"Yes," replied Cedric, "I think you will. Mr. Hobbs and I were great
friends. He was the best friend I had except Dearest."

The Earl made a quick movement of his bushy eyebrows.

"Who is Dearest?"

"She is my mother," said Lord Fauntleroy, in a rather low, quiet little
voice.

Perhaps he was a trifle tired, as his bed-time was nearing, and perhaps
after the excitement of the last few days it was natural he should be
tired, so perhaps, too, the feeling of weariness brought to him a vague
sense of loneliness in the remembrance that to-night he was not to sleep
at home, watched over by the loving eyes of that "best friend" of his.
They had always been "best friends," this boy and his young mother. He
could not help thinking of her, and the more he thought of her the less
was he inclined to talk, and by the time the dinner was at an end the
Earl saw that there was a faint shadow on his face. But Cedric bore
himself with excellent courage, and when they went back to the library,
though the tall footman walked on one side of his master, the Earl's
hand rested on his grandson's shoulder, though not so heavily as before.

When the footman left them alone, Cedric sat down upon the hearth-rug
near Dougal. For a few minutes he stroked the dog's ears in silence and
looked at the fire.

The Earl watched him. The boy's eyes looked wistful and thoughtful, and
once or twice he gave a little sigh. The Earl sat still, and kept his
eyes fixed on his grandson.