Gus looked at his father with a shrewd, discerning glance. He was taking but a moderate draught; he never drank deeply so early in the day. Had it been night, Gus would have wondered at no strange, inexplicable words that might fall from his lips; but he did wonder now.
"What do you mean, father?" he asked.
"The name by which the people here know us is not our real name. I called myself Devereux once when we lived in another part, but people soon cut it down to Rew, and I let it be so. Shall I tell you your right name, Gus?"
"Yes," said the boy, forgetting to eat in his astonishment.
"Augustus Devereux Carruthers."
"My!" exclaimed Gus, his eyes opening wide in astonishment. "That's a good long one."
"It is your name, however. Can you remember it?"
"I don't know as I can," replied Gus.
"Then I'll write it down for you. It may be of importance to you some day that you should know your right name. But mind, boy, you are to keep it to yourself. Not a word to any one about it unless I give you leave."
Gus nodded.