The uncle and nephew soon became great friends, and were almost inseparable. They used to go out walking together, and sometimes the uncle would teach Maurice his lessons. In the evening they often went together to the circus or to an exhibition of some sort. But when they passed the evening at home, Maurice was almost more amused; for he never tired of looking over books of sketches, which his uncle had made during his voyages.
There were sketches representing the Red Indians of America; the natives of Australia; the inhabitants of the islands in the Southern Pacific, and of the coasts of Africa. Maurice was astonished to see faces painted in all the colours of the rainbow; and he wondered at the singular ideas savages have of making themselves look more beautiful. He saw some with pieces of wood fixed into their under lips, to make them hang down; some with their teeth blackened; others with their eyelids painted red. There were also sketches of Laplanders, who were certainly not handsome,—not figures that a sculptor would choose for models. Maurice’s uncle gave him an account also of the manners and customs of all these people, and my little friend learnt with horror that among savages, there are those who roast and devour their fellow-creatures with the same relish with which we eat good roast beef and mutton.
Then his uncle showed him landscapes of strange countries, all drawn by himself, and sketches of the principal cities he had visited; afterwards, drawings of foreign birds and flowers, such as are not to be found in Europe. All this interested Maurice, and while it amused him, gave him lessons in natural history and geography. You will easily understand how fond he was likely to become of such a kind companion and teacher.
The uncle always showed a great interest in Cressida, admired its mechanism, and was fond of watching the little horse and its rider as they went along together. One day, when he had been looking at them for some time with a very thoughtful air, he said suddenly:—
“I wish I had a horse like Cressida.”
“Why not buy one then?” replied Maurice.
“Ah, you know very well that is impossible. There is no such horse to be had anywhere.”
“That’s true,” rejoined Maurice; “but why do you want a wooden horse—you who are so big, and can ride a real horse, if you wish?”
“No real horse—not the most beautiful in the world—could be the same to me as Cressida,” rejoined the uncle. “It may seem like a caprice, but it is not. I am going to sea again very soon, and I confess I should like to take Cressida with me. I could amuse myself with him on board ship. He would be a great resource during the long tedious hours when there is nothing to do. Besides, if I had the horse I should feel myself less separated from you all; and it would remind me of you particularly, Maurice, whom I shall be so sorry to leave.”
“Ah, my dear uncle, what you desire is impossible. I cannot give you Cressida.”