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.
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."