Chapter Eighteen.

Chapter Eighteen.Dexter spends a pleasant Afternoon.Dexter went up to where Helen was waiting for him, and found her dressed. “Going out!” he said.“Yes; I thought I would walk up to Sir James’s with you,” she said; and she cast a critical eye over him, and smiled upon seeing that he only needed a touch with a brush to make him presentable.This was given, and they set off together, the doctor only giving Dexter a friendly nod in accordance with a promise made not to upset the boy with a number of hints as to how he was to behave.“It must come by degrees, papa,” Helen said; “and any advice given now would only make him more conscious.”Dexter’s hair still looked horribly short, but his face did not quite resemble now that of a boy who had just risen from a sick-bed. He looked brighter and more animated, and in nowise peculiar; but all the same, in their short walk, Helen was conscious of the fact that they were being observed by every one they passed, and that plenty of remarks were made.All at once she noticed that Dexter as she was speaking to him gave quite a start, and following the direction of his eyes, she saw that he was looking at a rough-looking boy, who was approaching them with a fishing-rod over his shoulder, and a basket in his hand.The boy’s mouth widened into a grin as he passed, and Helen asked Dexter if he knew him, the friendly look he had given speaking volumes of a new difficulty likely to be in their way.“I don’t know whether I know him—or not,” said Dexter. “I’ve spoken to him.”“Where? At the schools!”“No; he was fishing on the other side of the river that day I tumbled in.”“Oh!” said Helen coldly. “Here we are.”She turned through a great iron gate, walked up a broad flight of steps, and knocked.“There, Dexter,” she said, as the door was opened. “I hope you will enjoy yourself.”“Ain’t you going in with me!” he whispered excitedly, as a footman in a blue and yellow livery opened the door.“No; good-bye.”She nodded pleasantly, and went down the steps, leaving Dexter face to face with the footman, who had become possessed of the news of the young guest’s quality from no less a personage than Master Edgar himself.“Will you come in, please,” he said, drawing back, and holding the door open with an air that should have made him gain for wages—kicks.Dexter said, “Yes, sir,” as respectfully as if he were the workhouse porter, and took off his cap and went in.“This way, hif you please,” said the supercilious gentleman. “You may leave your cap here.”Dexter put down his cap, and followed the man to a door at the further end of the hall.“What name!” said the footman.Dexter stared at him.“What name shall I announce?” said the man again with chilling dignity.“Please, I don’t know what you mean,” said the boy, feeling very much confused.The man smiled pityingly, and looked down with a most exasperating kind of condescension at the visitor,—in a way, in fact, that stamped him mentally as a brother in spirit, if not in flesh, of Maria, the doctor’s maid.“I ’ave to announce your name to her ladyship,” said the footman.“Oh, my name,” cried Dexter, “Obed Cole—I mean Dexter Grayson.”He turned more red than ever in his confusion, and before he could say another word to add to his correction the door was thrown open.“Master Obed Cole Dextry Grayson,” said the footman, in a loud voice; and the boy found himself standing in a large handsomely furnished room in the presence of Lady Danby, who rose with a forced smile, and looked very limp.“How do you do, Master Grayson!” she said sadly, and she held out her hand.Dexter in his confusion made a dash at it, and caught it tightly, to find that it felt very limp and cold, but the sensation did not last long, for the thin white fingers were snatched away.“Eddy, dear,” said Lady Danby.There was no answer, and Dexter stood there, feeling very uncomfortable, and staring hard at the tall lady, who spoke in such an ill-used tone of voice.“Eddy, my darling,” she said a little more loudly, as she turned and looked toward a glass door opening into a handsome conservatory; “come and shake hands with Master Grayson.”There was no reply, but a faint rustling sound fell upon Dexter’s quick ears, telling plainly enough that some one was in the conservatory.Lady Danby sighed, and there was a very awkward pause.“Perhaps you had better sit down, Master Grayson,” she said. “My son will be here soon.”Just at that moment there was a loud important sounding cough in the hall, the handle of the door rattled loudly, and Sir James entered, walking very upright, and smiling with his eyes half-closed.“Aha!” he exclaimed. “Here you are, then. How do you do—how do you do—how do you do!”He shook hands boisterously, nodding and smiling the while, and Dexter wondered whether he ought to say, “Quite well, thank you, sir,” three times over, but he only said it once.“That’s right,” said Sir James. “Quite safe here, eh? No bullocks to run after us now.”“No, sir,” said Dexter uneasily.“But where’s Eddy!” cried Sir James.“He was here a little while ago, my dear,” said Lady Danby uneasily. “I think he has gone down the garden.”“No; I think not,” said Sir James. “Here, Eddy! Eddy!”“Yes, pa,” came out of the conservatory.“Why, where are you, sir? Come and shake hands with our young friend.”Master Edgar came slowly into sight, entered the drawing-room, and stood still.“Well; why don’t you welcome your visitor? Come here.”Master Edgar came a little more forward.“Now, then, shake hands with your friend.”Master Edgar slowly held out a white thin hand in the direction of Dexter, who caught it eagerly, and felt as if he were shaking hands with Lady Danby again.“That’s better,” said Sir James. “Now the ice is broken I hope you two will be very great friends. There, we shall have an early dinner for you at three o’clock. Better leave them to themselves, my dear.”“Very well, my love,” responded Lady Danby sadly.“Take Dexter Grayson and show him your games, and your pony, and then you can take him round the garden, but don’t touch the boat.”“No, pa,” said Edgar slowly.“He’s a little shy, Dexter,” said Sir James.“No, I ain’t, ma,” said Edgar, in a whisper.“We are very glad to see you, Dexter,” continued Sir James. “There, now, go and enjoy yourself out in the garden, you’ll find plenty to see. Come, Eddy.”Master Edgar looked slowly and sulkily up at his father, and seemed to hesitate, not even glancing at his visitor.“Well!” said Sir James sharply. “Why are you hesitating? Come: run along. That way, Dexter, my lad. You two will soon be good friends.”Dexter tried to smile, but it was a very poor apology for a look of pleasure, while Sir James, who seemed rather annoyed at his son’s shrinking, uncouth conduct, laid his hand upon the boy’s shoulder and led him into the conservatory.“Come, Eddy,” he said bluffly.“Must I go, ma!” whispered Eddy.“Yes, my dear, certainly. Papa wishes it, and you must behave like a young gentleman to your guest.”“Come, Eddy,” shouted Sir James from the conservatory.Master Edgar went out sidewise in a very crabby way, and found Sir James waiting.“There, no more shyness,” said Sir James bluffly. “Go out and enjoy yourselves till dinner-time.”He nodded and smiled at them, gave his son a push toward Dexter, and returned to where Lady Danby was seated, with her brow all in wrinkles.“They will soon make friends,” said Sir James. “It’s Grayson’s whim, of course, and really, my dear, this seems to be a decent sort of boy. Very rough, of course, but Eddy will give him polish. This class of boy is very quick at picking up things; and if, after a few weeks, Grayson is disappointed and finds out his mistake, why, then, we have behaved in a neighbourly way to him and Helen, and there’s an end of it.”“But it seems so shocking for poor Eddy, my dear,” remonstrated Lady Danby.“Fish! pooh! tchah! rubbish! not at all!”“Eddy may pick up bad language from him, and become rude.”“He had better not!” said Sir James. “He knows differently. The other young dog will learn from him. Make him discontented, I’m afraid; but there—it is not our doing.”Lady Danby sighed.“They’ll come back in a hour or two quite companions,” continued Sir James. “Boys like that are a little awkward at their first meeting. Soon wear off. I am going to write letters till three. After their dinner perhaps I shall take them in the boat down the river.”Lady Danby sighed again, and Sir James went to see to his letters for the post.By this time Master Edgar had walked softly out on to the lawn, with his right hand in his pocket, and his left thumb playing about his mouth, looking the while in all directions but that occupied by Dexter, who followed him slowly, waiting for his young host to speak.But Eddy did not seem to have the slightest intention of speaking. He only sidled away slowly across the lawn, and then down one of the winding paths among the shrubs and ornamental trees.This went on for about ten minutes, during which they got to be further and further from the house, not a word being spoken; and though Dexter looked genial and eager as he followed his young host, the silence chilled him as much as did the studied way in which his companion avoided his eyes.“What a beautiful garden you’ve got!” said Dexter at last.There was no reply.Eddy picked up a stone, and threw it at a thrush.“It’s bigger than Dr Grayson’s,” said Dexter, after a pause.Eddy picked a flower, gave a chew at the stalk; then picked it to pieces, and threw it away.Then he began to sidle along again in and out among the trees, and on and on, never once looking at his companion till they were at the bottom of the garden. A pleasant piece of lawn, dotted with ornamental trees, sloped down to the river where, in a Gothic-looking boat-house, open at either end, a handsome-looking gig floated in the clear water.“That your boat?” said Dexter eagerly, as his eyes ran over the cushioned seats, and the sculls of varnished wood lying all ready along the thwarts.Edgar made no reply, only moved nearer to the water, and threw himself on a garden seat near the edge.“Isn’t this a good place for fishing?” said Dexter, trying another tack.No answer, and it was getting very monotonous. But Dexter took it all good-humouredly, attributing the boy’s manner more to shyness than actual discourtesy.“I say, don’t you fish sometimes!”No reply.“Have you got any rods and lines!”Eddy gave a contemptuous sniff, which might have meant anything.“There’s lots at Dr Grayson’s,” said Dexter eagerly, for the sight of the roach gliding about in the clear water in the shade of the boat-house excited the desire to begin angling. “Shall I go and fetch the rods and lines?”Eddy leaned back in the garden seat, and rested his head upon his hand.In despair Dexter sighed, and then recalled Sir James’s words about their enjoying themselves.It was a lovely day; the garden was very beautiful; the river ran by, sparkling and bright; but there was very little enjoyment so far, and Dexter sat down upon the grass at a little distance from his young host.But it was not in Dexter’s nature to sit still long, and after staring hard at the bright water for a few minutes, he looked up brightly at Edgar.“I say,” he cried; “that bullock didn’t hurt you the other day, did it?”Edgar shifted himself a little in his seat, so that he could stare in the other direction, and he tried to screw up his mouth into what was meant to be a supercilious look, though it was a failure, being extremely pitiful, and very small.Dexter waited for a few minutes, and then continued the one-sided conversation—“I never felt afraid of bullocks,” he said thoughtfully. “If you had run after them with your stick—I say, you got your stick, didn’t you?”No reply.“Oh, well,” said Dexter; “if you don’t want to talk, I don’t.”“I don’t want to talk to a boy like you,” said Edgar, without looking.Dexter started, and stared hard.“I’m not accustomed to associate with workhouse boys.”Dexter flinched.Not long back the idea of being a workhouse boy did not trouble him in the least. He knew that there were plenty of boys who were not workhouse boys, and seeing what freedom they enjoyed, and how much happier they seemed, something of the nature of envy had at times crept into his breast, but, on the whole, he had been very well contented till he commenced his residence at the doctor’s; and now all seemed changed.“I’m not a workhouse boy,” he said hotly.“Yes, you are,” retorted Edgar, looking at him hard, full in the face, for the first time. “I know where you came from, and why you were fetched.”Dexter’s face was burning, and there was an angry look in his eyes, as he jumped up and took a couple of steps toward where Edgar sat back on the garden seat. But his pleasant look came back, and he held out his hand.“I’m not ashamed of it,” he said. “I used to be at the workhouse. Won’t you shake hands!”Edgar sniffed contemptuously, and turned his head away.“Very well,” said Dexter sadly. “I don’t want to, if you don’t.”Edgar suddenly leaped up, and went along by the side of the river, while Dexter, after a few moments’ hesitation, began to follow him in a lonely, dejected way, wishing all the time that he could go back home.Following out his previous tactics, Edgar sidled along path after path, and in and out among the evergreen clumps, all the while taking care not to come within sight of the house, so that his actions might be seen; while, feeling perfectly helpless and bound to follow the caprices of his young host, Dexter continued his perambulation of the garden in the same unsatisfactory manner.“Look here,” cried Edgar at last; “don’t keep following me about.”“Very well,” said Dexter, as he stood still in the middle of one of the paths, wondering whether he could slip away, and return to the doctor’s.That seemed a difficult thing to do, for Sir James might see him going, and call him back, and then what was he to say? Besides which, when he reached the doctor’s there would be a fresh examination, and he felt that the excuse he gave would not be satisfactory.Dexter sighed, and glanced in the direction taken by Edgar.The boy was not within sight, but Dexter fancied that he had hidden, and was watching him, and he turned in the other direction, looking hopelessly about the garden, which seemed to be more beautiful and extensive than the doctor’s; but, in spite of the wealth of greenery and flowers, everything looked cheerless and cold.Dexter sighed. Then a very natural boyish thought came into his head.“I wonder what’s for dinner,” he said to himself; but at the same time he knew that it must be a long while yet to dinner-time, and, sighing once more, he walked slowly down the path, found himself near the river again, and went and sat on a stump close to the boat-house, where he could look into the clear water, and see the fish.It was very interesting to him to watch the little things gliding here and there, and he wished that he had a rod and line to try for some of them, when all at once he started, for a well-aimed stone struck him upon the side of the head, and as it reached its goal, and Dexter started up angrily, there was a laugh and a rustle among the shrubs.As the pain went off, so did Dexter’s anger, and he reseated himself upon the stump, thinking, with his young wits sharpened by his early life.“I don’t call this coming out to enjoy myself,” he said drily. “Wonder whether all young gentleman behave like this?”Then he began thinking about Sam Stubbs, a boy at the workhouse school, who was a terrible bully and tyrant, knocking all his companions about.But the sight of the clean-looking well-varnished boat, floating so easily in the shade of the roof of its house, took his attention, and he began thinking of how he should like a boat like that to push off into the stream, and go floating along in the sunshine, looking down at the fish, and fastening up every now and then to the overhanging trees. It would be glorious, he thought.“I wish Dr Grayson had a boat,” he thought. “I could learn to row it, and—”Whack!Dexter jumped up again, tingling with pain; and then with his face scarlet he sat down once more writhing involuntarily, and drawing his breath hard, as there was a mocking laugh.The explanation was simple. Master Edgar was dissatisfied. It was very pleasant to his spoiled, morbid mind to keep on slighting and annoying his guest by making him dance attendance upon him, and dragging him about the garden wherever he pleased to go; but it was annoying and disappointing to find that he was being treated with a calm display of contempt.Under these circumstances Master Edgar selected a good-sized stone—one which he thought would hurt—and took excellent aim at Dexter, where he sat contemplating the river.The result was most satisfactory: Dexter had winced, evidently suffered sharp pain, but only submitted to it, and sat down again twisting himself about.Edgar laughed heartily, in fact the tears stood in his eyes, and he retreated, but only to where he could watch Dexter attentively.“He’s a coward,” said Edgar to himself. “All that sort of boys are.” And with the determination of making his visitor a kind of captive to his bow and spear, or, in plainer English, a slave to his caprices, he went to one of the beds where some sticks had lately been put to some young plants, and selecting one that was new, thin, and straight, he went back on tiptoe, watched his opportunity, and then brought the stick down sharply across Dexter’s back.He drew back for a few moments, his victim’s aspect being menacing; but Dexter’s young spirit had been kept crushed down for a good many years, and his custom had been under many a blow to sit and suffer patiently, not even crying aloud, Mr Sibery objecting to any noise in the school.Dexter had subsided again. The flashes that darted from his eyes had died out, and those eyes looked subdued and moist.For the boy was mentally, as well as bodily hurt, and he wondered what Helen would say, and whether Sir James would correct his son if he saw him behaving in that manner to his visitor.“Hey: get up!” said Edgar, growing more bold, as he found that he could ill-use his guest with impunity; and as he spoke he gave him a rough poke or two with the sharp end of the stick, which had been pointed with the gardener’s pruning-knife.His treatment of Dexter resembled that which he had been accustomed to bestow upon an unfortunate dog he had once owned—one which became so fond of him that at last it ran away.“Do you hear!” cried Edgar again. “Get up.”“Don’t: you hurt.”“Yes: meant to hurt,” said Edgar, grinning. “Get up.”He gave Dexter so sharp a dig with the stick that the latter jumped up angrily, and Edgar drew back; but on seeing that the visitor only went on a few yards to where there was a garden seat, and sat down again, the young tyrant became emboldened, and went behind the seat with a malicious look of satisfaction in his eyes.“Don’t do that,” said Dexter quietly. “Let’s have a game at something. Do you think we might go in that boat?”“I should think not indeed,” cried Edgar, who now seemed to have found his tongue. “Boats are for young gentlemen, not for boys from the Union.”Dexter winced a little, and Edgar looked pleased.“Get up!” he shouted; and he made another lunge with the stick.“I’m always getting into trouble,” thought Dexter, as the result of the last few days’ teachings, “and I don’t want to do anything now.”“Do you hear, blackguard? Get up!”There was another sharp poke, a painful poke, against which, as he moved to the other end of the seat, Dexter uttered a mild protest.“Did you hear me say, ‘Get up’?” shouted Edgar.Dexter obeyed, and moved a little nearer to the water’s edge.“I wish it was time to go,” he said to himself. “I am so miserable here.”“Now, go along there,” said Edgar sharply. “Go on!”The boy seemed to have a donkey in his mind’s eye just then, for he thrust and struck at Dexter savagely, and then hastily threw down the stick, as an angry glow was gathering in his visitor’s countenance. For just then there was a step heard upon the gravel.“Ah, Eddy, my darling,” said a voice; and Lady Danby walked languidly by, holding up a parasol. “At play, my dear?”She did not glance at Dexter, who felt very solitary and sad as the lady passed on, Master Eddy throwing himself on the grass, and picking it off in patches to toss toward the water till his mother was out of sight, when he sprang up once more, and picked the stick from where he had thrown it upon a bed.As he did this he glanced sidewise, and then stood watching for a few minutes, when he made a playful kind of charge at his visitor, and drove the point of the stick so vigorously against his back that the cloth gave way, making a triangular hole, and causing the owner no little pain.“Don’t,” cried Dexter appealingly; “you hurt ever so. Let’s play at some game.”“I’m going to,” cried Edgar, with a vicious laugh. “I’m going to play at French and English, and you’re the beggarly Frenchman at Waterloo. That’s the way to charge bayonets. How do you like that, and that, and that!”“Not at all,” said Dexter, trying hard to be good-humoured.“Then you’ll have to like it, and ever so much more, too. Get up, blackguard. Do you hear?”Dexter rose and retreated; but, with no little agility, Edgar got before him, and drove him toward the water, stabbing and lunging at him so savagely, that if he had not parried some of the thrusts with his hands his face must have been torn.Edgar grew more and more excited over his work, and Dexter received a nasty dig on one hand, another in the cheek, while another grazed his ear.This last was beyond bearing. The hurt was not so bad as several which he had before received; but, perhaps from its nearness to his brain, it seemed to rouse Dexter more than any former blow, and, with an angry cry, he snatched at and caught the stick just as it came near his face.“Let go of that stick! Do you hear?” cried Edgar.For response Dexter, who was now roused, held on tightly, and tried to pull the stick away.“Let go,” cried Edgar, tugging and snatching with all his might.Dexter’s rage was as evanescent as it was quick. It passed away, and as his enemy made another furious tug at the stick Dexter suddenly let go, and the consequence was the boy staggered back a few yards, and then came down heavily in a sitting position upon the grass.Edgar sat and stared for a few moments, the sudden shock being anything but pleasant; but, as he saw Dexter’s mirthful face, a fit of rage seized him, and, leaping up, he resumed his attack with the stick.This time his strokes and thrusts were so malicious, and given with so decided a desire to hurt his victim as much as was possible, that, short of running away, Dexter had to do everything possible to avoid the blows.For the most part he was successful; but at last he received so numbing a blow across the arm that he quivered with pain and anger as he sprang forward, and, in place of retreating, seized the stick, and tried to wrest it away.There was a brief struggle, but pretty full of vigour.Rage made Edgar strong, and he fought well for his weapon, but at the end of a minute’s swaying here and there, and twistings and heavings innumerable, Edgar’s arms felt as if they were being torn from his body, the stick was wrenched away, and as he stood scarlet with passion, he saw it whirled into the air, to fall with a loud splash into the river.Edgar ground his teeth for a moment or two, and then, as white with anger as his adversary was red, he flew at him, swaying his arms round, and then there was a furious encounter.Edgar had his own ideas about fighting manoeuvres, which he had tried again and again upon his nurse in bygone times, and upon any of the servants with whom he had come in contact. His arms flew round like flails, or as if he had been transformed into a kind of human firework, and for the next five minutes he kicked, scratched, bit, and tore at his adversary; the next five minutes he was seated upon the grass, howling, his nose bleeding terribly, and the crimson stains carried by his hands all over his face.For Dexter was not perfect: he had borne till it was impossible to bear more, and then, with his anger surging up, he had fought as a down-trodden English boy will sometimes fight; and in this case with the pluck and steadiness learned in many a school encounter, unknown to Mr Sibery or Mr Hippetts, the keen-eyed and stern.Result: what might be expected. Dexter felt no pain, only an intense desire to thrash the virulent little tyrant who had scratched his face, kicked his shins, torn at his hair—it was too short still for a good hold—and, finally, made his sharp, white teeth meet in his visitor’s neck.“Served you right!” muttered Dexter, as he knelt down by the river, and bathed his hands and face before dabbing them dry with his pocket-handkerchief. “No business to treat me like that.”Then, as he stood rubbing his face—very little the worsefor the encounter—his anger all passed away, and the consequences of his act dawned upon him.“Look here,” he said; “it was all your fault. Come to the water; that will soon stop bleeding.”He held out his hand, as he bent over the fallen tyrant, meaning to help him to rise, when, quick as lightning, Edgar caught the hand proffered to him and carried it to his teeth.Dexter uttered a cry of pain, and shook him off, sending him backwards now upon the grass, just as a shadow fell across the contending boys, and Sir James stood frowning there.

