"Once!" repeated the vicar. "What do you mean?"
"He was a gentleman once," said Gus again; "but then—" The boy paused, and a deep flush of shame dyed his face.
"An educated man who lost his character, and sank to be the companion of thieves and vagabonds," thought the vicar, and forbore to question the boy further. All he said was, "You must be a true gentleman, Gus."
The boy looked at him with quick, questioning glance.
"Howe'er it be, it seems to me
It's only noble to be good—"
Quoted Mr. Mouncey.
Gus' eyes flashed a quick, comprehensive response, but he made no other reply.
The first winter which Gus spent in the country was a happy one. He now made acquaintance with the real country, which is very different from the suburban country on which London so greedily encroaches.
Gus thoroughly enjoyed the long rambles Mr. Mouncey would sometimes take with the boys on a clear, frosty day. Gus loved to see the grass and hedges all glittering with hoar-frost, or to hear the crisp silvery leaves crack beneath his tread as they walked through the woods. He thought the trees looked beautiful, with their great branches, bare save for ivy or lichen, outlined against the blue sky. He loved to watch the birds and squirrels, and even hares made tame almost by severe cold, and to learn all Mr. Mouncey could tell him of their habits. How Gus enjoyed, too, the novel delight of learning to skate on the frozen river, and the effects of the first heavy snowfall, the work of clearing the church and vicarage paths, and the snowballing, which the boys were not likely to omit.
And no less, though in a different way, he enjoyed the bright Sunday services in the beautiful old church, and the class in the vicar's dining-room on Sunday afternoons, when he talked to the boys of the one perfect life of the God-man, through the knowledge of whom we may become "partakers of the Divine Nature."