Fauntleroy drew a long breath.
"A pony!" he exclaimed. "Whose pony is it?"
"Yours," replied the Earl.
"Mine?" cried the little fellow. "Mine — like the things upstairs?"
"Yes," said his grandfather. "Would you like to see it? Shall I order it to be brought around?"
Fauntleroy's cheeks grew redder and redder.
"I never thought I should have a pony!" he said. "I never thought that! How glad Dearest will be. You give me everything, don't you?"
"Do you wish to see it?" inquired the Earl.
Fauntleroy drew a long breath. "I want to see it," he said. "I want to see it so much I can hardly wait. But I'm afraid there isn't time."
"You must go and see your mother this afternoon?" asked the Earl. "You think you can't put it off?"
"Why," said Fauntleroy, "she has been thinking about me all the morning, and I have been thinking about her!"
"Oh!" said the Earl. "You have, have you? Ring the bell."
As they drove down the avenue, under the arching trees, he was rather silent. But Fauntleroy was not. He talked about the pony. What color was it? How big was it? What was its name? What did it like to eat best? How old was it? How early in the morning might he get up and see it?
"Dearest will be so glad!" he kept saying. "She will be so much obliged to you for being so kind to me! She knows I always liked ponies so much, but we never thought I should have one. There was a little boy on Fifth Avenue who had one, and he used to ride out every morning and we used to take a walk past his house to see him."
