and interest caused by the arrival.  He knew how the people would speak of the beauty of the little lad; of his fine, strong, straight body; of his erect bearing, his handsome face, and his bright hair, and how they would say (as the Earl had heard one woman exclaim to another) that the boy was “every inch a lord.”  My lord of Dorincourt was an arrogant old man, proud of his name, proud of his rank, and therefore proud to show the world that at last the House of Dorincourt had an heir who was worthy of the position he was to fill.

The morning the new pony had been tried, the Earl had been so pleased that he had almost forgotten his gout.  When the groom had brought out the pretty creature, which arched its brown, glossy neck and tossed its fine head in the sun, the Earl had sat at the open window of the library and had looked on while Fauntleroy took his first riding lesson.  He wondered if the boy would show signs of timidity.  It was not a very small pony, and he had often seen children lose courage in making their first essay at riding.

Fauntleroy mounted in great delight.  He had never been on a pony before, and he was in the highest spirits.  Wilkins, the groom, led the animal by the bridle up and down before the library window.

“He’s a well plucked un, he is,” Wilkins remarked in the stable afterward with many grins.  “It weren’t no trouble to put him up.  An’ a old un wouldn’t ha’ sat any straighter when he were up.  He ses—­ses he to me, ‘Wilkins,’ he ses, ’am I sitting up straight?  They sit up straight at the circus,’ ses he.  An’ I ses, ’As straight as a arrer, your lordship!’—­an’ he laughs, as pleased as could be, an’ he ses, ‘That’s right,’ he ses, ’you tell me if I don’t sit up straight, Wilkins!’”

But sitting up straight and being led at a walk were not altogether and completely satisfactory.  After a few minutes, Fauntleroy spoke to his grandfather—­watching him from the window: 

“Can’t I go by myself?” he asked; “and can’t I go faster?  The boy on Fifth Avenue used to trot and canter!”

“Do you think you could trot and canter?” said the Earl.

“I should like to try,” answered Fauntleroy.

His lordship made a sign to Wilkins, who at the signal brought up his own horse and mounted it and took Fauntleroy’s pony by the leading-rein.

“Now,” said the Earl, “let him trot.”

The next few minutes were rather exciting to the small equestrian.  He found that trotting was not so easy as walking, and the faster the pony trotted, the less easy it was.

“It j-jolts a g-goo-good deal—­do-doesn’t it?” he said to Wilkins.  “D-does it j-jolt y-you?”

“No, my lord,” answered Wilkins.  “You’ll get used to it in time.  Rise in your stirrups.”

“I’m ri-rising all the t-time,” said Fauntleroy.

He was both rising and falling rather uncomfortably and with many shakes and bounces.  He was out of breath and his face grew red, but he held on with all his might, and sat as straight as he could.  The Earl could see that from his window.  When the riders came back within speaking distance, after they had been hidden by the trees a few minutes, Fauntleroy’s hat was off, his cheeks were like poppies, and his lips were set, but he was still trotting manfully.