“Guild.”
“That’s right; Guild. Hello! look there; there’s another one of those setter dogs. Looks just like the beast the fellow back there had, doesn’t it?”
But this dog only observed them indifferently from a respectful distance, and then trotted around the corner of the house as they mounted the broad steps, crossed a wide veranda, and pushed the ivory button beside the big oaken door. Allan strove to appear at ease, but in reality looked as though he had come to steal the family silver. A neatly-aproned maid opened the door.
“Is Mr. Guild in?” asked Pete, with unruffled composure.
“Yes, sir. Will you please walk in?” They followed her into a library, in which a wood fire was crackling merrily in the chimney-place. Allan felt like an impostor. Pete calmly selected the easiest chair and lowered himself into it with a deep sigh of contentment.
“This is something like!” he said. “I’ll bet we’ll get two or three kinds of pie, Allan.”
But Allan, sitting uncomfortably on the edge of a straight-backed chair, only smiled distressedly and listened to the footsteps coming nearer and nearer down the uncarpeted hall. The footsteps reached the door; Pete and Allan got to their feet as the door swung open.
“Mr. Guild—” began Pete. Then he stopped short.
Before them was the owner of the ducks!