Chapter Twenty Two.

Chapter Twenty Two.The Beginning of Trouble.“I say,” said Dexter, a few days later, as he followed Helen into the drawing-room. “What have I been doing now!”“I hope nothing fresh, Dexter. Have you been in mischief!”“I don’t know,” he said; “only I’ve been in the study, and there’s a tall gent.”“Say gentleman, Dexter.”“Tall gentleman with a white handkerchief round his neck, and he has been asking me questions, and every time I answered him he sighed, and said, ‘Dear me!’”“Indeed!” said Helen, smiling. “What did he ask you?”“If I knew Euclid; and when I said I didn’t know him, he said, ‘Oh dear me!’ Then he asked me if I knew Algebra, and I said I didn’t, and he shook his head at me and said, ‘Dear me! dear me!’ and that he would have to pull me up. I say, what have I done to be pulled up!”“Don’t you know that Euclid wrote a work on Geometry, and that Algebra is a study by which calculations are made!”“No,” said Dexter eagerly. “I thought they were two people. Then why did he say he would have to pull me up?”“He meant that you were very much behind with, your studies, and that he would have to teach you and bring you forward.”“Oh, I see! And is he going to teach me?”“Yes, Mr Limpney is your private tutor now; and he is coming every day, so I hope you will be very industrious, and try hard to learn.”“Oh yes, I’ll try. Mr Limpney; I don’t think he much liked me, though.”“Nonsense, Dexter; you should not think such things.”“All right. I won’t then. It will be like going to school again, won’t it?”“Much pleasanter, I hope.”Time glided rapidly on after its usual fashion, and Dexter grew fast.There was a long range of old stabling at the doctor’s house, with extensive lofts. The first part was partitioned off for a coachman’s room, but this had not been in use for half a century, and the whole place was ruinous and decayed. Once upon a time some one with a love of horses must have lived there, for there were stalls for eight, and a coach-house as well, but the doctor only kept two horses, and they occupied a new stable built in front of the old.The back part was one of Dexter’s favourite hunting-grounds. Here he could be quite alone, and do pretty well as he liked. Peter the groom never noticed his goings-out and comings-in, and there was no one to find fault with him for being untidy.Here then he had quite a little menagerie of his own. His pocket-money, as supplied by the doctor, afforded him means for buying any little thing he fancied, and hence he had in one of the lofts a couple of very ancient pigeons, which the man of whom he bought them declared to be extremely young; a thrush in a cage; two hedge-sparrows, which were supposed to be linnets, in another; two mice in an old cigar-box lined with tin; and a very attenuated rat, which had been caught by Peter in a trap, and which was allowed to liveminusone foreleg that had been cut short off close to the shoulder, but over which the skin had grown.No one interfered with Dexter’s pets, and in fact the old range of stabling was rarely visited, even by the gardeners, so that the place became not only the boy’s favourite resort in his loneliness, but, so to speak, his little kingdom where he reigned over his pets.There was plenty of room, especially in the lofts with their cross-beams and ties; and here, with his pets, as the only spectators, Dexter used to go daily to get rid of the vitality which often battled for exit in the confinement of the house. Half an hour here of the performance of so many natural gymnastic tricks seemed to tame him down—these tricks being much of a kind popular amongst caged monkeys, who often, for no apparent object, spring about and hang by hands or feet, often by their tail.But he had one piece of enjoyment that would have driven a monkey mad with envy. He had discovered among the lumber a very large old-fashioned bottle-jack, and after hanging this from a hook and winding it up, one of his greatest pleasures was to hang from that jack, and roast till he grew giddy, when he varied the enjoyment by buckling on a strap, attaching himself with a hook from the waist, and then going through either a flying or swimming movement as he spun slowly round.Then he had a rope-trick or two contrived by means of a long piece of knotted together clothes-line, doubled, and hung from the rafters to form a swing or trapeze.Dexter had paid his customary morning visit to his pets, and carefully fed them according to his wont; his plan, a very regular one among boys, being to give them twice as much as was good for them one day, and a starving the next—a mode said to be good with pigs, and productive of streaky bacon, but bad for domestic pets. Then he had returned to the house to go through his lessons, and sent long-suffering Mr Limpney, BA, almost into despair by the little progress he had made, after which he had gone down the garden with the expectation of meeting Dan’l at some corner, but instead had come upon Peter, busy as usual with his broom.“Yer needn’t look,” said the latter worthy; “he’s gone out.”“What! Dan’l has?”