Dexter went up to where Helen was waiting for him, and found her dressed. “Going out!” he said.

“Yes; I thought I would walk up to Sir James’s with you,” she said; and she cast a critical eye over him, and smiled upon seeing that he only needed a touch with a brush to make him presentable.

This was given, and they set off together, the doctor only giving Dexter a friendly nod in accordance with a promise made not to upset the boy with a number of hints as to how he was to behave.

“It must come by degrees, papa,” Helen said; “and any advice given now would only make him more conscious.”

Dexter’s hair still looked horribly short, but his face did not quite resemble now that of a boy who had just risen from a sick-bed. He looked brighter and more animated, and in nowise peculiar; but all the same, in their short walk, Helen was conscious of the fact that they were being observed by every one they passed, and that plenty of remarks were made.

All at once she noticed that Dexter as she was speaking to him gave quite a start, and following the direction of his eyes, she saw that he was looking at a rough-looking boy, who was approaching them with a fishing-rod over his shoulder, and a basket in his hand.

The boy’s mouth widened into a grin as he passed, and Helen asked Dexter if he knew him, the friendly look he had given speaking volumes of a new difficulty likely to be in their way.

“I don’t know whether I know him—or not,” said Dexter. “I’ve spoken to him.”

“Where? At the schools!”

“No; he was fishing on the other side of the river that day I tumbled in.”

“Oh!” said Helen coldly. “Here we are.”

She turned through a great iron gate, walked up a broad flight of steps, and knocked.

“There, Dexter,” she said, as the door was opened. “I hope you will enjoy yourself.”

“Ain’t you going in with me!” he whispered excitedly, as a footman in a blue and yellow livery opened the door.

“No; good-bye.”

She nodded pleasantly, and went down the steps, leaving Dexter face to face with the footman, who had become possessed of the news of the young guest’s quality from no less a personage than Master Edgar himself.

“Will you come in, please,” he said, drawing back, and holding the door open with an air that should have made him gain for wages—kicks.

Dexter said, “Yes, sir,” as respectfully as if he were the workhouse porter, and took off his cap and went in.

“This way, hif you please,” said the supercilious gentleman. “You may leave your cap here.”

Dexter put down his cap, and followed the man to a door at the further end of the hall.

“What name!” said the footman.

Dexter stared at him.

“What name shall I announce?” said the man again with chilling dignity.

“Please, I don’t know what you mean,” said the boy, feeling very much confused.

The man smiled pityingly, and looked down with a most exasperating kind of condescension at the visitor,—in a way, in fact, that stamped him mentally as a brother in spirit, if not in flesh, of Maria, the doctor’s maid.

“I ’ave to announce your name to her ladyship,” said the footman.

“Oh, my name,” cried Dexter, “Obed Cole—I mean Dexter Grayson.”

He turned more red than ever in his confusion, and before he could say another word to add to his correction the door was thrown open.

“Master Obed Cole Dextry Grayson,” said the footman, in a loud voice; and the boy found himself standing in a large handsomely furnished room in the presence of Lady Danby, who rose with a forced smile, and looked very limp.

“How do you do, Master Grayson!” she said sadly, and she held out her hand.

Dexter in his confusion made a dash at it, and caught it tightly, to find that it felt very limp and cold, but the sensation did not last long, for the thin white fingers were snatched away.

“Eddy, dear,” said Lady Danby.

There was no answer, and Dexter stood there, feeling very uncomfortable, and staring hard at the tall lady, who spoke in such an ill-used tone of voice.

“Eddy, my darling,” she said a little more loudly, as she turned and looked toward a glass door opening into a handsome conservatory; “come and shake hands with Master Grayson.”

There was no reply, but a faint rustling sound fell upon Dexter’s quick ears, telling plainly enough that some one was in the conservatory.

Lady Danby sighed, and there was a very awkward pause.

“Perhaps you had better sit down, Master Grayson,” she said. “My son will be here soon.”

Just at that moment there was a loud important sounding cough in the hall, the handle of the door rattled loudly, and Sir James entered, walking very upright, and smiling with his eyes half-closed.

“Aha!” he exclaimed. “Here you are, then. How do you do—how do you do—how do you do!”

He shook hands boisterously, nodding and smiling the while, and Dexter wondered whether he ought to say, “Quite well, thank you, sir,” three times over, but he only said it once.

“That’s right,” said Sir James. “Quite safe here, eh? No bullocks to run after us now.”

“No, sir,” said Dexter uneasily.

“But where’s Eddy!” cried Sir James.

“He was here a little while ago, my dear,” said Lady Danby uneasily. “I think he has gone down the garden.”

“No; I think not,” said Sir James. “Here, Eddy! Eddy!”

“Yes, pa,” came out of the conservatory.

“Why, where are you, sir? Come and shake hands with our young friend.”

Master Edgar came slowly into sight, entered the drawing-room, and stood still.

“Well; why don’t you welcome your visitor? Come here.”

Master Edgar came a little more forward.

“Now, then, shake hands with your friend.”

Master Edgar slowly held out a white thin hand in the direction of Dexter, who caught it eagerly, and felt as if he were shaking hands with Lady Danby again.

“That’s better,” said Sir James. “Now the ice is broken I hope you two will be very great friends. There, we shall have an early dinner for you at three o’clock. Better leave them to themselves, my dear.”

“Very well, my love,” responded Lady Danby sadly.

“Take Dexter Grayson and show him your games, and your pony, and then you can take him round the garden, but don’t touch the boat.”

“No, pa,” said Edgar slowly.

“He’s a little shy, Dexter,” said Sir James.

“No, I ain’t, ma,” said Edgar, in a whisper.

“We are very glad to see you, Dexter,” continued Sir James. “There, now, go and enjoy yourself out in the garden, you’ll find plenty to see. Come, Eddy.”

Master Edgar looked slowly and sulkily up at his father, and seemed to hesitate, not even glancing at his visitor.

“Well!” said Sir James sharply. “Why are you hesitating? Come: run along. That way, Dexter, my lad. You two will soon be good friends.”

Dexter tried to smile, but it was a very poor apology for a look of pleasure, while Sir James, who seemed rather annoyed at his son’s shrinking, uncouth conduct, laid his hand upon the boy’s shoulder and led him into the conservatory.

“Come, Eddy,” he said bluffly.

“Must I go, ma!” whispered Eddy.

“Yes, my dear, certainly. Papa wishes it, and you must behave like a young gentleman to your guest.”

“Come, Eddy,” shouted Sir James from the conservatory.

