Маленький лорд Фаунтлерой

           Itwasonlyaboutaweekafterthatridewhen,afteravisittohismother,Fauntleroycameintothelibrarywithatroubled,thoughtfulface.Hesatdowninthathigh-backedchairinwhichhehadsatontheeveningofhisarrival,andforawhilehelookedattheembersonthehearth.TheEarlwatchedhiminsilence,wonderingwhatwascoming.ItwasevidentthatCedrichadsomethingonhismind.Atlasthelookedup.“DoesNewickknowallaboutthepeople?”heasked.

           “Itishisbusinesstoknowaboutthem,”saidhislordship.“Beenneglectingit—hashe?”

           Contradictoryasitmayseem,therewasnothingwhichentertainedandedifiedhimmorethanthelittlefellow’sinterestinhistenantry.Hehadnevertakenanyinterestinthemhimself,butitpleasedhimwellenoughthat,withallhischildishhabitsofthoughtandinthemidstofallhischildishamusementsandhighspirits,thereshouldbesuchaquaintseriousnessworkinginthecurlyhead.

           “Thereisaplace,”saidFauntleroy,lookingupathimwithwide-open,horror-strickeneye—“Dearesthasseenit;itisattheotherendofthevillage.Thehousesareclosetogether,andalmostfallingdown;youcanscarcelybreathe;andthepeoplearesopoor,andeverythingisdreadful!Oftentheyhavefever,andthechildrendie;anditmakesthemwickedtolivelikethat,andbesopoorandmiserable!ItisworsethanMichaelandBridget!Theraincomesinattheroof!Dearestwenttoseeapoorwomanwholivedthere.Shewouldnotletmecomenearheruntilshehadchangedallherthings.