“Yes; gone to see a friend who’s a gardener over at Champney Ryle, to buy some seeds.”It was like the announcement of a holiday, and leaving the groom making the usual long stretches with his broom, Dexter went on aimlessly to the river-side, where, for the first time for many months, he found Bob Dimsted fishing.“Hullo, old un!” was the latter’s greeting, “how are you!”Dexter gave the required information, and hesitated for a few moments, something in the way of a collection of Helen’s warnings coming vaguely to his hand; but the volunteered information of the boy on the other side of the river, that he had got some “glorious red wums,” and that the fish were well on the feed, drove everything else away, and in a few minutes Dexter was sitting upon the crown of a willow pollard, ten feet out over the river, that much nearer to the fisher, and in earnest conversation with him as he watched his float.Once more the memory of words that had been spoken to him came to Dexter, but the bobbing of the float, and the excitement of capturing a fish, drove the thoughts away—the fascination of the fishing, and the pleasant excitement of meeting a companion of near his own age, cut off, as he was, from the society of boys, being too much for him; and he was soon eagerly listening, and replying to all that was said.“Ever go fishing in a boat?” said Bob, after a time.“No.”“Ah! you should go in a boat,” said Bob. “You sit down comfortable, with your feet all dry, and you can float over all the deep holes and best places in the river, and catch all the big fish. It’s lovely!”“Did you ever fish out of a boat?” asked Dexter.“Did I ever fish out of a boat? Ha! ha! ha! Lots of times. I’m going to get a boat some day, and have a saucepan and kettle and plate and spoon, and take my fishing-tackle, and then I shall get a gun or a pistol, and go off down the river.”“What for!”“What for? Why, to live like that, catching fish, and shooting wild ducks and geese, and cooking ’em, and eating ’em. Then you have a ’paulin and spread it over the boat of a night, and sleep under it—and there you are!”Dexter looked at the adventurous being before him in wonder, while he fished on and talked.“I should make myself a sail, too, and then I shouldn’t have to row so much; and then I could go right on down to the end of the river, and sail away to foreign countries, and shoot all kinds of wonderful things. And then you could land sometimes and kill snakes, and make yourself a hut to live in, and do just as you liked. Ah, that is a fine life!”“Yes,” said Dexter, whose eager young mind rapidly painted an illustration to everything his companion described.“A man I know has been to sea, and he says sometimes you come to places where there’s nothing but mackerel, and you can almost ladle ’em out with your hands. I should boil ’em over a fire. They are good then.”Dexter’s eyes grew more round.“Then out at sea you have long lines, and you catch big cod-fish, and soles almost as big as the boat.”“And are you going to have a boat?”“To be sure I am. I get tired of always coming out to catch little roach and dace and eels. I mean to go soon.”Dexter sighed.“That man says when you go far enough away, you come to islands where the cocoa-nuts grow; and then, all you’ve got to do is go ashore and pull your boat up on the sands, and when you are hungry you climb a tree and get a cocoa-nut; and every one has got enough meat and drink in it for a meal.”“Do you?”“Yerrrs! That you do. That’s the sort of place to go and live at. I’m tired o’ Coleby.”“Why don’t you go and live there, then!” said Dexter.“I’m going to, some day. It’s no use to be in too much of a hurry; I want to save a little money first, and get some more tackle. You see, you want big hooks for big fish, and some long lines. Then you must have a boat.”The idea of the unknown countries made Dexter thrill, and he listened eagerly as the boy went on prosing away while he fished, taking out his line from time to time, and dropping the bait in likely places.“Haven’t made up my mind what boat I shall have yet, only it must be a good one.”“Yes,” said Dexter; “you’d want a good big boat.”“Not such a very big un,” said Bob. “I should want a nice un with cushions, because you’d have to sit in it so long.”“And sleep in it too?”“Oh yes; you’d have to sleep in it.”“Should you light the fire, and cook in it!” said Dexter innocently.“Yah! No, o’ course not. You’d go ashore every time you wanted to cook, and light a fire there with a burnin’-glass.”“But suppose the sun didn’t shine!”“Sun always shines out there,” said Bob. “That sailor chap told me, and the birds are all sorts of colours, and the fish too, like you see in glass globes. I mean to go.”“When shall you go?”“Oh, some day when I’m ready. I know of a jolly boat as would just do.”“Do you?”“Yes; I dessay you’ve seen it. Belongs to Danby’s, down the river. Lives in a boat-house.”“Yes, I’ve seen it,” said Dexter eagerly. “It is a beauty!”“Well, that’s the sort of boat I mean to have. P’r’aps I shall have that.”“You couldn’t have that,” cried Dexter.“Why not? They never use it, not more’n twice a year. Dessay they’d lend it.”