Master Edgar went out sidewise in a very crabby way, and found Sir James waiting.

“There, no more shyness,” said Sir James bluffly. “Go out and enjoy yourselves till dinner-time.”

He nodded and smiled at them, gave his son a push toward Dexter, and returned to where Lady Danby was seated, with her brow all in wrinkles.

“They will soon make friends,” said Sir James. “It’s Grayson’s whim, of course, and really, my dear, this seems to be a decent sort of boy. Very rough, of course, but Eddy will give him polish. This class of boy is very quick at picking up things; and if, after a few weeks, Grayson is disappointed and finds out his mistake, why, then, we have behaved in a neighbourly way to him and Helen, and there’s an end of it.”

“But it seems so shocking for poor Eddy, my dear,” remonstrated Lady Danby.

“Fish! pooh! tchah! rubbish! not at all!”

“Eddy may pick up bad language from him, and become rude.”

“He had better not!” said Sir James. “He knows differently. The other young dog will learn from him. Make him discontented, I’m afraid; but there—it is not our doing.”

Lady Danby sighed.

“They’ll come back in a hour or two quite companions,” continued Sir James. “Boys like that are a little awkward at their first meeting. Soon wear off. I am going to write letters till three. After their dinner perhaps I shall take them in the boat down the river.”

Lady Danby sighed again, and Sir James went to see to his letters for the post.

By this time Master Edgar had walked softly out on to the lawn, with his right hand in his pocket, and his left thumb playing about his mouth, looking the while in all directions but that occupied by Dexter, who followed him slowly, waiting for his young host to speak.

But Eddy did not seem to have the slightest intention of speaking. He only sidled away slowly across the lawn, and then down one of the winding paths among the shrubs and ornamental trees.

This went on for about ten minutes, during which they got to be further and further from the house, not a word being spoken; and though Dexter looked genial and eager as he followed his young host, the silence chilled him as much as did the studied way in which his companion avoided his eyes.

“What a beautiful garden you’ve got!” said Dexter at last.

There was no reply.

Eddy picked up a stone, and threw it at a thrush.

“It’s bigger than Dr Grayson’s,” said Dexter, after a pause.

Eddy picked a flower, gave a chew at the stalk; then picked it to pieces, and threw it away.

Then he began to sidle along again in and out among the trees, and on and on, never once looking at his companion till they were at the bottom of the garden. A pleasant piece of lawn, dotted with ornamental trees, sloped down to the river where, in a Gothic-looking boat-house, open at either end, a handsome-looking gig floated in the clear water.

“That your boat?” said Dexter eagerly, as his eyes ran over the cushioned seats, and the sculls of varnished wood lying all ready along the thwarts.

Edgar made no reply, only moved nearer to the water, and threw himself on a garden seat near the edge.

“Isn’t this a good place for fishing?” said Dexter, trying another tack.

No answer, and it was getting very monotonous. But Dexter took it all good-humouredly, attributing the boy’s manner more to shyness than actual discourtesy.

“I say, don’t you fish sometimes!”

No reply.

“Have you got any rods and lines!”

Eddy gave a contemptuous sniff, which might have meant anything.

“There’s lots at Dr Grayson’s,” said Dexter eagerly, for the sight of the roach gliding about in the clear water in the shade of the boat-house excited the desire to begin angling. “Shall I go and fetch the rods and lines?”

Eddy leaned back in the garden seat, and rested his head upon his hand.

In despair Dexter sighed, and then recalled Sir James’s words about their enjoying themselves.

It was a lovely day; the garden was very beautiful; the river ran by, sparkling and bright; but there was very little enjoyment so far, and Dexter sat down upon the grass at a little distance from his young host.

But it was not in Dexter’s nature to sit still long, and after staring hard at the bright water for a few minutes, he looked up brightly at Edgar.

“I say,” he cried; “that bullock didn’t hurt you the other day, did it?”

Edgar shifted himself a little in his seat, so that he could stare in the other direction, and he tried to screw up his mouth into what was meant to be a supercilious look, though it was a failure, being extremely pitiful, and very small.

Dexter waited for a few minutes, and then continued the one-sided conversation—

“I never felt afraid of bullocks,” he said thoughtfully. “If you had run after them with your stick—I say, you got your stick, didn’t you?”

No reply.

“Oh, well,” said Dexter; “if you don’t want to talk, I don’t.”

“I don’t want to talk to a boy like you,” said Edgar, without looking.

Dexter started, and stared hard.

“I’m not accustomed to associate with workhouse boys.”

Dexter flinched.

Not long back the idea of being a workhouse boy did not trouble him in the least. He knew that there were plenty of boys who were not workhouse boys, and seeing what freedom they enjoyed, and how much happier they seemed, something of the nature of envy had at times crept into his breast, but, on the whole, he had been very well contented till he commenced his residence at the doctor’s; and now all seemed changed.

“I’m not a workhouse boy,” he said hotly.

“Yes, you are,” retorted Edgar, looking at him hard, full in the face, for the first time. “I know where you came from, and why you were fetched.”

Dexter’s face was burning, and there was an angry look in his eyes, as he jumped up and took a couple of steps toward where Edgar sat back on the garden seat. But his pleasant look came back, and he held out his hand.

“I’m not ashamed of it,” he said. “I used to be at the workhouse. Won’t you shake hands!”

Edgar sniffed contemptuously, and turned his head away.

“Very well,” said Dexter sadly. “I don’t want to, if you don’t.”

Edgar suddenly leaped up, and went along by the side of the river, while Dexter, after a few moments’ hesitation, began to follow him in a lonely, dejected way, wishing all the time that he could go back home.

Following out his previous tactics, Edgar sidled along path after path, and in and out among the evergreen clumps, all the while taking care not to come within sight of the house, so that his actions might be seen; while, feeling perfectly helpless and bound to follow the caprices of his young host, Dexter continued his perambulation of the garden in the same unsatisfactory manner.

“Look here,” cried Edgar at last; “don’t keep following me about.”

“Very well,” said Dexter, as he stood still in the middle of one of the paths, wondering whether he could slip away, and return to the doctor’s.

That seemed a difficult thing to do, for Sir James might see him going, and call him back, and then what was he to say? Besides which, when he reached the doctor’s there would be a fresh examination, and he felt that the excuse he gave would not be satisfactory.

Dexter sighed, and glanced in the direction taken by Edgar.

The boy was not within sight, but Dexter fancied that he had hidden, and was watching him, and he turned in the other direction, looking hopelessly about the garden, which seemed to be more beautiful and extensive than the doctor’s; but, in spite of the wealth of greenery and flowers, everything looked cheerless and cold.

Dexter sighed. Then a very natural boyish thought came into his head.

“I wonder what’s for dinner,” he said to himself; but at the same time he knew that it must be a long while yet to dinner-time, and, sighing once more, he walked slowly down the path, found himself near the river again, and went and sat on a stump close to the boat-house, where he could look into the clear water, and see the fish.

It was very interesting to him to watch the little things gliding here and there, and he wished that he had a rod and line to try for some of them, when all at once he started, for a well-aimed stone struck him upon the side of the head, and as it reached its goal, and Dexter started up angrily, there was a laugh and a rustle among the shrubs.

As the pain went off, so did Dexter’s anger, and he reseated himself upon the stump, thinking, with his young wits sharpened by his early life.

“I don’t call this coming out to enjoy myself,” he said drily. “Wonder whether all young gentleman behave like this?”

Then he began thinking about Sam Stubbs, a boy at the workhouse school, who was a terrible bully and tyrant, knocking all his companions about.

But the sight of the clean-looking well-varnished boat, floating so easily in the shade of the roof of its house, took his attention, and he began thinking of how he should like a boat like that to push off into the stream, and go floating along in the sunshine, looking down at the fish, and fastening up every now and then to the overhanging trees. It would be glorious, he thought.

“I wish Dr Grayson had a boat,” he thought. “I could learn to row it, and—”

Whack!

Dexter jumped up again, tingling with pain; and then with his face scarlet he sat down once more writhing involuntarily, and drawing his breath hard, as there was a mocking laugh.

The explanation was simple. Master Edgar was dissatisfied. It was very pleasant to his spoiled, morbid mind to keep on slighting and annoying his guest by making him dance attendance upon him, and dragging him about the garden wherever he pleased to go; but it was annoying and disappointing to find that he was being treated with a calm display of contempt.

Under these circumstances Master Edgar selected a good-sized stone—one which he thought would hurt—and took excellent aim at Dexter, where he sat contemplating the river.

The result was most satisfactory: Dexter had winced, evidently suffered sharp pain, but only submitted to it, and sat down again twisting himself about.

Edgar laughed heartily, in fact the tears stood in his eyes, and he retreated, but only to where he could watch Dexter attentively.

“He’s a coward,” said Edgar to himself. “All that sort of boys are.” And with the determination of making his visitor a kind of captive to his bow and spear, or, in plainer English, a slave to his caprices, he went to one of the beds where some sticks had lately been put to some young plants, and selecting one that was new, thin, and straight, he went back on tiptoe, watched his opportunity, and then brought the stick down sharply across Dexter’s back.

He drew back for a few moments, his victim’s aspect being menacing; but Dexter’s young spirit had been kept crushed down for a good many years, and his custom had been under many a blow to sit and suffer patiently, not even crying aloud, Mr Sibery objecting to any noise in the school.

Dexter had subsided again. The flashes that darted from his eyes had died out, and those eyes looked subdued and moist.

For the boy was mentally, as well as bodily hurt, and he wondered what Helen would say, and whether Sir James would correct his son if he saw him behaving in that manner to his visitor.

“Hey: get up!” said Edgar, growing more bold, as he found that he could ill-use his guest with impunity; and as he spoke he gave him a rough poke or two with the sharp end of the stick, which had been pointed with the gardener’s pruning-knife.

His treatment of Dexter resembled that which he had been accustomed to bestow upon an unfortunate dog he had once owned—one which became so fond of him that at last it ran away.

“Do you hear!” cried Edgar again. “Get up.”

“Don’t: you hurt.”

“Yes: meant to hurt,” said Edgar, grinning. “Get up.”

He gave Dexter so sharp a dig with the stick that the latter jumped up angrily, and Edgar drew back; but on seeing that the visitor only went on a few yards to where there was a garden seat, and sat down again, the young tyrant became emboldened, and went behind the seat with a malicious look of satisfaction in his eyes.

“Don’t do that,” said Dexter quietly. “Let’s have a game at something. Do you think we might go in that boat?”

“I should think not indeed,” cried Edgar, who now seemed to have found his tongue. “Boats are for young gentlemen, not for boys from the Union.”

Dexter winced a little, and Edgar looked pleased.

“Get up!” he shouted; and he made another lunge with the stick.

“I’m always getting into trouble,” thought Dexter, as the result of the last few days’ teachings, “and I don’t want to do anything now.”

“Do you hear, blackguard? Get up!”

There was another sharp poke, a painful poke, against which, as he moved to the other end of the seat, Dexter uttered a mild protest.

“Did you hear me say, ‘Get up’?” shouted Edgar.

Dexter obeyed, and moved a little nearer to the water’s edge.

“I wish it was time to go,” he said to himself. “I am so miserable here.”

“Now, go along there,” said Edgar sharply. “Go on!”

The boy seemed to have a donkey in his mind’s eye just then, for he thrust and struck at Dexter savagely, and then hastily threw down the stick, as an angry glow was gathering in his visitor’s countenance. For just then there was a step heard upon the gravel.

“Ah, Eddy, my darling,” said a voice; and Lady Danby walked languidly by, holding up a parasol. “At play, my dear?”

She did not glance at Dexter, who felt very solitary and sad as the lady passed on, Master Eddy throwing himself on the grass, and picking it off in patches to toss toward the water till his mother was out of sight, when he sprang up once more, and picked the stick from where he had thrown it upon a bed.

As he did this he glanced sidewise, and then stood watching for a few minutes, when he made a playful kind of charge at his visitor, and drove the point of the stick so vigorously against his back that the cloth gave way, making a triangular hole, and causing the owner no little pain.

“Don’t,” cried Dexter appealingly; “you hurt ever so. Let’s play at some game.”

“I’m going to,” cried Edgar, with a vicious laugh. “I’m going to play at French and English, and you’re the beggarly Frenchman at Waterloo. That’s the way to charge bayonets. How do you like that, and that, and that!”

“Not at all,” said Dexter, trying hard to be good-humoured.

“Then you’ll have to like it, and ever so much more, too. Get up, blackguard. Do you hear?”

Dexter rose and retreated; but, with no little agility, Edgar got before him, and drove him toward the water, stabbing and lunging at him so savagely, that if he had not parried some of the thrusts with his hands his face must have been torn.

Edgar grew more and more excited over his work, and Dexter received a nasty dig on one hand, another in the cheek, while another grazed his ear.

This last was beyond bearing. The hurt was not so bad as several which he had before received; but, perhaps from its nearness to his brain, it seemed to rouse Dexter more than any former blow, and, with an angry cry, he snatched at and caught the stick just as it came near his face.

“Let go of that stick! Do you hear?” cried Edgar.

For response Dexter, who was now roused, held on tightly, and tried to pull the stick away.

“Let go,” cried Edgar, tugging and snatching with all his might.

Dexter’s rage was as evanescent as it was quick. It passed away, and as his enemy made another furious tug at the stick Dexter suddenly let go, and the consequence was the boy staggered back a few yards, and then came down heavily in a sitting position upon the grass.

Edgar sat and stared for a few moments, the sudden shock being anything but pleasant; but, as he saw Dexter’s mirthful face, a fit of rage seized him, and, leaping up, he resumed his attack with the stick.

This time his strokes and thrusts were so malicious, and given with so decided a desire to hurt his victim as much as was possible, that, short of running away, Dexter had to do everything possible to avoid the blows.

For the most part he was successful; but at last he received so numbing a blow across the arm that he quivered with pain and anger as he sprang forward, and, in place of retreating, seized the stick, and tried to wrest it away.

There was a brief struggle, but pretty full of vigour.

Rage made Edgar strong, and he fought well for his weapon, but at the end of a minute’s swaying here and there, and twistings and heavings innumerable, Edgar’s arms felt as if they were being torn from his body, the stick was wrenched away, and as he stood scarlet with passion, he saw it whirled into the air, to fall with a loud splash into the river.

