heard miraculous stories about pirates and shipwrecks and desert islands; he learned to splice ropes and rig toy ships, and gained an amount of information concerning “tops’ls” and “mains’ls,” quite surprising.  His conversation had, indeed, quite a nautical flavor at times, and on one occasion he raised a shout of laughter in a group of ladies and gentlemen who were sitting on deck, wrapped in shawls and overcoats, by saying sweetly, and with a very engaging expression: 

“Shiver my timbers, but it’s a cold day!”

It surprised him when they laughed.  He had picked up this sea-faring remark from an “elderly naval man” of the name of Jerry, who told him stories in which it occurred frequently.  To judge from his stories of his own adventures, Jerry had made some two or three thousand voyages, and had been invariably shipwrecked on each occasion on an island densely populated with bloodthirsty cannibals.  Judging, also, by these same exciting adventures, he had been partially roasted and eaten frequently and had been scalped some fifteen or twenty times.

“That is why he is so bald,” explained Lord Fauntleroy to his mamma.  “After you have been scalped several times the hair never grows again.  Jerry’s never grew again after that last time, when the King of the Parromachaweekins did it with the knife made out of the skull of the Chief of the Wopslemumpkies.  He says it was one of the most serious times he ever had.  He was so frightened that his hair stood right straight up when the king flourished his knife, and it never would lie down, and the king wears it that way now, and it looks something like a hair-brush.  I never heard anything like the asperiences Jerry has had!  I should so like to tell Mr. Hobbs about them!”

Sometimes, when the weather was very disagreeable and people were kept below decks in the saloon, a party of his grown-up friends would persuade him to tell them some of these “asperiences” of Jerry’s, and as he sat relating them with great delight and fervor, there was certainly no more popular voyager on any ocean steamer crossing the Atlantic than little Lord Fauntleroy.  He was always innocently and good-naturedly ready to do his small best to add to the general entertainment, and there was a charm in the very unconsciousness of his own childish importance.

“Jerry’s stories int’rust them very much,” he said to his mamma.  “For my part—­you must excuse me, Dearest—­but sometimes I should have thought they couldn’t be all quite true, if they hadn’t happened to Jerry himself; but as they all happened to Jerry—­well, it’s very strange, you know, and perhaps sometimes he may forget and be a little mistaken, as he’s been scalped so often.  Being scalped a great many times might make a person forgetful.”

It was eleven days after he had said good-bye to his friend Dick before he reached Liverpool; and it was on the night of the twelfth day that the carriage in which he and his mother and Mr. Havisham had driven from the station stopped before the gates of Court Lodge.  They could not see much of the house in the darkness.  Cedric only saw that there was a drive-way under great arching trees, and after the carriage had rolled down this drive-way a short distance, he saw an open door and a stream of bright light coming through it.