of his big seat, his curly head against the cushioned back, his legs crossed, and his hands thrust deep into his pockets, in a quite Mr. Hobbs-like way. He had been watching Mr. Havisham very steadily when his mamma had been in the room, and after she was gone he still looked at him in respectful thoughtfulness. There was a short silence after Mrs. Errol went out, and Cedric seemed to be studying Mr. Havisham, and Mr. Havisham was certainly studying Cedric. He could not make up his mind as to what an elderly gentleman should say to a little boy who won races, and wore short knickerbockers and red stockings on legs which were not long enough to hang over a big chair when he sat well back in it.
But Cedric relieved him by suddenly beginning the conversation himself.
“Do you know,” he said, “I don’t know what an earl is?”
“Don’t you?” said Mr. Havisham.
“No,” replied Ceddie. “And I think when a boy is going to be one, he ought to know. Don’t you?”
“Well—yes,” answered Mr. Havisham.
“Would you mind,” said Ceddie respectfully—“would you mind ‘splaining it to me?” (Sometimes when he used his long words he did not pronounce them quite correctly.) “What made him an earl?”
“A king or queen, in the first place,” said Mr. Havisham. “Generally, he is made an earl because he has done some service to his sovereign, or some great deed.”
“Oh!” said Cedric; “that’s like the President.”
“Is it?” said Mr. Havisham. “Is that why your presidents are elected?”
“Yes,” answered Ceddie cheerfully. “When a man is very good and knows a great deal, he is elected president. They have torchlight processions and bands, and everybody makes speeches. I used to think I might perhaps be a president, but I never thought of being an earl. I didn’t know about earls,” he said, rather hastily, lest Mr. Havisham might feel it impolite in him not to have wished to be one,—“if I’d known about them, I dare say I should have thought I should like to be one.”
“It is rather different from being a president,” said Mr. Havisham.
“Is it?” asked Cedric. “How? Are there no torchlight processions?”
Mr. Havisham crossed his own legs and put the tips of his fingers carefully together. He thought perhaps the time had come to explain matters rather more clearly.
“An earl is—is a very important person,” he began.
“So is a president!” put in Ceddie. “The torchlight processions are five miles long, and they shoot up rockets, and the band plays! Mr. Hobbs took me to see them.”
“An earl,” Mr. Havisham went on, feeling rather uncertain of his ground, “is frequently of very ancient lineage——”
“What’s that?” asked Ceddie.
“Of very old family—extremely old.”
“Ah!” said Cedric, thrusting his hands deeper into his pockets. “I suppose that is the way with the apple-woman near the park. I dare say she is of ancient lin-lenage. She is so old it would surprise you how she can stand up. She’s a hundred, I should think, and yet she is out there when it rains, even. I’m sorry for her, and so are the other boys. Billy Williams once had nearly a dollar, and I asked him to buy five cents’ worth of apples from her every day until he had spent it all. That made twenty days, and he grew tired of apples after a week; but then—it was quite fortunate—a gentleman gave me fifty cents and I bought apples from her instead. You feel sorry for any one that’s so poor and has such ancient lin-lenage. She says hers has gone into her bones and the rain makes it worse.”
Mr. Havisham felt rather at a loss as he looked at his companion’s innocent, serious little face.
“I am afraid you did not quite understand me,” he explained. “When I said ‘ancient lineage’ I did not mean old age; I meant that the name of such a family has been known in the world a long time; perhaps for hundreds of years persons bearing that name have been known and spoken of in the history of their country.”
“Like George Washington,” said Ceddie. “I’ve heard of him ever since I was born, and he was known about, long before that. Mr. Hobbs says he will never be forgotten. That’s because of the Declaration of Independence, you know, and the Fourth of July. You see, he was a very brave man.”
“The first Earl of Dorincourt,” said Mr. Havisham solemnly, “was created an earl four hundred years ago.”
“Well, well!” said Ceddie. “That was a long time ago! Did you tell Dearest that? It would int’rust her very much. We’ll tell her when she comes in. She always likes to hear cur’us things. What else does an earl do besides being created?”
“A great many of them have helped to govern England. Some of them have been brave men and have fought in great battles in the old days.”
“I should like to do that myself,” said Cedric. “My papa was a soldier, and he was a very brave man—as brave as George Washington. Perhaps that was because he would have been an earl if he hadn’t died. I am glad earls are brave. That’s a great ‘vantage—to be a brave man. Once I used to be rather afraid of things—in the dark, you know; but when I thought about the soldiers in the Revolution and George Washington—it cured me.”
“There is another advantage in being an earl, sometimes,” said Mr. Havisham slowly, and he fixed his shrewd eyes on the little boy with a rather curious expression. “Some earls have a great deal of money.”
He was curious because he wondered if his young friend knew what the power of money was.
“That’s a good thing to have,” said Ceddie innocently. “I wish I had a great deal of money.”
“Do you?” said Mr. Havisham. “And why?”
“Well,” explained Cedric, “there are so many things a person can do with money. You see, there’s the apple-woman. If I were very rich I should buy her a little tent to put her stall in, and a little stove, and then I should give her a dollar every morning it rained, so that she could afford to stay at home. And then—oh! I’d give her a shawl. And, you see, her bones wouldn’t feel so badly. Her bones are not like our bones; they hurt her when she moves. It’s very painful when your bones hurt you. If I were rich enough to do all those things for her, I guess her bones would be all right.”
“Ahem!” said Mr. Havisham. “And what else would you do if you were rich?”
“Oh! I’d do a great many things. Of course I should buy Dearest all sorts of beautiful things, needle-books and fans and gold thimbles and rings, and an encyclopedia, and a carriage, so that she needn’t have to wait for the street-cars. If she liked pink silk dresses, I should buy her some, but she likes black best. But I’d, take her to the big stores, and tell her to look ‘round and choose for herself. And then Dick——”
“Who is Dick?” asked Mr. Havisham.
“Dick is a bootblack,” said his young; lordship, quite warming up in his interest in plans so exciting. “He is one of the nicest bootblacks you ever knew. He stands at the corner of a street downtown. I’ve known him for years. Once when I was very little, I was walking out
