must be something worth looking at, in the next room; Dawson had such a consequential, mysterious air.
"Now, then," he said, slipping off his seat a few minutes later; "I've had enough. Can I go and look at it?"
Dawson nodded and led the way, looking more mysterious and important than ever. He began to be very much interested indeed.
When she opened the door of the room, he stood upon the threshold and looked about him in amazement. He did not speak; he only put his hands in his pockets and stood there flushing up to his forehead and looking in.
He flushed up because he was so surprised and, for the moment, excited. To see such a place was enough to surprise any ordinary boy.
The room was a large one, too, as all the rooms seemed to be, and it appeared to him more beautiful than the rest, only in a different way. The furniture was not so massive and antique as was that in the rooms he had seen downstairs; the draperies and rugs and walls were brighter; there were shelves full of books, and on the tables were numbers of toys,— beautiful, ingenious things,— such as he had looked at with wonder and delight through the shop windows in New York.
"It looks like a boy's room," he said at last, catching his breath a little. "Whom do they belong to?"
"Go and look at them," said Dawson. "They belong to you!"
"To me!" he cried; "to me? Why do they belong to me? Who gave them to me?" And he sprang forward with a gay little shout. It seemed almost too much to be believed. "It was Grandpapa!" he said, with his eyes as bright as stars. "I know it was Grandpapa!"
"Yes, it was his lordship," said Dawson; "and if you will be a nice little gentleman, and not fret about things, and will enjoy
