GUS SEES HIS TEACHER AGAIN.
THE summer weeks passed by, and brought little variation into Gus'
life. Only the baby seemed to grow daily heavier, and to weary him more
and more as he dragged him about in the heat. And as the baby's mother
grew more addicted to "taking something," and resting after it, she
thrust every task she could upon the boy who had to "earn his keep."
But Gus never grumbled. He did his best sturdily; he did not lose
patience with the baby, restless, struggling, fretful little mortal
though he was, nor was he ever cross to the other little ones who
called Sally Dent mother. But he prized every leisure moment he could
spend with Lucy.
Sometimes on a Sunday they could get a quiet hour together, and then
they would read from Lucy's Bible some passage in the history of the
Lord Jesus—"the truest gentleman as ever was," as Gus loved to say,
remembering the lady's words. And already the little boy's life was
guided by a conscious effort to follow the example of the highest,
holiest Manhood.
Lucas continued to treat Gus kindly, but Gus did not see much of him or
of his son during the summer weeks. They would often be away from home
for several nights, and Lucy never seemed to know exactly when they
would return. And as Gus saw no fresh indications of anything being
wrong, he ceased to think about those words from Lucy which had so
startled him. He noticed that things seemed less prosperous with Lucas
than formerly. There was not so much butter and jam going, and Lucy's
cookery did not send forth such savoury odours. Perhaps Lucas had given
up his dishonest practices, and was living strictly within his lawful
means. Gus was glad to believe this.
One day, when summer was fairly gone, Lucas asked Gus if he could go
out for a tramp with him and Jack.
Gus had little hope that Sally Dent would let him go, but he ran to ask
her. At first she said she could not spare him; but when she heard that
Lucas wanted him, she gave her consent. Lucas was too good a lodger for
her to risk offending him.
Gus set out in capital spirits. It was a bright autumn day. The air was
fresh and invigorating, the sunshine brilliant. Already the trees were
touched with warm brown and gold, and in the gardens which they passed
the dead leaves lay thick.
Strange to say, Lucas and his son took Gus exactly the same tramp they
had taken him before. He passed and looked with interest on the little
iron schoolroom in which he had had his first experience of a Sunday
school. A little further on was the shop where he had tendered the bad
florin. Gus' cheeks glowed with shame now as he thought of it, and he
slunk quickly past the shop, hoping the woman would not see him.
A little farther on along the road was a large house, "standing in
its own grounds," as the advertisements say. Beyond the garden lay
fields, so that the position of the house was quite isolated. This
house seemed greatly to interest Lucas and his son. They hung about
the gate for some time, furtively watching a gardener who was engaged
in sweeping the lawn. The garden was bright with chrysanthemums and
dahlias, but not prettier than many they had seen; so that Gus wondered
why they lingered there so long. At last they heard a church clock
strike twelve, and soon afterwards the gardener laid down his broom and
disappeared.
"Now, Gus, come with me," said Lucas.
He led him a little way up the shrubbery, till they were almost in
sight of the house; then he said—
"Look here, if you do as I tell you, I'll give you twopence. I want you
to go all round the house—this way, see—till you come to the kitchen
door, where you must knock and ask for a piece of bread."
"I'm not a beggar," said Gus, colouring.
"Well, never mind, ask for a drink of water—anything. Don't be a
duffer. I'll make it sixpence, if you do it to please me; and just keep
your eyes open as you go; see if the windows under the verander come
right down to the ground, and find out if they keep a dog, and whether
there's a man-servant, and what time they have their dinner."
"But who am I to ask?" said Gus, looking bewildered.
"Find out without asking if you can, but if not there's the cook;
surely a pretty boy like you can get round the cook. And not a word
about our being here, mind. Now, off with you."
Gus moved away reluctantly. He did not like the errand; had he had the
least idea for what purpose Lucas desired this information, he would
have refused to seek it.
[Illustration]
He followed the path which ran in front of the verandah. It was not the
direct path to the kitchen, but Lucas had purposely sent him that way.
Yes, the windows beneath the verandah came to the ground; Gus noticed
that, and then, turning the corner of the house, he found himself
before a window of the same description, which stood wide open to the
sunlight, and his unexpected appearance startled a young lady, who sat
just within, and scared away a poor half-starved kitten, to whom she
was giving a saucer of milk. The young lady uttered a faint cry as she
rose quickly; but the next moment she recognised Gus, and smiled on him.
"Why, you are Gus!" she said. "The poor little Gus whom I had in my
class one afternoon. I hoped you would come again, but you have never
been."
"I couldn't get away any more," said Gus.
"And were you coming to see me now?"
"No. I didn't know you lived here. I was going to the kitchen to ask
for a drink of water."
"Will milk do as well?" asked the young lady, filling a glass from a
jug which stood on the table. "Here, sit down and drink it. You look
tired."
Gus gladly seated himself on the step of the window, and the girl, who
evidently thought that he needed to be cared for as much as the starved
kitten, gave him a large slice of cake.
"Now tell me where you live, and what you do with yourself?" she said.