Edgar ground his teeth for a moment or two, and then, as white with anger as his adversary was red, he flew at him, swaying his arms round, and then there was a furious encounter.

Edgar had his own ideas about fighting manoeuvres, which he had tried again and again upon his nurse in bygone times, and upon any of the servants with whom he had come in contact. His arms flew round like flails, or as if he had been transformed into a kind of human firework, and for the next five minutes he kicked, scratched, bit, and tore at his adversary; the next five minutes he was seated upon the grass, howling, his nose bleeding terribly, and the crimson stains carried by his hands all over his face.

For Dexter was not perfect: he had borne till it was impossible to bear more, and then, with his anger surging up, he had fought as a down-trodden English boy will sometimes fight; and in this case with the pluck and steadiness learned in many a school encounter, unknown to Mr Sibery or Mr Hippetts, the keen-eyed and stern.

Result: what might be expected. Dexter felt no pain, only an intense desire to thrash the virulent little tyrant who had scratched his face, kicked his shins, torn at his hair—it was too short still for a good hold—and, finally, made his sharp, white teeth meet in his visitor’s neck.

“Served you right!” muttered Dexter, as he knelt down by the river, and bathed his hands and face before dabbing them dry with his pocket-handkerchief. “No business to treat me like that.”

Then, as he stood rubbing his face—very little the worsefor the encounter—his anger all passed away, and the consequences of his act dawned upon him.

“Look here,” he said; “it was all your fault. Come to the water; that will soon stop bleeding.”

He held out his hand, as he bent over the fallen tyrant, meaning to help him to rise, when, quick as lightning, Edgar caught the hand proffered to him and carried it to his teeth.

Dexter uttered a cry of pain, and shook him off, sending him backwards now upon the grass, just as a shadow fell across the contending boys, and Sir James stood frowning there.

Chapter Nineteen.Master Eddy “Hollers Wahoo!”“What is the meaning of this!” cried Sir James furiously.Dexter was speechless, and he shrank back staring.Edgar was ready with an answer. “He’s knocking me about, pa. He has done nothing but knock me about ever since he came.”“Oh!” cried Dexter in a voice full of indignant astonishment. “I didn’t. He begun it, and I didn’t, indeed.”“Silence, sir!” cried Sir James, in his severest magisterial tones. “How dare you tell me such a falsehood? I saw you ill-using my son as you held him down.”“Why, he had got hold of my hand!” cried Dexter indignantly.“Got hold of your hand, sir? How dare you? How dare you, sir, I say? I’ve a great mind to—”Sir James did not finish his speech, but made a gesture with the walking-cane he carried; and just then there was a loud hysterical shriek.For Lady Danby had realised the fact that something was wrong from the part of the garden where she was promenading, parasol in hand, and she came now panting up, in the full belief that some accident had happened to her darling, and that he was drowned.“Eddy, Eddy!” she cried, as she came up; and then as soon as she caught sight of his anything but pleasant-looking countenance, she shrieked again wildly, and flung herself upon her knees beside him. “What is it? What is it, my darling?” she sobbed, as she caught him to her heart.“That horrid boy! Knocking me about,” he cried, stopping his howling so as to deliver the words emphatically; and then looking at his stained hands, and bursting into a howl of far greater power than before.“The wretch! The wretch!” cried Lady Danby. “I always knew it. He has killed my darling.”At this dire announcement Edgar shook himself free from his mother’s embrace, looked at his hands again, and then in the extremity of horror, threw himself flat upon his back, and shrieked and kicked.“O my darling, my darling!” cried Lady Danby.“He isn’t hurt much,” cried Dexter indignantly.“How dare you, sir!” roared Sir James.“He’s killed; he’s killed!” cried Lady Danby, clasping her hands, and rocking herself to and fro as she gazed at the shrieking boy, who only wanted a cold sponge and a towel to set him right.“Ow!” yelled Edgar, as he appreciated the sympathy of his mother, but believed the very worst of his unfortunate condition. The lady now bent over him, said that he was killed, and of course she must have known.Edgar had never readUncle Remus. All this was before the period when that book appeared; but his conduct might very well be taken as a type of that of the celebrated Brer Fox when Brer Rabbit was in doubt as to whether he was really dead or only practising a ruse, and proceeded to test his truth by saying, as he saw him stretched out—“Brer Fox look like he dead, but he don’t do like he dead. Dead fokes hists up de behime leg, en hollerswahoo!”Edgar, according to Brer Rabbit’s ideas, was very dead indeed, for he kept on “histing up de behime leg, en holleringwahoo!” with the full power of his lungs.By this time the alarm had spread, and there was the sound of steps upon a gravel walk, which resulted in the appearance of the supercilious footman.“Carry Master Edgar up to the house,” said Sir James, in his severest magisterial tones.“Carefully—very carefully,” wailed her ladyship piteously; and she looked and spoke as if she feared that as soon as the boy was touched he would tumble all to pieces.Dexter looked on, with his eyes turning here and there, like those of some captured wild animal which fears danger; and as he looked he caught sight of the footman gazing at him with a peculiar grin upon his countenance, which seemed to be quite friendly, and indicated that the man rather enjoyed the plight in which his young master was plunged.Master Edgar howled again as he was raised, and directly after began to indulge in what the plantation negroes used to call “playing ’possum”—that is to say, he suddenly became limp and inert, closing his eyes, and letting his head roll about, as if there were no more bone left in his body, while his mother wrung her hands, and tried then to hold the head steady, as the footman prepared to move toward the house.“Now, sir,” said Sir James sternly, “come here. We will have a few words about this in my library.”Accustomed for years past to obey, Dexter took a step forward to accompany the stern-looking man before him to the house; but such a panorama of troublous scenes rose before his mind’s eye directly, that he stopped short, gave one hasty glance round, and then, as Sir James stretched forth his hand, he made one bound which landed him in a clump of hollyhocks and dahlias; another which took him on to the grass; and then, with a rush, he dashed into a clump of rhododendrons, went through them, and ran as hard as he could go toward the house.For a few moments Sir James was too much astounded to speak. This was something new. He was accustomed to order, and to be obeyed.He had ordered Dexter to come to him, and for answer the boy had dashed away.As soon as Sir James could recover his breath, taken away in his astonishment, he began to shout—“Stop, sir! Do you hear? How dare you?”If a hundred Sir Jameses had been shouting it would not have stayed Dexter, for he had only one idea in his head just then, and that was to get away.“Put down Master Edgar, and go and fetch that boy back.”“Carefully! Oh, pray, put him down carefully,” cried Lady Danby passionately.Just then Master Edgar uttered a fresh cry, and his mother wailed loudly.“No, never mind,” cried Sir James, “carry him up to the house; I will fetch that young rascal.”He strode off angrily, evidently believing in his own mind that he really was going to fetch Dexter back; but by that time the boy had reached the house, ran round by the side, dashed down the main street, and was soon after approaching the bridge over the river, beyond which lay the Union and the schools.

“What is the meaning of this!” cried Sir James furiously.

Dexter was speechless, and he shrank back staring.

Edgar was ready with an answer. “He’s knocking me about, pa. He has done nothing but knock me about ever since he came.”

“Oh!” cried Dexter in a voice full of indignant astonishment. “I didn’t. He begun it, and I didn’t, indeed.”

“Silence, sir!” cried Sir James, in his severest magisterial tones. “How dare you tell me such a falsehood? I saw you ill-using my son as you held him down.”

“Why, he had got hold of my hand!” cried Dexter indignantly.

“Got hold of your hand, sir? How dare you? How dare you, sir, I say? I’ve a great mind to—”

Sir James did not finish his speech, but made a gesture with the walking-cane he carried; and just then there was a loud hysterical shriek.

For Lady Danby had realised the fact that something was wrong from the part of the garden where she was promenading, parasol in hand, and she came now panting up, in the full belief that some accident had happened to her darling, and that he was drowned.

“Eddy, Eddy!” she cried, as she came up; and then as soon as she caught sight of his anything but pleasant-looking countenance, she shrieked again wildly, and flung herself upon her knees beside him. “What is it? What is it, my darling?” she sobbed, as she caught him to her heart.

“That horrid boy! Knocking me about,” he cried, stopping his howling so as to deliver the words emphatically; and then looking at his stained hands, and bursting into a howl of far greater power than before.

“The wretch! The wretch!” cried Lady Danby. “I always knew it. He has killed my darling.”

At this dire announcement Edgar shook himself free from his mother’s embrace, looked at his hands again, and then in the extremity of horror, threw himself flat upon his back, and shrieked and kicked.

“O my darling, my darling!” cried Lady Danby.

“He isn’t hurt much,” cried Dexter indignantly.

“How dare you, sir!” roared Sir James.

“He’s killed; he’s killed!” cried Lady Danby, clasping her hands, and rocking herself to and fro as she gazed at the shrieking boy, who only wanted a cold sponge and a towel to set him right.

“Ow!” yelled Edgar, as he appreciated the sympathy of his mother, but believed the very worst of his unfortunate condition. The lady now bent over him, said that he was killed, and of course she must have known.

Edgar had never readUncle Remus. All this was before the period when that book appeared; but his conduct might very well be taken as a type of that of the celebrated Brer Fox when Brer Rabbit was in doubt as to whether he was really dead or only practising a ruse, and proceeded to test his truth by saying, as he saw him stretched out—

“Brer Fox look like he dead, but he don’t do like he dead. Dead fokes hists up de behime leg, en hollerswahoo!”

Edgar, according to Brer Rabbit’s ideas, was very dead indeed, for he kept on “histing up de behime leg, en holleringwahoo!” with the full power of his lungs.

By this time the alarm had spread, and there was the sound of steps upon a gravel walk, which resulted in the appearance of the supercilious footman.

“Carry Master Edgar up to the house,” said Sir James, in his severest magisterial tones.

“Carefully—very carefully,” wailed her ladyship piteously; and she looked and spoke as if she feared that as soon as the boy was touched he would tumble all to pieces.

Dexter looked on, with his eyes turning here and there, like those of some captured wild animal which fears danger; and as he looked he caught sight of the footman gazing at him with a peculiar grin upon his countenance, which seemed to be quite friendly, and indicated that the man rather enjoyed the plight in which his young master was plunged.

Master Edgar howled again as he was raised, and directly after began to indulge in what the plantation negroes used to call “playing ’possum”—that is to say, he suddenly became limp and inert, closing his eyes, and letting his head roll about, as if there were no more bone left in his body, while his mother wrung her hands, and tried then to hold the head steady, as the footman prepared to move toward the house.

“Now, sir,” said Sir James sternly, “come here. We will have a few words about this in my library.”

Accustomed for years past to obey, Dexter took a step forward to accompany the stern-looking man before him to the house; but such a panorama of troublous scenes rose before his mind’s eye directly, that he stopped short, gave one hasty glance round, and then, as Sir James stretched forth his hand, he made one bound which landed him in a clump of hollyhocks and dahlias; another which took him on to the grass; and then, with a rush, he dashed into a clump of rhododendrons, went through them, and ran as hard as he could go toward the house.

For a few moments Sir James was too much astounded to speak. This was something new. He was accustomed to order, and to be obeyed.

He had ordered Dexter to come to him, and for answer the boy had dashed away.

As soon as Sir James could recover his breath, taken away in his astonishment, he began to shout—

“Stop, sir! Do you hear? How dare you?”

If a hundred Sir Jameses had been shouting it would not have stayed Dexter, for he had only one idea in his head just then, and that was to get away.

“Put down Master Edgar, and go and fetch that boy back.”

“Carefully! Oh, pray, put him down carefully,” cried Lady Danby passionately.

Just then Master Edgar uttered a fresh cry, and his mother wailed loudly.

“No, never mind,” cried Sir James, “carry him up to the house; I will fetch that young rascal.”

He strode off angrily, evidently believing in his own mind that he really was going to fetch Dexter back; but by that time the boy had reached the house, ran round by the side, dashed down the main street, and was soon after approaching the bridge over the river, beyond which lay the Union and the schools.

