“A sheep-dog—a companion! Becky
Sharp with a companion! Isn’t it good
fun?” thought Mrs. Crawley to herself.
The notion tickled hugely her sense of humour.
One Sunday morning, as Rawdon Crawley, his little
son, and the pony were taking their accustomed walk
in the park, they passed by an old acquaintance of
the Colonel’s, Corporal Clink, of the regiment,
who was in conversation with a friend, an old gentleman,
who held a boy in his arms about the age of little
Rawdon. This other youngster had seized hold
of the Waterloo medal which the Corporal wore, and
was examining it with delight.
“Good morning, your Honour,” said Clink,
in reply to the “How do, Clink?” of the
Colonel. “This ere young gentleman is about
the little Colonel’s age, sir,” continued
the corporal.
“His father was a Waterloo man, too,”
said the old gentleman, who carried the boy.
“Wasn’t he, Georgy?”
“Yes,” said Georgy. He and the little
chap on the pony were looking at each other with all
their might—solemnly scanning each other
as children do.
“In a line regiment,” Clink said with
a patronizing air.
“He was a Captain in the —th regiment,”
said the old gentleman rather pompously. “Captain
George Osborne, sir—perhaps you knew him.
He died the death of a hero, sir, fighting against
the Corsican tyrant.” Colonel Crawley blushed
quite red. “I knew him very well, sir,”
he said, “and his wife, his dear little wife,
sir— how is she?”
“She is my daughter, sir,” said the old
gentleman, putting down the boy and taking out a card
with great solemnity, which he handed to the Colonel.
On it written—
“Mr. Sedley, Sole Agent for the Black Diamond
and Anti-Cinder Coal Association, Bunker’s Wharf,
Thames Street, and Anna-Maria Cottages, Fulham Road
West.”
Little Georgy went up and looked at the Shetland pony.
“Should you like to have a ride?” said
Rawdon minor from the saddle.
“Yes,” said Georgy. The Colonel,
who had been looking at him with some interest, took
up the child and put him on the pony behind Rawdon
minor.
“Take hold of him, Georgy,” he said—“take
my little boy round the waist—his name
is Rawdon.” And both the children began
to laugh.
“You won’t see a prettier pair I think,
this summer’s day, sir,” said the
good-natured Corporal; and the Colonel, the Corporal,
and old Mr. Sedley with his umbrella, walked by the
side of the children.
A Family in a Very Small Way
We must suppose little George Osborne has ridden from
Knightsbridge towards Fulham, and will stop and make
inquiries at that village regarding some friends whom
we have left there. How is Mrs. Amelia after
the storm of Waterloo? Is she living and thriving?
What has come of Major Dobbin, whose cab was always
hankering about her premises? And is there any
news of the Collector of Boggley Wollah? The
facts concerning the latter are briefly these:
