There were two women in the room. Everything was bright and cheerful with gay-flowered chintz. There was a fire on the hearth, and the sunshine was streaming in through the [ivy-entwined] windows. Both women came toward him, and he saw that one of them was Mrs. Mellon, the housekeeper, and the other a comfortable, middle-aged woman, with a face as kind and good-humoured as a face could be.
“Good-morning, my lord,” said Mrs. Mellon. “Did you sleep well?”
His lordship rubbed his eyes and smiled.
“Good-morning,” he said. “I didn’t know I was here.”
“You were carried up-stairs when you were asleep,” said the housekeeper. “This is your bedroom, and this is Dawson, who is to take care of you.”
Fauntleroy sat up in bed and held out his hand to Dawson, as he had held it out to the Earl.
“How do you do, ma’am?” he said. “I’m much obliged to you for coming to take care of me.”
“You can call her Dawson, my lord,” said the housekeeper with a smile. “She is used to being called Dawson.—She will do anything you ask her to.”
“That I will, bless him,” said Dawson, in her comforting, good-humoured voice. “He shall dress himself, and I’ll stand by, ready to help him if he wants me.”
“Thank you,” responded Lord Fauntleroy; “it’s a little hard sometimes about the buttons, you know, and then I have to ask somebody.”