Chapter Twenty.An Explanation.For a few moments Dexter’s idea was to go to the great gates, ring the porter’s bell, and take sanctuary there, for he felt that he had disgraced himself utterly beyond retrieving his character. Certainly, he never dared go back to the doctor’s.He felt for a moment that he had some excuse, for Edgar Danby had brought his punishment upon himself; but no one would believe that, and there was no hope for the offender but to give up everything, and go back to his former life.But, as the boy reached the gloomy-looking workhouse entrance, and saw the painted bell-pull, through whose coating the rust was eating its way, he shivered.For there rose up before him the stern faces of Mr Hippetts and Mr Sibery, with the jeering crowd of schoolfellows, who could laugh at and gibe him for his downfall, and be sure to call him Gentleman Coleby, as long as they were together, the name, under the circumstances, being sure to stick.No, he could not face them there, and beside, though it had never seemed so before, the aspect of the great building was so forbidding that he shrank away, and walked onward toward the outskirts of the town, and on, and on, till he found himself by the river.Such a sensation of misery and despair came over him, that he began walking along by the bank, seeing nothing of the glancing fish and bright insects which danced above the water. He had room for nothing but the despondent thoughts of what he should do now.“What would the doctor think of him? What would Helen say?” He had been asked out to spend the day at a gentleman’s house, and he had disgraced himself, and—“Hullo!”Dexter looked up sharply, and found that he had almost run against his old fishing friend of the opposite side of the river.“Hullo!” stammered Dexter in reply.“Got dry again?” said the boy, who was standing just back from the water’s edge, fishing, with his basket at his side, and a box of baits on the grass.“Got dry?” said Dexter wonderingly.“Yes! My!” cried the boy, grinning, “you did have a ducking. I ran away. Best thing I could do.”“Yes,” said Dexter quietly; “you ran away.”“Why, what yer been a-doing of? Your face is scratched, and your hands too. I know: you’ve been climbing trees. You’ll ketch it, spoiling your clothes. That’s got him.”He struck and landed a small fish, which he took from the hook and dropped into his basket, where there were two more.“They don’t bite to-day. Caught any down your garden!”“No,” said Dexter, to whom the company of the boy was very cheering just then. “I haven’t tried since.”“You are a fellow! Why, if I had a chance like you have, I should be always at it.”“I say, what did you say your name was?”“Bob Dimsted—Bob,” said the fisher, throwing in again. “I know what yours is. You come out of the workus.”“Yes,” said Dexter sadly, as he wondered whether he did not wish he was there now. “I came out of the workus—workhouse,” he added, as he remembered one of Helen’s teachings.“Why don’t you get your rod some day, and a basket of something to eat, and come right up the river with me, fishing? There’s whackers up there.”“I should like to,” said Dexter thoughtfully, for the idea of the fishing seemed to drive away the troubles from which he suffered.“Well, come then. I’d go any day, only you must let me have all you caught.”“All?” said Dexter, as he began to think of trophies.“Yes. As I showed you the place where they’re caught, I should want to take them home.”“All right,” said Dexter. “You could have them.”“Ah, it’s all very well,” said the boy, “but there wouldn’t be many that you caught, mate. Ah! No, he’s off again. Keep a little furder back.”Dexter obeyed, and sat down on the grass, feeling in a half-despairing mood, but as if the company of this rough boy was very pleasant after what he had gone through, and that boys like this were more agreeable to talk to than young tyrants of the class of Edgar Danby.“Fish don’t half bite to-day,” said Bob Dimsted. “I wish you’d got a rod here, I could lend you a line—single hair.”“But I haven’t got a rod.”“Well, run home and fetch it,” said Bob.“Run home and fetch it?” How could he run home and fetch it? How could he ever go back to the doctor’s again?“No,” he said at last, as he shook his head. “I can’t go and fetch it.”“Then you can’t fish,” said the boy, “and ’tain’t much use. It’s no fun unless they bite, and some days it don’t matter how you try, they won’t.”“Won’t they?” said Dexter, and then he started to his feet, for a familiar voice had spoken close to his ear—“Why, Dexter!”The voice was as full of astonishment as the pleasant face which looked in his.“I thought you were at Sir James Danby’s! Is Edgar out here, in the meadows!”“No—no,” faltered Dexter; and Bob Dimsted began to gather up his tackle, so as to make a strategic movement, there being evidently trouble in the rear.“But what does this mean?” said Helen firmly. “Who is that boy?”“Bob—Bob Dimsted.”“And do you know him?”“He—he was fishing opposite our—your—garden the day I fell into the river,” faltered Dexter; and he looked longingly at Bob, who was quickly moving away, and wished that those eyes did not hold him so firmly, and keep him from doing the same.“Was he at your school?”“No,” faltered Dexter.“Then I am sure papa would not like you to be making acquaintance with boy’s like that. But come, Dexter. What is the meaning of all this? I left you at Sir James Danby’s.”“Yes,” said Dexter, shuffling from foot to foot.“Then why are you not there now—playing with Edgar?”Dexter did not answer, but seemed to be admiring the prospect.“Why, Dexter, your face is all scratched!”Dexter looked up at her, with the scratched face scarlet.“How is that!” continued Helen sternly.“Fighting,” said Dexter grimly.“Fighting? Oh, shame! And with that rough boy!”“No!” cried Dexter quickly. “He didn’t knock me about.”“Then who did!”“That young Danby.”Dexter’s lips were well opened now, and he went on talking rapidly.“I never did anything to him, but he went on for an hour walking all round the garden, and wouldn’t speak; and when I was tired and sat down, he got a stick and knocked me about, and poked me with the point. I stood it as long as I could, and then, when he got worse and worse, I pitched into him, and I’m sure you would have done the same.”Helen did not look as if she would have done the same, but stood gazing at the young monkey before her, wondering whether he was deserving of her sympathy, or had really misbehaved himself, and was trying to palliate his conduct.“There, Dexter,” she said at last. “I really do not know what to do with you. You had better come on and see papa at once.”She took a step toward the town, and then waited, but Dexter stood firm, and cast a glance toward the country.“Dexter, did you hear what I said!”The boy looked at her uneasily, and then nodded sullenly.“Come home with me, then, at once,” said Helen quickly.“It’s no use for me to come home along of you,” said Dexter surlily. “He’ll hit me, and I don’t want to go.”Helen hesitated for a few moments, and then laid her hand upon the boy’s shoulder.“I wish you to come, Dexter.”He shook his head.“Come,” she cried, “if you have been in fault confess it frankly.”“But I haven’t,” cried the boy angrily. “I couldn’t help fighting when he knocked me about as he did. He bit me too. Look there!”He hastily drew up his sleeve, and displayed a ruddy circle on his white skin, which bore pretty strong witness to the truth of his words.“Then, if you were not to blame, why should you shrink from coming to papa?”“’Cause he mightn’t believe me. Mr Sibery never would, neither,” muttered Dexter.“Tell the truth and papa will be sure to believe you,” cried Helen indignantly.“Think he would!” said Dexter.“I am sure of it, sir.”“All right then,” cried the boy quickly. “I’ll come. Oh, I say!”“What is the matter?”“Look! Here he comes!”He pointed quickly in the direction of the town, and, wresting himself from Helen’s grasp, set off at a sharp run.But he had not gone a dozen yards before he turned and saw Helen gazing after him.He stopped directly, and came slowly and reluctantly back.“Did you call me!” he said sheepishly.“No, Dexter; I think it must have been your conscience spoke and upbraided you for being such a coward.”“Yes, it was cowardly, wasn’t it?” cried the boy. “I didn’t mean to run away, but somehow I did. I say, will he hit me!”“No, Dexter.”“Will he be very cross with me?”“I am afraid he will, Dexter; but you must submit bravely, and speak the simple truth.”“Yes, I’m going to,” said Dexter, with a sigh; and he glanced behind him at the pleasant stretch of meadows, and far away down among the alders and willows, with Bob Dimsted fishing, and evidently quite free from the care which troubled him.The doctor strode up, looking very angry.“So you are there, are you, sir?” he cried austerely. “Do you know of this disgraceful business!”“Dexter has been telling me,” said Helen gravely.“Humph!” grunted the doctor. “I knew you had come down here, so I thought I would come and tell you of the terrible state of affairs.”“Terrible, papa!”“Ah! then you don’t know. It was not likely he would tell you. Sir James came straight to me, and told me everything. It seems that the two boys were sent down the garden together to play, and that as soon as they were alone, Dexter here began to annoy and tease Edgar.”“Here, just say that again, will you?” cried Dexter sharply.“I repeat that Dexter here began to annoy and tease Edgar.”“Oh!” ejaculated Dexter.“And at last, after the poor boy had tried everything to keep his companion from the line of conduct he had pursued, he resolved to go down and sit by the river, leaving Dexter to amuse himself. But unfortunately the spirit of mischief was so strong in him that this boy took out a dahlia-stick with a sharp point—Sir James showed it to me—and then, after stabbing at him for some time, began to use his fists, and beat Edgar in the most cruel way.”“Oh, my!” ejaculated Dexter; and then, giving his right foot a stamp, “Well, of all the— Oh, my! what a whopper!”The low slangy expression was brought out with such an air of indignant protest that Helen was unable to keep her countenance, and she looked away, while the doctor, who was quite as much impressed, frowned more severely to hide the mirth aroused by the boy’s ejaculations, and turned to him sharply—“What do you mean by that, sir!” he cried.“Mean?” cried Dexter indignantly, and without a shade of fear in his frank bold eyes; “why there isn’t a bit of it true. He didn’t like me because I came from over yonder, and he wouldn’t speak to me. Then he kept on hitting me, and I wouldn’t hit him back, because I thought it would make her cross; but, last of all, he hurt me so that I forgot all about everything, and then we did fight, and I whipped—and that’s all.”“Oh, that’s all, is it, sir!” said the doctor, who was angry and yet amused.“Yes, that’s all,” said Dexter; “only I’ve got a bite on my arm, and one on my neck, and one on my shoulder. They didn’t bleed, though, only pinched and hurt. I only hit him one good un, and that was on the nose, and it made it bleed.”“Humph!” ejaculated the doctor. “Now, look here, Dexter, is every word of that true!”“Yes, sir, every bit,” cried the boy eagerly. “You will see if it ain’t.”The doctor’s face wrinkled a little more, as to conceal a smile he turned to his daughter—“Now,” he said, “do you think this is true?”“I feel sure it is,” said Helen. “I am convinced that Dexter would not tell either of us a falsehood.”“There!” cried the boy, smiling triumphantly, as he crept to Helen’s side and laid his hand in hers. “Hear that? Of course I wouldn’t. I wanted to be all right, but—I say, does my head bleed there?”He took off his cap, and held down his head, while Helen looked at the spot he pointed out, and shuddered slightly.“That’s where he stuck his nails into my head, just like a cat. It did hurt ever so, but I soon forgot it.”“Let’s go home,” said the doctor gravely. “It is unfortunate, but of course Dexter could not submit to be trampled upon by any boy.”“I say, you do believe me, don’t you!” said Dexter quickly.“Yes, my boy. I believe you on your honour.”“On my honour,” said Dexter quickly.“That will do,” said the doctor. “It is unfortunate, but unavoidable. Let us go home to lunch.”“And you will not send me back to the—you know!”“Certainly not,” said the doctor.“And may I come out here to fish by and by!”“Certainly,” said the doctor. “If you are a good boy.”“No, I think not,” said Helen, making a shadow cross the boy’s countenance. “Dexter cannot come out fishing alone; I will come with him.”Dexter gave her a meaning look, as he understood why she had said that; and then walked quietly home with the doctor and his daughter to a far more agreeable meal than he would have enjoyed at the baronet’s house.

For a few moments Dexter’s idea was to go to the great gates, ring the porter’s bell, and take sanctuary there, for he felt that he had disgraced himself utterly beyond retrieving his character. Certainly, he never dared go back to the doctor’s.

He felt for a moment that he had some excuse, for Edgar Danby had brought his punishment upon himself; but no one would believe that, and there was no hope for the offender but to give up everything, and go back to his former life.

But, as the boy reached the gloomy-looking workhouse entrance, and saw the painted bell-pull, through whose coating the rust was eating its way, he shivered.

For there rose up before him the stern faces of Mr Hippetts and Mr Sibery, with the jeering crowd of schoolfellows, who could laugh at and gibe him for his downfall, and be sure to call him Gentleman Coleby, as long as they were together, the name, under the circumstances, being sure to stick.

No, he could not face them there, and beside, though it had never seemed so before, the aspect of the great building was so forbidding that he shrank away, and walked onward toward the outskirts of the town, and on, and on, till he found himself by the river.

Such a sensation of misery and despair came over him, that he began walking along by the bank, seeing nothing of the glancing fish and bright insects which danced above the water. He had room for nothing but the despondent thoughts of what he should do now.

“What would the doctor think of him? What would Helen say?” He had been asked out to spend the day at a gentleman’s house, and he had disgraced himself, and—

“Hullo!”

Dexter looked up sharply, and found that he had almost run against his old fishing friend of the opposite side of the river.

“Hullo!” stammered Dexter in reply.

“Got dry again?” said the boy, who was standing just back from the water’s edge, fishing, with his basket at his side, and a box of baits on the grass.

“Got dry?” said Dexter wonderingly.

“Yes! My!” cried the boy, grinning, “you did have a ducking. I ran away. Best thing I could do.”

“Yes,” said Dexter quietly; “you ran away.”

“Why, what yer been a-doing of? Your face is scratched, and your hands too. I know: you’ve been climbing trees. You’ll ketch it, spoiling your clothes. That’s got him.”

He struck and landed a small fish, which he took from the hook and dropped into his basket, where there were two more.

“They don’t bite to-day. Caught any down your garden!”

“No,” said Dexter, to whom the company of the boy was very cheering just then. “I haven’t tried since.”

“You are a fellow! Why, if I had a chance like you have, I should be always at it.”

“I say, what did you say your name was?”

“Bob Dimsted—Bob,” said the fisher, throwing in again. “I know what yours is. You come out of the workus.”

“Yes,” said Dexter sadly, as he wondered whether he did not wish he was there now. “I came out of the workus—workhouse,” he added, as he remembered one of Helen’s teachings.

“Why don’t you get your rod some day, and a basket of something to eat, and come right up the river with me, fishing? There’s whackers up there.”

“I should like to,” said Dexter thoughtfully, for the idea of the fishing seemed to drive away the troubles from which he suffered.

“Well, come then. I’d go any day, only you must let me have all you caught.”

“All?” said Dexter, as he began to think of trophies.

“Yes. As I showed you the place where they’re caught, I should want to take them home.”

“All right,” said Dexter. “You could have them.”

“Ah, it’s all very well,” said the boy, “but there wouldn’t be many that you caught, mate. Ah! No, he’s off again. Keep a little furder back.”

Dexter obeyed, and sat down on the grass, feeling in a half-despairing mood, but as if the company of this rough boy was very pleasant after what he had gone through, and that boys like this were more agreeable to talk to than young tyrants of the class of Edgar Danby.

“Fish don’t half bite to-day,” said Bob Dimsted. “I wish you’d got a rod here, I could lend you a line—single hair.”

“But I haven’t got a rod.”

“Well, run home and fetch it,” said Bob.

“Run home and fetch it?” How could he run home and fetch it? How could he ever go back to the doctor’s again?

“No,” he said at last, as he shook his head. “I can’t go and fetch it.”

“Then you can’t fish,” said the boy, “and ’tain’t much use. It’s no fun unless they bite, and some days it don’t matter how you try, they won’t.”

“Won’t they?” said Dexter, and then he started to his feet, for a familiar voice had spoken close to his ear—

“Why, Dexter!”

The voice was as full of astonishment as the pleasant face which looked in his.

“I thought you were at Sir James Danby’s! Is Edgar out here, in the meadows!”

“No—no,” faltered Dexter; and Bob Dimsted began to gather up his tackle, so as to make a strategic movement, there being evidently trouble in the rear.

“But what does this mean?” said Helen firmly. “Who is that boy?”

“Bob—Bob Dimsted.”

“And do you know him?”

“He—he was fishing opposite our—your—garden the day I fell into the river,” faltered Dexter; and he looked longingly at Bob, who was quickly moving away, and wished that those eyes did not hold him so firmly, and keep him from doing the same.

“Was he at your school?”

“No,” faltered Dexter.

“Then I am sure papa would not like you to be making acquaintance with boy’s like that. But come, Dexter. What is the meaning of all this? I left you at Sir James Danby’s.”

