were perhaps a trifle curious themselves about the new little lord
 who was to be in time the owner of the soil.
 
It was by no means the Earl’s habit to attend church, but he
 chose to appear on this first Sunday —it was his whim to present
 himself in the huge family pew, with Fauntleroy at his side.
 
There were many loiterers in the churchyard, and many lin¬
 gerers in the- lane that morning. There were groups at the gates and
 in the porch, and there had been much discussion as to whether my
 lord would really appear or not. When this discussion was at its
 height, one good woman suddenly uttered an exclamation.
 
"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 real¬
 ized 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 lik¬