Of course, both the country people and the town people heard of the proposed improvement.  At first, many of them would not believe it; but when a small army of workmen arrived and commenced pulling down the crazy, squalid cottages, people began to understand that little Lord Fauntleroy had done them a good turn again, and that through his innocent interference the scandal of Earl’s Court had at last been removed.  If he had only known how they talked about him and praised him everywhere, and prophesied great things for him when he grew up, how astonished he would have been!  But he never suspected it.  He lived his simple, happy, child life,—­frolicking about in the park; chasing the rabbits to their burrows; lying under the trees on the grass, or on the rug in the library, reading wonderful books and talking to the Earl about them, and then telling the stories again to his mother; writing long letters to Dick and Mr. Hobbs, who responded in characteristic fashion; riding out at his grandfather’s side, or with Wilkins as escort.  As they rode through the market town, he used to see the people turn and look, and he noticed that as they lifted their hats their faces often brightened very much; but he thought it was all because his grandfather was with him.

“They are so fond of you,” he once said, looking up at his lordship with a bright smile.  “Do you see how glad they are when they see you?  I hope they will some day be as fond of me.  It must be nice to have EVERYbody like you.”  And he felt quite proud to be the grandson of so greatly admired and beloved an individual.

When the cottages were being built, the lad and his grandfather used to ride over to Earl’s Court together to look at them, and Fauntleroy was full of interest.  He would dismount from his pony and go and make acquaintance with the workmen, asking them questions about building and bricklaying, and telling them things about America.  After two or three such conversations, he was able to enlighten the Earl on the subject of brick-making, as they rode home.

“I always like to know about things like those,” he said, “because you never know what you are coming to.”

When he left them, the workmen used to talk him over among themselves, and laugh at his odd, innocent speeches; but they liked him, and liked to see him stand among them, talking away, with his hands in his pockets, his hat pushed back on his curls, and his small face full of eagerness.  “He’s a rare un,” they used to say.  “An’ a noice little outspoken chap, too.  Not much o’ th’ bad stock in him.”  And they would go home and tell their wives about him, and the women would tell each other, and so it came about that almost every one talked of, or knew some story of, little Lord Fauntleroy; and gradually almost every one knew that the “wicked Earl” had found something he cared for at last—­something which had touched and even warmed his hard, bitter old heart.