“Yes,” said Dexter, shuffling from foot to foot.

“Then why are you not there now—playing with Edgar?”

Dexter did not answer, but seemed to be admiring the prospect.

“Why, Dexter, your face is all scratched!”

Dexter looked up at her, with the scratched face scarlet.

“How is that!” continued Helen sternly.

“Fighting,” said Dexter grimly.

“Fighting? Oh, shame! And with that rough boy!”

“No!” cried Dexter quickly. “He didn’t knock me about.”

“Then who did!”

“That young Danby.”

Dexter’s lips were well opened now, and he went on talking rapidly.

“I never did anything to him, but he went on for an hour walking all round the garden, and wouldn’t speak; and when I was tired and sat down, he got a stick and knocked me about, and poked me with the point. I stood it as long as I could, and then, when he got worse and worse, I pitched into him, and I’m sure you would have done the same.”

Helen did not look as if she would have done the same, but stood gazing at the young monkey before her, wondering whether he was deserving of her sympathy, or had really misbehaved himself, and was trying to palliate his conduct.

“There, Dexter,” she said at last. “I really do not know what to do with you. You had better come on and see papa at once.”

She took a step toward the town, and then waited, but Dexter stood firm, and cast a glance toward the country.

“Dexter, did you hear what I said!”

The boy looked at her uneasily, and then nodded sullenly.

“Come home with me, then, at once,” said Helen quickly.

“It’s no use for me to come home along of you,” said Dexter surlily. “He’ll hit me, and I don’t want to go.”

Helen hesitated for a few moments, and then laid her hand upon the boy’s shoulder.

“I wish you to come, Dexter.”

He shook his head.

“Come,” she cried, “if you have been in fault confess it frankly.”

“But I haven’t,” cried the boy angrily. “I couldn’t help fighting when he knocked me about as he did. He bit me too. Look there!”

He hastily drew up his sleeve, and displayed a ruddy circle on his white skin, which bore pretty strong witness to the truth of his words.

“Then, if you were not to blame, why should you shrink from coming to papa?”

“’Cause he mightn’t believe me. Mr Sibery never would, neither,” muttered Dexter.

“Tell the truth and papa will be sure to believe you,” cried Helen indignantly.

“Think he would!” said Dexter.

“I am sure of it, sir.”

“All right then,” cried the boy quickly. “I’ll come. Oh, I say!”

“What is the matter?”

“Look! Here he comes!”

He pointed quickly in the direction of the town, and, wresting himself from Helen’s grasp, set off at a sharp run.

But he had not gone a dozen yards before he turned and saw Helen gazing after him.

He stopped directly, and came slowly and reluctantly back.

“Did you call me!” he said sheepishly.

“No, Dexter; I think it must have been your conscience spoke and upbraided you for being such a coward.”

“Yes, it was cowardly, wasn’t it?” cried the boy. “I didn’t mean to run away, but somehow I did. I say, will he hit me!”

“No, Dexter.”

“Will he be very cross with me?”

“I am afraid he will, Dexter; but you must submit bravely, and speak the simple truth.”

“Yes, I’m going to,” said Dexter, with a sigh; and he glanced behind him at the pleasant stretch of meadows, and far away down among the alders and willows, with Bob Dimsted fishing, and evidently quite free from the care which troubled him.

The doctor strode up, looking very angry.

“So you are there, are you, sir?” he cried austerely. “Do you know of this disgraceful business!”

“Dexter has been telling me,” said Helen gravely.

“Humph!” grunted the doctor. “I knew you had come down here, so I thought I would come and tell you of the terrible state of affairs.”

“Terrible, papa!”

“Ah! then you don’t know. It was not likely he would tell you. Sir James came straight to me, and told me everything. It seems that the two boys were sent down the garden together to play, and that as soon as they were alone, Dexter here began to annoy and tease Edgar.”

“Here, just say that again, will you?” cried Dexter sharply.

“I repeat that Dexter here began to annoy and tease Edgar.”

“Oh!” ejaculated Dexter.

“And at last, after the poor boy had tried everything to keep his companion from the line of conduct he had pursued, he resolved to go down and sit by the river, leaving Dexter to amuse himself. But unfortunately the spirit of mischief was so strong in him that this boy took out a dahlia-stick with a sharp point—Sir James showed it to me—and then, after stabbing at him for some time, began to use his fists, and beat Edgar in the most cruel way.”

“Oh, my!” ejaculated Dexter; and then, giving his right foot a stamp, “Well, of all the— Oh, my! what a whopper!”

The low slangy expression was brought out with such an air of indignant protest that Helen was unable to keep her countenance, and she looked away, while the doctor, who was quite as much impressed, frowned more severely to hide the mirth aroused by the boy’s ejaculations, and turned to him sharply—

“What do you mean by that, sir!” he cried.

“Mean?” cried Dexter indignantly, and without a shade of fear in his frank bold eyes; “why there isn’t a bit of it true. He didn’t like me because I came from over yonder, and he wouldn’t speak to me. Then he kept on hitting me, and I wouldn’t hit him back, because I thought it would make her cross; but, last of all, he hurt me so that I forgot all about everything, and then we did fight, and I whipped—and that’s all.”

“Oh, that’s all, is it, sir!” said the doctor, who was angry and yet amused.

“Yes, that’s all,” said Dexter; “only I’ve got a bite on my arm, and one on my neck, and one on my shoulder. They didn’t bleed, though, only pinched and hurt. I only hit him one good un, and that was on the nose, and it made it bleed.”

“Humph!” ejaculated the doctor. “Now, look here, Dexter, is every word of that true!”

“Yes, sir, every bit,” cried the boy eagerly. “You will see if it ain’t.”

The doctor’s face wrinkled a little more, as to conceal a smile he turned to his daughter—

“Now,” he said, “do you think this is true?”

“I feel sure it is,” said Helen. “I am convinced that Dexter would not tell either of us a falsehood.”

“There!” cried the boy, smiling triumphantly, as he crept to Helen’s side and laid his hand in hers. “Hear that? Of course I wouldn’t. I wanted to be all right, but—I say, does my head bleed there?”

He took off his cap, and held down his head, while Helen looked at the spot he pointed out, and shuddered slightly.

“That’s where he stuck his nails into my head, just like a cat. It did hurt ever so, but I soon forgot it.”

“Let’s go home,” said the doctor gravely. “It is unfortunate, but of course Dexter could not submit to be trampled upon by any boy.”

“I say, you do believe me, don’t you!” said Dexter quickly.

“Yes, my boy. I believe you on your honour.”

“On my honour,” said Dexter quickly.

“That will do,” said the doctor. “It is unfortunate, but unavoidable. Let us go home to lunch.”

“And you will not send me back to the—you know!”

“Certainly not,” said the doctor.

“And may I come out here to fish by and by!”

“Certainly,” said the doctor. “If you are a good boy.”

“No, I think not,” said Helen, making a shadow cross the boy’s countenance. “Dexter cannot come out fishing alone; I will come with him.”

Dexter gave her a meaning look, as he understood why she had said that; and then walked quietly home with the doctor and his daughter to a far more agreeable meal than he would have enjoyed at the baronet’s house.

