and said, “Thank you,” in a gentle voice to the old woman who had blessed her.  To a person who had always lived in a bustling, crowded American city this simple deference was very novel, and at first just a little embarrassing; but after all, she could not help liking and being touched by the friendly warm-heartedness of which it seemed to speak.  She had scarcely passed through the stone porch into the church before the great event of the day happened.  The carriage from the Castle, with its handsome horses and tall liveried servants, bowled around the corner and down the green lane.

“Here they come!” went from one looker-on to another.

And then the carriage drew up, and Thomas stepped down and opened the door, and a little boy, dressed in black velvet, and with a splendid mop of bright waving hair, jumped out.

Every man, woman, and child looked curiously upon him.

“He’s the Captain over again!” said those of the on-lookers who remembered his father.  “He’s the Captain’s self, to the life!”

He stood there in the sunlight looking up at the Earl, as Thomas helped that nobleman out, with the most affectionate interest that could be imagined.  The instant he could help, he put out his hand and offered his shoulder as if he had been seven feet high.  It was plain enough to every one that however it might be with other people, the Earl of Dorincourt struck no terror into the breast of his grandson.

“Just lean on me,” they heard him say.  “How glad the people are to see you, and how well they all seem to know you!”

“Take off your cap, Fauntleroy,” said the Earl.  “They are bowing to you.”

“To me!” cried Fauntleroy, whipping off his cap in a moment, baring his bright head to the crowd and turning shining, puzzled eyes on them as he tried to bow to every one at once.