"I live at Glensford," he replied; "that's a long way from here."
"Have you a mother?" she inquired, looking pitifully at Gus' deplorable
attire.
"My mother has been dead a long while, and father died a few months
ago," he said. "I live with Mrs. Dent, and mind her baby."
"Poor child!" said the young lady. Her voice was soft and caressing as
she said this, and Gus thought he had never seen such sweet blue eyes
as those that were bent on him. And she, at the same time, was struck
with the beauty of his large, innocent blue eyes.
"My father and mother are living," she said; "but they are in India.
That is a great way off."
"And you live here?" said Gus, suddenly remembering that he was there
to gather information.
"Yes, in my grandfather's home."
"It's a big house," said Gus, glancing round. "I s'pose you don't live
here all by yourself?"
"Certainly not," said the girl, laughing. "An aunt, my father's sister,
is here for a while, taking care of me, and there are the three
servants besides."
"No man?" asked Gus.
"No man-servant, if that is what you mean; but my grandfather of course
lives here, only just now he is away on a visit."
"Oh," said Gus. So far he had had no difficulty in getting the
information he wanted, and just at that moment the kitten came creeping
round the corner of the window.
"Here's your kitten," said Gus.
"It's not my kitten," said the girl; "it's a poor stray thing."
"Haven't you got a kitten of your own?" asked Gus.
"No," she replied; "I think I must adopt this one."
"P'raps you've a dog?" he suggested.
"No, I have not," she replied. "We had a splendid dog here—dear old
Towser—but he died in the spring, and grandpapa has not yet got
another. He was such a good house-dog; it is a pity he died."
"It is," said Gus, quite innocently. He had finished his cake, and he
remembered that Lucas and Jack were waiting for him; but on his own
account, he felt in no hurry to depart.
"Take another piece of cake," said the young lady; "I am sure you must
be hungry."
"No more, thank you," said Gus. "I must be going. I was hungry, for
it's about the time we have our dinner."
"What, at twelve o'clock? That seems very early to me."
"Does it?" said Gus. "What time do you have your dinner then?"
"Not till seven o'clock in the evening; but we have a meal in the
middle of the day which is almost like a dinner."
"Two dinners! My word!" exclaimed Gus in amazement; but ere he could
say more, a lady entered the room into which he was gazing. She was
tall, angular, and severe of aspect. She had a very high nose, and very
thin lips, and very cold eyes. She advanced with much dignity till she
observed the open window and the ragged boy seated on the sill. Then
she threw up her hands, and gave a scream.
"Good gracious, Edith! What have you here?"
"Only a poor little boy, aunt; he came to my class one afternoon,"
Edith began hurriedly to explain.
But her aunt scarce heeded her words.
"How could you?" she said reproachfully. "Is this the time, when we are
left without a protector, to encourage a young scamp like this to come
to the house? There is no knowing what may come of it. He may—there,
be off with you, boy; you'll get nothing more here. Be off; we want no
tramps here; we'll set the dog at you, if you don't move quickly!"
And as Gus hastily sprang up, she pushed to the glass doors and bolted
them.
"Oh, aunt!" cried Edith, unable to help laughing, though she was vexed,
"How could you say that, when you know we have no dog?"
"My dear, I said it with a purpose. I don't want him to come here and
murder us all in our beds. It is not that I am nervous—you know I am
not nervous—but one must be cautious. You should not have let him sit
there. He may have brought scarlet fever or small-pox. I will tell Jane
to scrub that window-sill." And she rang the bell sharply to summon the
housemaid.
"What a pity!" murmured Edith to herself. "I wanted to get him some
better clothes, and now aunt has frightened him away there is no
knowing when I shall see him again."
Meanwhile Gus was hurrying to the gate as fast as his feet could carry
him. Lucas stood awaiting him uneasily, but his face brightened when he
saw Gus approaching.
"Well, youngster, you've been a long while," he said. "I began to be
afraid something had happened. It's to be hoped you've made good use of
the time."
Gus told how kind the young lady had been to him, and repeated all that
had passed between them. As he did so Jack appeared; he had been across
the fields to take a survey of the house from the back.
Lucas burst out laughing when Gus told how he had learned that there
was no dog belonging to the house. "Upon my word," he said, patting
Gus on the back, "you're a well-plucked one; we'll send you on that
business again. He couldn't have done it better, could he, Jack?"
Jack chuckled, but suggested that they had better be moving on. So they
turned towards home again.
Apparently their purpose in coming out was accomplished. Both Lucas and
his son seemed greatly entertained and pleased at what had happened.
Gus could not understand much that they said to each other as they
walked along. They seemed to be laying plans of some kind. Once Jack
said emphatically, with a nod in the direction of Gus, "Things will go
all right, if you keep him out of it, not unless."
Whereupon Lucas turned angrily upon his son, being clearly of another
opinion. Whatever was the matter in dispute, they continued to wrangle
over it all the way home. Gus could not understand what it was they
were quarrelling about, but he had an uneasy consciousness that it
somehow concerned himself.