Chapter Twenty One.A Record of Cares.“Hang his impudence!” said the doctor. “What do you think he told me?”“Sir James?”“Yes, my dear. Told me I was a regular modern Frankenstein, and that I had made a young monster to worry me to death. Such insolence! Dexter’s growing a very nice lad, and I feel as if I could make a nobleman of him if I liked, but I think I’ll send him to a good school for a bit. You see, he’s full of promise, Helen.”“Yes, papa,” said Helen, suppressing her mirth.“Ah! now you are laughing at me. I mean full of the promise that will some day mean performance. But—yes, I will send him to a good school.”A good school was selected, and Dexter duly sent down to it, leaving Helen very unwillingly, but holding up manfully, and the doctor said he would come back at the holiday-time vastly improved.In six weeks Dr Grayson received a letter asking him to fetch Dexter away to save him from being expelled.The Doctor looked very angry as he went down to Cardley Willows, and the inquiries took a stern, rather bitter turn.“Has the boy been a young blackguard?” he said.“No,” said the principal.“Dishonest?”“Oh dear no!”“Well, what is it then—disobedient!”“Oh dear no! He’ll promise anything.”“Humph! yes,” said the doctor to himself.“I’m very sorry, Dr Grayson,” continued the principal; “but the boy is incorrigible, and you must take him away.”The doctor took the boy away, and he had a very stern talking-to at home.Two months passed away.“There, Helen,” said the doctor one morning; “what do you say to him now? Wonderfully improved, has he not? Good natural boy’s colour in his cheeks—better blood, you see, and nice curly hair. Really he is not like the same.”“No, papa; he is greatly changed,” said Helen, as she followed the direction of her father’s eyes to where Dexter was out on the lawn watching old Dan’l, while old Dan’l, in a furtive manner, was diligently watching him in return.“Greatly changed,” said the doctor thoughtfully, as he scratched the side of his nose with his penholder, “in personal appearance. Sir James seems very sore still about that little affair. Says I ought to have thrashed Dexter, for he behaved brutally to young Edgar.”“And what did you say, papa?”“Well, not exactly all I thought. Dreadful young limb that Edgar. Spoiled boy, but I could not tell Danby so with such a catalogue of offences as Master Dexter has to show on my black list. You see, Helen, we do not get any further with him.”Helen shook her head sadly.“There’s something wrong in his brain; or something wanting. He’ll promise amendment one hour, and go and commit the same fault the very next.”“It is very sad,” replied Helen thoughtfully; “but I’m sure he means well.”“Yes, my dear; of course,” said the doctor, looking perplexed; “but it’s a great drawback to one’s success. But there: we must persevere. It seems to me that the first thing to do is to wean him from that terrible love of low companions.”“Say companion,” said Helen, smiling.“Well, a companion, then. I wish we could get that young fishing scoundrel sent away; but of course one cannot do that. Oh, by the way, what about Maria? Is she going away?”“No,” said Helen. “I had a long talk to her about her unreasoning dislike to Dexter, and she has consented to stay.”“Well, it’s very kind of her,” said the doctor testily. “I suppose Mrs Millett will be giving warning next.”“Oh no,” said Helen; “she finds a good deal of fault, but I think, on the whole, she feels kindly toward the poor boy.”“Don’t!” cried the doctor, giving the writing-table so angry a slap with his open hand that a jet of ink shot out of the stand and made half a dozen great splashes. “Now, look there, what you’ve made me do,” he continued, as he began hastily to soak up the black marks with blotting-paper. “I will not have Dexter called ‘the poor boy.’ He is not a poor boy. He is a human waif thrown up on life’s shore. No, no: and you are not to call him a human waif. I shall well educate him, and place him on the high-road toward making his way properly in life as a gentleman should, and I’ll show the whole world that I’m right.”“You shall, papa,” said Helen merrily; “and I will help you all I can.”“I know you will, my dear, and you are helping me,” cried the doctor warmly; “and it’s very good of you. But I do wish we could make him think before he does anything. His mischievous propensities are simply horrible. And now, my dear, about his education. We must do something more, if it is only for the sake of keeping him out of trouble. You are doing nobly, but that is not enough. I did mean to read classics with him myself, but I have no time. My book takes too much thought. Now, I will not send the poor boy—”“‘Poor boy,’ papa!” said Helen merrily.“Eh? Did I say ‘poor boy’!” cried the doctor, scratching his nose again.“Yes.”“Ah, well; I did not mean it. I was going to say I will not send him to another school. He would be under too many disadvantages, so I think we will decide upon a private tutor.”“Yes, papa; a very excellent arrangement.”“Yes, I think it is; and—well, Maria, what is it!”“Dan’l, sir,” said that young lady, who spoke very severely, as if she could hardly contain her feelings; “and he’d be glad to know if you could see him a minute.”“Send him in, Maria,” said the doctor; and then, as the housemaid left the room, “Well, it can’t be anything about Dexter now, because he is out there on the—”The doctor’s words were delivered more and more slowly as he rose and walked toward the open window, while Helen felt uneasy, and full of misgivings.“Why, the young dog was here just now,” cried the doctor angrily. “Now, really, Helen, if he has been at any tricks this time, I certainly will set up a cane.”“O papa!”“Yes, my dear, I certainly will, much as I object to corporal punishment. Well, Daniel, what is it!”Old Dan’l had a straw hat in his hand—a hat that was rather ragged at the edge, and with which, as if it was to allay some irritation, he kept sawing one finger.“Beg pardon, sir—pardon, Miss,” said Dan’l apologetically; “but if I might speak and say a few words—”“Certainly, Daniel; you may do both,” said the doctor.“Thanky, sir—thanky kindly, Miss,” said the gardener, half-putting his hat on twice so as to have it in the proper position for making a bow; “which I’m the last man in the world, sir, to make complaints.”“Humph!” ejaculated the doctor.“Serving you as I have now for over twenty year, and remembering puffickly well, Miss, when you was only a pink bit of a baby, as like one o’ my tender carnations as could be, only more like a Count dee Parish rose.”“Well, what’s the matter, Daniel?” said the doctor hastily, for he wanted to bring the old man’s prosings to an end.“Well, sir, heverythink, as you may say, is the matter. Look at me, sir; I’ve suffered more in that garden than mortal man would believe!”“Oh, have you!” said the doctor, taking off his glasses. “You don’t look so very bad, Daniel, for a man of sixty-five.”“Sixty-four and three-quarters, begging your pardon, sir; but I have suffered. I’ve laid awake nights and nights thinking of what was best for planting them borders with s’rubs, as is now a delight to the human eye; and I’ve walked that garden hundreds o’ nights with a lanthorn in search o’ slugs, as comes out o’ they damp meadows in in counted millions; and I’ve had my cares in thrips and red spider and green fly, without saying a word about scale and them other blights as never had no name. But never in my life—never in all my born days—never since I was first made a gardener, have I suffered anythink like as I’ve suffered along o’ that there boy.”“Nonsense, Daniel! nonsense!” cried the doctor pettishly.“Well, sir, I’ve served you faithful, and took such a pride in that there garden as never was, and you may call it nonsense, sir, but when I see things such as I see, I say it’s time to speak.”“Why, you are always coming to me with some petty complaint, sir, about that boy.”“Petty complaint, sir!” cried Dan’l indignantly. “Is Ribstons a petty complaint—my chycest Ribstons, as I want for dessert at Christmas? And is my Sturmer pippins a petty complaint—them as ought to succeed the Ribstons in Febbery and March?”“Why, what about them?” cried the doctor.“Oh, nothing, sir; only as half the town’s t’other side o’ the river, and my pippins is being shovelled over wholesale.”The doctor walked out into the hall and put on his hat, with Dan’l following him; and, after a moment’s hesitation, Helen took up a sunshade, and went down the garden after her father.She overtook him as he was standing by a handsome espalier, dotted with the tawny red-streaked Ribstons, while Dan’l was pointing to a couple of newly-made footmarks.“Humph! Not all gone, then?” said the doctor, frowning.“Not yet!” growled Dan’l. “And see there, Miss; there was four stunners on that there little branch this mornin’, and they’re all gone!”“Where is Master Dexter?” said the doctor.Dan’l made a jerking motion with his thumb over his right shoulder, and the doctor walked on over the grass toward the bottom of the grounds.The little party advanced so noiselessly that they were unheard, and in another minute they were near enough to hear Dexter exclaim—“Now, then; this time—catch!”The doctor stopped short in time to see, according to Dan’l’s version, the Ribstons and Sturmers thrown across the river to half the town.“Half the town,” according to Dan’l, consisted of Bob Dimsted, who had laid down his rough fishing-rod, and was holding half an apple in one hand, munching away the while, as he caught another deftly; and he was in the act of stuffing it into his pocket as he caught sight of the doctor, and stood for a few moments perfectly motionless. Then, stooping quickly, he gathered up his tackle and ran.“What’s the matter!” cried Dexter.Bob made no reply, but ran off; and as he did so, Dexter laughingly took another apple from his pocket—a hard green Sturmer pippin, which he threw with such force and accuracy that it struck Bob right in the middle of the back, when the boy uttered a cry of alarm, ran more swiftly, and Dexter stood for a moment roaring with laughter, and then turned to find himself face to face with the trio who had come down the garden.“And them pippins worth twopence apiece at Christmas, sir!” cried Dan’l.“What are you doing, Dexter!” cried the doctor sternly.“I was only giving him an apple or two,” said the boy, after a few moments’ hesitation.“Come in, sir,” cried the doctor.“A month’s notice, if you please, sir, from to-day,” said Dan’l, frowning angrily; but no one paid any heed to him, for the doctor had laid his hand upon Dexter’s shoulder, and marched him off.“And I’ve never said nothing yet about our bees,” grumbled Dan’l. “A young tyke! Raddled ’em up with a long stick on purpose to get me stung to death, he did, as is a massy I warn’t. Well, a month to-day. Either he goes or I do. Such whims, to have a boy like that about the place. Well, I’m glad I’ve brought it to a head, for the doctor won’t part with me.”“Now, sir,” said the doctor, as he seated himself in his chair, and Helen took up her work, carefully keeping her eyes off Dexter, who looked at her appealingly again and again. “Now, sir, what have you to say for yourself?”Dexter looked at the doctor, and his countenance was so unpleasantly angry that the ceiling, the floor, and the various objects around seemed preferable, and were carefully observed in turn.“Do you hear, sir? What have you to say for yourself!”“What about?” faltered Dexter at last.“What about, sir? Just as if you did not know! Weren’t you forbidden to touch those apples!”“Only by Daniel, sir; and he said I was never to touch any fruit at all; but you said I might.”“Yes—I did. I said you might have some fruit.”“Apples is fruit,” said Dexter.“Arefruit—arefruit, sir,” cried the doctor, in an exasperated tone.“Applesarefruit,” said Dexter.“But I did not tell you to pick my choice pippins and throw them across the river to every blackguard boy you see.”“But he hasn’t got a beautiful garden like we have,” protested Dexter.“What has that got to do with it, sir?” cried the doctor angrily. “I don’t grow fruit and keep gardeners on purpose to supply the wants of all the little rascals in the place.”“He asked me to get him some apples, sir.”“Asked you to get him some, indeed! Look here, sir; I’ve tried very hard to make you a decent boy by kindness, but it does no good. You were told not to associate with that boy any more.”“Please, sir, I didn’t,” cried Dexter. “I didn’t, indeed, sir.”“What? Why, I saw you talking to him, and giving him fruit.”“Please, sir, I couldn’t help it. I didn’t ’sociate with him; he would come and ’sociate with me.”“Bah!” ejaculated the doctor.“And he said if I didn’t give him some apples and pears he’d come and stand in front of the windows here and shout ‘workus’ as loud as he could.”“I shall have to send the police after him,” said the doctor fiercely; “and as for you, sir, I’ve quite made up my mind what to do. Kind words are thrown away. I shall now purchase a cane—and use it.”“Oh, I say, don’t,” cried Dexter, giving himself a writhe, as he recalled sundry unpleasant interviews with Mr Sibery. “It does hurt so, you don’t know; and makes black marks on you afterwards, just as if it had been dipped in ink.”Helen bent down over the work she had taken up.“Don’t?” said the doctor sharply. “Then what am I to do, sir? Words are of no use. I did hope that you were going to be a better and more tractable boy.”“Well, but ain’t I?” said Dexter, looking puzzled, and rubbing his curly head.“Better? No, sir; much worse.”Dexter rubbed his head again thoughtfully.“I haven’t torn my clothes this week, and I haven’t been down on my knees; and I haven’t been on the top of the wall, and I did want to ever so badly.”“No, Dexter; but you climbed right to the top of the big pear-tree,” said Helen quickly; “and it was a terribly dangerous thing to do.”“Now you’ve begun at me!” said the boy in a lachrymose tone. “I’m afraid I’m a regular bad one, and you’d better send me back again.”The doctor looked at Helen, and she returned the glance with a very serious aspect, but there was a merry light in her eyes, as she saw her father’s discomfiture.He read her looks aright, and got up from his seat with an impatient ejaculation.“I’m going out, my dear,” he said shortly.“Are you going to get a cane!” cried Dexter excitedly. “I say, don’t, and I will try so hard to do what you want.”“I was not going to buy a cane, sir,” said the doctor, who was half-angry, half-amused by the boy’s earnestness. “One of my walking-sticks would do very well when I give you a good sound thrashing. Here, Helen, my dear, you can speak to Dexter a bit. I will have another talk to him to-night.”The doctor left the room, and Dexter stood listening as his step was heard in the hall. Then the door closed, and Helen bent thoughtfully over her work, while the boy stood first on one foot, then on the other, watching her. The window was open, the sun shone, and the garden with its lawn and bright flowers looked wonderfully tempting, but duty and the disgrace he was in acted as two chains to hold the boy there.“I say,” he said at last.“Yes, Dexter,” said Helen, looking up at him sadly.“Oh, I say, don’t look at me like that,” he cried.“You force me to, Dexter,” she said gravely.“But ain’t you going to talk to me!”“If I talk to you, it will only be to scold you very severely.”Dexter sighed.“Well,” he said, after a pause, during which he had been gazing intently in the earnest eyes before him; “you’ve got to do it, so let’s have it over. I was always glad when I had been punished at school.”“Glad, Dexter?”“Yes, glad it was over. It was the worst part of it waiting to have your whack!”“Do you want to oblige me, Dexter?” said Helen, wincing at the boy’s words.“Yes, of course I do. Want me to fetch something?”“No. Once more I want you to promise to leave off some of those objectionable words.”“But it’s of no use to promise,” cried the boy, with a look of angry perplexity. “I always break my word.”“Then why do you!”“I dunno,” said Dexter. “There’s something in me I think that makes me. You tell me to be a good boy, and I say I will, and I always mean to be; but somehow I can’t. I think it’s because nobody likes me, because—because—because I came from there.”“Do I behave to you as if I did not like you?” said Helen reproachfully.The boy was on his knees beside her in a moment, holding her hand against his cheek as he looked up at her with his lip working, and a dumb look of pitiful pleading in his eyes.“I do not think I do, Dexter.”He shook his head, and tried to speak. Then, springing up suddenly, he ran out of the study, dashed upstairs, half-blind with the tears which he was fighting back, and then with his head down through the open door into his bedroom, when there was a violent collision, a shriek followed by a score more to succeed a terrific crash, and when in alarm Helen and Mrs Millet ran panting up, it was to find Dexter rubbing his head, and Maria seated in the middle of the boy’s bedroom with the sherds of a broken toilet pail upon the floor, and an ewer lying upon its side, and the water soaking into the carpet.“What is the matter?” cried Helen.“I won’t—I won’t—I declare I won’t put up with it no longer!” cried the maid in the intervals of sundry sobs and hysterical cries.“But how did it happen!” said Mrs Millet.“It’s—sit’s—sit’s—sit’s—sit’s—sit’s—his tricks again,” sobbed Maria.“Dexter!” cried Helen.“Yes—es—Miss—es—ma’am,” sobbed Maria. “I’d dide—I’d dide—I’d—just half—half—half filled the war—war—war—ter—jug, and he ran—ran—ran at me with his head—dead in the chest—and then—then—then—then knocked me dud—dud—dud—down, and I’ll go at once, I will—there.”“Dexter,” said Helen sternly; “was this some trick?”“I don’t know,” said the boy sadly. “I s’pose so.”“But did you run at Maria and try to knock her down?”“No,” said Dexter. “I was going into my room in a hurry, and she was coming out.”“He did it o’ purpose, Miss,” cried Maria viciously.“That will do, Maria,” said Helen with dignity. “Mrs Millet, see that these broken pieces are removed. Dexter, come down to the drawing-room with me.”Dexter sighed and followed, feeling the while that after all the Union School was a happy place, and that he certainly was not happy here.“It is very unfortunate that you should meet with such accidents, Dexter,” said Helen, as soon as they were alone.“Yes,” he said piteously, “ain’t it? I say—”“Well, Dexter!”“It’s no good. I know what he wants to do. He said he wanted to make a gentleman of me, but you can’t do it, and I’d better be ’prenticed to a shoemaker, same as lots of boys have been.”Helen said nothing, but looked at the boy with a troubled gaze, as she wondered whether her father’s plan was possible.“You had better go out in the garden again, Dexter,” she said after a time.The trouble had been passing off, and Dexter leaped up with alacrity; but as he reached the window he saw Dan’l crossing the lawn, and he stopped short, turned, and came back to sit down with a sigh.“Well, Dexter,” said Helen, “why don’t you go?”He gave her a pitiful look which went right to her heart, as he said slowly—“No. I shan’t go. I should only get into trouble again.”

“Hang his impudence!” said the doctor. “What do you think he told me?”

“Sir James?”

“Yes, my dear. Told me I was a regular modern Frankenstein, and that I had made a young monster to worry me to death. Such insolence! Dexter’s growing a very nice lad, and I feel as if I could make a nobleman of him if I liked, but I think I’ll send him to a good school for a bit. You see, he’s full of promise, Helen.”

“Yes, papa,” said Helen, suppressing her mirth.

“Ah! now you are laughing at me. I mean full of the promise that will some day mean performance. But—yes, I will send him to a good school.”

A good school was selected, and Dexter duly sent down to it, leaving Helen very unwillingly, but holding up manfully, and the doctor said he would come back at the holiday-time vastly improved.

In six weeks Dr Grayson received a letter asking him to fetch Dexter away to save him from being expelled.

The Doctor looked very angry as he went down to Cardley Willows, and the inquiries took a stern, rather bitter turn.

“Has the boy been a young blackguard?” he said.

“No,” said the principal.

“Dishonest?”

“Oh dear no!”

“Well, what is it then—disobedient!”

“Oh dear no! He’ll promise anything.”

“Humph! yes,” said the doctor to himself.

“I’m very sorry, Dr Grayson,” continued the principal; “but the boy is incorrigible, and you must take him away.”

The doctor took the boy away, and he had a very stern talking-to at home.

Two months passed away.

“There, Helen,” said the doctor one morning; “what do you say to him now? Wonderfully improved, has he not? Good natural boy’s colour in his cheeks—better blood, you see, and nice curly hair. Really he is not like the same.”

“No, papa; he is greatly changed,” said Helen, as she followed the direction of her father’s eyes to where Dexter was out on the lawn watching old Dan’l, while old Dan’l, in a furtive manner, was diligently watching him in return.

“Greatly changed,” said the doctor thoughtfully, as he scratched the side of his nose with his penholder, “in personal appearance. Sir James seems very sore still about that little affair. Says I ought to have thrashed Dexter, for he behaved brutally to young Edgar.”

“And what did you say, papa?”

“Well, not exactly all I thought. Dreadful young limb that Edgar. Spoiled boy, but I could not tell Danby so with such a catalogue of offences as Master Dexter has to show on my black list. You see, Helen, we do not get any further with him.”

Helen shook her head sadly.

“There’s something wrong in his brain; or something wanting. He’ll promise amendment one hour, and go and commit the same fault the very next.”

“It is very sad,” replied Helen thoughtfully; “but I’m sure he means well.”

“Yes, my dear; of course,” said the doctor, looking perplexed; “but it’s a great drawback to one’s success. But there: we must persevere. It seems to me that the first thing to do is to wean him from that terrible love of low companions.”

“Say companion,” said Helen, smiling.

“Well, a companion, then. I wish we could get that young fishing scoundrel sent away; but of course one cannot do that. Oh, by the way, what about Maria? Is she going away?”

“No,” said Helen. “I had a long talk to her about her unreasoning dislike to Dexter, and she has consented to stay.”

“Well, it’s very kind of her,” said the doctor testily. “I suppose Mrs Millett will be giving warning next.”

“Oh no,” said Helen; “she finds a good deal of fault, but I think, on the whole, she feels kindly toward the poor boy.”

“Don’t!” cried the doctor, giving the writing-table so angry a slap with his open hand that a jet of ink shot out of the stand and made half a dozen great splashes. “Now, look there, what you’ve made me do,” he continued, as he began hastily to soak up the black marks with blotting-paper. “I will not have Dexter called ‘the poor boy.’ He is not a poor boy. He is a human waif thrown up on life’s shore. No, no: and you are not to call him a human waif. I shall well educate him, and place him on the high-road toward making his way properly in life as a gentleman should, and I’ll show the whole world that I’m right.”

“You shall, papa,” said Helen merrily; “and I will help you all I can.”

“I know you will, my dear, and you are helping me,” cried the doctor warmly; “and it’s very good of you. But I do wish we could make him think before he does anything. His mischievous propensities are simply horrible. And now, my dear, about his education. We must do something more, if it is only for the sake of keeping him out of trouble. You are doing nobly, but that is not enough. I did mean to read classics with him myself, but I have no time. My book takes too much thought. Now, I will not send the poor boy—”

“‘Poor boy,’ papa!” said Helen merrily.

“Eh? Did I say ‘poor boy’!” cried the doctor, scratching his nose again.

“Yes.”

“Ah, well; I did not mean it. I was going to say I will not send him to another school. He would be under too many disadvantages, so I think we will decide upon a private tutor.”

“Yes, papa; a very excellent arrangement.”

“Yes, I think it is; and—well, Maria, what is it!”

“Dan’l, sir,” said that young lady, who spoke very severely, as if she could hardly contain her feelings; “and he’d be glad to know if you could see him a minute.”

“Send him in, Maria,” said the doctor; and then, as the housemaid left the room, “Well, it can’t be anything about Dexter now, because he is out there on the—”

The doctor’s words were delivered more and more slowly as he rose and walked toward the open window, while Helen felt uneasy, and full of misgivings.

“Why, the young dog was here just now,” cried the doctor angrily. “Now, really, Helen, if he has been at any tricks this time, I certainly will set up a cane.”

“O papa!”

“Yes, my dear, I certainly will, much as I object to corporal punishment. Well, Daniel, what is it!”

Old Dan’l had a straw hat in his hand—a hat that was rather ragged at the edge, and with which, as if it was to allay some irritation, he kept sawing one finger.

“Beg pardon, sir—pardon, Miss,” said Dan’l apologetically; “but if I might speak and say a few words—”

“Certainly, Daniel; you may do both,” said the doctor.

“Thanky, sir—thanky kindly, Miss,” said the gardener, half-putting his hat on twice so as to have it in the proper position for making a bow; “which I’m the last man in the world, sir, to make complaints.”

“Humph!” ejaculated the doctor.

“Serving you as I have now for over twenty year, and remembering puffickly well, Miss, when you was only a pink bit of a baby, as like one o’ my tender carnations as could be, only more like a Count dee Parish rose.”

“Well, what’s the matter, Daniel?” said the doctor hastily, for he wanted to bring the old man’s prosings to an end.

“Well, sir, heverythink, as you may say, is the matter. Look at me, sir; I’ve suffered more in that garden than mortal man would believe!”

“Oh, have you!” said the doctor, taking off his glasses. “You don’t look so very bad, Daniel, for a man of sixty-five.”

“Sixty-four and three-quarters, begging your pardon, sir; but I have suffered. I’ve laid awake nights and nights thinking of what was best for planting them borders with s’rubs, as is now a delight to the human eye; and I’ve walked that garden hundreds o’ nights with a lanthorn in search o’ slugs, as comes out o’ they damp meadows in in counted millions; and I’ve had my cares in thrips and red spider and green fly, without saying a word about scale and them other blights as never had no name. But never in my life—never in all my born days—never since I was first made a gardener, have I suffered anythink like as I’ve suffered along o’ that there boy.”

“Nonsense, Daniel! nonsense!” cried the doctor pettishly.

“Well, sir, I’ve served you faithful, and took such a pride in that there garden as never was, and you may call it nonsense, sir, but when I see things such as I see, I say it’s time to speak.”

“Why, you are always coming to me with some petty complaint, sir, about that boy.”

“Petty complaint, sir!” cried Dan’l indignantly. “Is Ribstons a petty complaint—my chycest Ribstons, as I want for dessert at Christmas? And is my Sturmer pippins a petty complaint—them as ought to succeed the Ribstons in Febbery and March?”

“Why, what about them?” cried the doctor.

“Oh, nothing, sir; only as half the town’s t’other side o’ the river, and my pippins is being shovelled over wholesale.”

The doctor walked out into the hall and put on his hat, with Dan’l following him; and, after a moment’s hesitation, Helen took up a sunshade, and went down the garden after her father.

She overtook him as he was standing by a handsome espalier, dotted with the tawny red-streaked Ribstons, while Dan’l was pointing to a couple of newly-made footmarks.

“Humph! Not all gone, then?” said the doctor, frowning.

“Not yet!” growled Dan’l. “And see there, Miss; there was four stunners on that there little branch this mornin’, and they’re all gone!”

“Where is Master Dexter?” said the doctor.

Dan’l made a jerking motion with his thumb over his right shoulder, and the doctor walked on over the grass toward the bottom of the grounds.

The little party advanced so noiselessly that they were unheard, and in another minute they were near enough to hear Dexter exclaim—

“Now, then; this time—catch!”

The doctor stopped short in time to see, according to Dan’l’s version, the Ribstons and Sturmers thrown across the river to half the town.

“Half the town,” according to Dan’l, consisted of Bob Dimsted, who had laid down his rough fishing-rod, and was holding half an apple in one hand, munching away the while, as he caught another deftly; and he was in the act of stuffing it into his pocket as he caught sight of the doctor, and stood for a few moments perfectly motionless. Then, stooping quickly, he gathered up his tackle and ran.

“What’s the matter!” cried Dexter.

Bob made no reply, but ran off; and as he did so, Dexter laughingly took another apple from his pocket—a hard green Sturmer pippin, which he threw with such force and accuracy that it struck Bob right in the middle of the back, when the boy uttered a cry of alarm, ran more swiftly, and Dexter stood for a moment roaring with laughter, and then turned to find himself face to face with the trio who had come down the garden.

“And them pippins worth twopence apiece at Christmas, sir!” cried Dan’l.

“What are you doing, Dexter!” cried the doctor sternly.

“I was only giving him an apple or two,” said the boy, after a few moments’ hesitation.

“Come in, sir,” cried the doctor.

“A month’s notice, if you please, sir, from to-day,” said Dan’l, frowning angrily; but no one paid any heed to him, for the doctor had laid his hand upon Dexter’s shoulder, and marched him off.

“And I’ve never said nothing yet about our bees,” grumbled Dan’l. “A young tyke! Raddled ’em up with a long stick on purpose to get me stung to death, he did, as is a massy I warn’t. Well, a month to-day. Either he goes or I do. Such whims, to have a boy like that about the place. Well, I’m glad I’ve brought it to a head, for the doctor won’t part with me.”

“Now, sir,” said the doctor, as he seated himself in his chair, and Helen took up her work, carefully keeping her eyes off Dexter, who looked at her appealingly again and again. “Now, sir, what have you to say for yourself?”

Dexter looked at the doctor, and his countenance was so unpleasantly angry that the ceiling, the floor, and the various objects around seemed preferable, and were carefully observed in turn.

“Do you hear, sir? What have you to say for yourself!”

“What about?” faltered Dexter at last.

“What about, sir? Just as if you did not know! Weren’t you forbidden to touch those apples!”

“Only by Daniel, sir; and he said I was never to touch any fruit at all; but you said I might.”

“Yes—I did. I said you might have some fruit.”

“Apples is fruit,” said Dexter.

“Arefruit—arefruit, sir,” cried the doctor, in an exasperated tone.

“Applesarefruit,” said Dexter.

“But I did not tell you to pick my choice pippins and throw them across the river to every blackguard boy you see.”

“But he hasn’t got a beautiful garden like we have,” protested Dexter.

“What has that got to do with it, sir?” cried the doctor angrily. “I don’t grow fruit and keep gardeners on purpose to supply the wants of all the little rascals in the place.”

“He asked me to get him some apples, sir.”

“Asked you to get him some, indeed! Look here, sir; I’ve tried very hard to make you a decent boy by kindness, but it does no good. You were told not to associate with that boy any more.”

“Please, sir, I didn’t,” cried Dexter. “I didn’t, indeed, sir.”

“What? Why, I saw you talking to him, and giving him fruit.”

“Please, sir, I couldn’t help it. I didn’t ’sociate with him; he would come and ’sociate with me.”

“Bah!” ejaculated the doctor.

“And he said if I didn’t give him some apples and pears he’d come and stand in front of the windows here and shout ‘workus’ as loud as he could.”

“I shall have to send the police after him,” said the doctor fiercely; “and as for you, sir, I’ve quite made up my mind what to do. Kind words are thrown away. I shall now purchase a cane—and use it.”

“Oh, I say, don’t,” cried Dexter, giving himself a writhe, as he recalled sundry unpleasant interviews with Mr Sibery. “It does hurt so, you don’t know; and makes black marks on you afterwards, just as if it had been dipped in ink.”

Helen bent down over the work she had taken up.

“Don’t?” said the doctor sharply. “Then what am I to do, sir? Words are of no use. I did hope that you were going to be a better and more tractable boy.”

“Well, but ain’t I?” said Dexter, looking puzzled, and rubbing his curly head.

“Better? No, sir; much worse.”

Dexter rubbed his head again thoughtfully.

“I haven’t torn my clothes this week, and I haven’t been down on my knees; and I haven’t been on the top of the wall, and I did want to ever so badly.”

“No, Dexter; but you climbed right to the top of the big pear-tree,” said Helen quickly; “and it was a terribly dangerous thing to do.”

“Now you’ve begun at me!” said the boy in a lachrymose tone. “I’m afraid I’m a regular bad one, and you’d better send me back again.”

The doctor looked at Helen, and she returned the glance with a very serious aspect, but there was a merry light in her eyes, as she saw her father’s discomfiture.

He read her looks aright, and got up from his seat with an impatient ejaculation.

“I’m going out, my dear,” he said shortly.

“Are you going to get a cane!” cried Dexter excitedly. “I say, don’t, and I will try so hard to do what you want.”

“I was not going to buy a cane, sir,” said the doctor, who was half-angry, half-amused by the boy’s earnestness. “One of my walking-sticks would do very well when I give you a good sound thrashing. Here, Helen, my dear, you can speak to Dexter a bit. I will have another talk to him to-night.”

The doctor left the room, and Dexter stood listening as his step was heard in the hall. Then the door closed, and Helen bent thoughtfully over her work, while the boy stood first on one foot, then on the other, watching her. The window was open, the sun shone, and the garden with its lawn and bright flowers looked wonderfully tempting, but duty and the disgrace he was in acted as two chains to hold the boy there.

“I say,” he said at last.

“Yes, Dexter,” said Helen, looking up at him sadly.

“Oh, I say, don’t look at me like that,” he cried.

“You force me to, Dexter,” she said gravely.

“But ain’t you going to talk to me!”

“If I talk to you, it will only be to scold you very severely.”

Dexter sighed.

“Well,” he said, after a pause, during which he had been gazing intently in the earnest eyes before him; “you’ve got to do it, so let’s have it over. I was always glad when I had been punished at school.”

“Glad, Dexter?”

“Yes, glad it was over. It was the worst part of it waiting to have your whack!”

“Do you want to oblige me, Dexter?” said Helen, wincing at the boy’s words.

“Yes, of course I do. Want me to fetch something?”

“No. Once more I want you to promise to leave off some of those objectionable words.”

“But it’s of no use to promise,” cried the boy, with a look of angry perplexity. “I always break my word.”

“Then why do you!”

“I dunno,” said Dexter. “There’s something in me I think that makes me. You tell me to be a good boy, and I say I will, and I always mean to be; but somehow I can’t. I think it’s because nobody likes me, because—because—because I came from there.”

“Do I behave to you as if I did not like you?” said Helen reproachfully.

The boy was on his knees beside her in a moment, holding her hand against his cheek as he looked up at her with his lip working, and a dumb look of pitiful pleading in his eyes.

“I do not think I do, Dexter.”

He shook his head, and tried to speak. Then, springing up suddenly, he ran out of the study, dashed upstairs, half-blind with the tears which he was fighting back, and then with his head down through the open door into his bedroom, when there was a violent collision, a shriek followed by a score more to succeed a terrific crash, and when in alarm Helen and Mrs Millet ran panting up, it was to find Dexter rubbing his head, and Maria seated in the middle of the boy’s bedroom with the sherds of a broken toilet pail upon the floor, and an ewer lying upon its side, and the water soaking into the carpet.

“What is the matter?” cried Helen.

“I won’t—I won’t—I declare I won’t put up with it no longer!” cried the maid in the intervals of sundry sobs and hysterical cries.

“But how did it happen!” said Mrs Millet.

“It’s—sit’s—sit’s—sit’s—sit’s—sit’s—his tricks again,” sobbed Maria.

“Dexter!” cried Helen.

“Yes—es—Miss—es—ma’am,” sobbed Maria. “I’d dide—I’d dide—I’d—just half—half—half filled the war—war—war—ter—jug, and he ran—ran—ran at me with his head—dead in the chest—and then—then—then—then knocked me dud—dud—dud—down, and I’ll go at once, I will—there.”

“Dexter,” said Helen sternly; “was this some trick?”

“I don’t know,” said the boy sadly. “I s’pose so.”

“But did you run at Maria and try to knock her down?”

“No,” said Dexter. “I was going into my room in a hurry, and she was coming out.”

“He did it o’ purpose, Miss,” cried Maria viciously.

“That will do, Maria,” said Helen with dignity. “Mrs Millet, see that these broken pieces are removed. Dexter, come down to the drawing-room with me.”

Dexter sighed and followed, feeling the while that after all the Union School was a happy place, and that he certainly was not happy here.

“It is very unfortunate that you should meet with such accidents, Dexter,” said Helen, as soon as they were alone.

“Yes,” he said piteously, “ain’t it? I say—”

“Well, Dexter!”

“It’s no good. I know what he wants to do. He said he wanted to make a gentleman of me, but you can’t do it, and I’d better be ’prenticed to a shoemaker, same as lots of boys have been.”

Helen said nothing, but looked at the boy with a troubled gaze, as she wondered whether her father’s plan was possible.

“You had better go out in the garden again, Dexter,” she said after a time.

The trouble had been passing off, and Dexter leaped up with alacrity; but as he reached the window he saw Dan’l crossing the lawn, and he stopped short, turned, and came back to sit down with a sigh.

“Well, Dexter,” said Helen, “why don’t you go?”

He gave her a pitiful look which went right to her heart, as he said slowly—

“No. I shan’t go. I should only get into trouble again.”

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