“That they wouldn’t,” cried Dexter.“Well, then, I should borrow it, and bring it back when I’d done with it. What games you could have with a boat like that!”“Yes,” sighed Dexter; “wish we had one!”“Wouldn’t be such a good one as that if you had. That’s just the boat I’ve made up my mind to have.”“And shall you sail right away to a foreign country!” said Dexter, from his nest up in the willow.“Why, how can you sail away to another place without a mast and sail, stoopid!” cried Bob.“If you call me stupid,” said Dexter sharply, “I’ll come and punch your head.”“Yah! Yer can’t get at me.”“Can’t I? I could swim across in a minute, and I would, if it wasn’t for wetting my clothes.”“Yah!” cried Bob scoffingly. “Why, I could fight yer one hand.”“No, you couldn’t.”“Yes, I could.”“Well, you’d see, if I came across.”“But yer can’t get across,” laughed Bob. “I know of a capital mast.”Dexter looked sulky.“It’s part of an old boat-hook my father found floating in the river. I shall smooth it down with my knife if I can’t borrow a spokeshave.”“And what’ll you do for a sail?” said Dexter, his interest in the expedition chasing away his anger.“Oh, I shall get a table-cloth or a sheet. Sheets make beautiful sails. You just hoists ’em up, and puts an oar over the stern to steer with, and then away you go, just where you like. Sailing along in a boat’s lovely!”“Ever been in a boat sailing?” asked Dexter.“No; but I know it is. That sailor told me. He says when you’ve got all sail set, you just cruises along.”“Do you?”“Yes. I know; and I mean to go some day; but it’s no use to be in a jolly hurry, and you ought to have a mate.”“Ought you?”“Yes, so as he could steer while a chap went to sleep; because sometimes you’d be a long way from the shore.”Dexter sat very thoughtful and still, dreaming of the wonders of far-off places, such as could be reached by Bob Dimsted and his companion, the impracticability of such a journey never once occurring to him. Bob had been about all his life free to go and come, while he, Dexter, seemed to have been always shut up, as it were, in a cage, which had narrowed his mind.“Some chaps would be glad of such a chance,” said Bob. “It’ll be a fine time. My, what fishing I shall have!”“Shall you be gone long!” said Dexter, after a time.“Long? Why, of course I shall; years and years. I shan’t come back till I’ve made a fortune, and am a rich man, with heaps of money to spend. Some chaps would be glad to go.”“Yes, of course,” said Dexter dreamily.“I want to get a mate who isn’t afraid of anything. Dessay we should meet lions sometimes, and big snakes.”“What! in England!”“England! Yah! Who’s going to stop in England? I’m going to sail away to wonderful places all over the world.”“But would the boat be big enough to cross the great sea?”“Who’s going to cross the great sea?” cried Bob. “Of course I shouldn’t. I should only go out about six miles from shore, and keep close in, so as to land every night to get grub, or anything else. P’r’aps to go shooting. My father’s got an old gun—a fine un. Think I don’t know what I’m about? Shoots hares with it, and fezzans.“There’s another!” he exclaimed, as he hooked and landed an unfortunate little perch, which he threw into his basket with a look of disgust. “I’m sick of ketching such miserable little things as these. I want to get hold of big sea-fish of all kinds, so as to fill the boat. Some chaps would be glad to go,” he said again, as he threw his line in once more.“Yes,” said Dexter thoughtfully; “I should like to go.”“You!” said Bob, with a mocking laugh. “You! Why, you’d be afraid. I don’t believe you dare go in a boat!”“Oh yes, I dare,” said Dexter stoutly.“Not you. You’re afraid of what the doctor would say. You daren’t even come fishing with me up the river.”“They said I was not to go with you,” said Dexter quietly; “so I couldn’t.”“Then what’s the use of your saying you’d like to go. You couldn’t.”“But I should like to go,” said Dexter excitedly.“Not you. I want a mate as has got some pluck in him. You’d be afraid to be out all night on the water.”“No, I shouldn’t. I should like it.”“Well, I don’t know,” said Bob dubiously. “I might take you, and I mightn’t. You ain’t quite the sort of a chap I should want; and, besides, you’ve got to stay where you are and learn lessons. Ho! ho! ho! what a game, to be obliged to stop indoors every day and learn lessons! I wonder you ain’t ashamed of it.”Dexter’s cheeks flushed, and he looked angrily across the river with his fists clenched, but he said nothing.“You wouldn’t do. You ain’t strong enough,” said Bob at last.“I’m as strong as you are.”“But you daren’t come.”“I should like to come, but I don’t think they’d let me.”“Why, of course they wouldn’t, stoopid. You’d have to come away some night quietly, and get in the boat, and then we’d let her float down the river, and row right away till morning, and then we could set the sail, and go just wherever we liked, because we should be our own masters.”“Here’s some one coming after you,” said Bob, in a low voice; and he shrank away, leaving Dexter perched up in the crown of the tree, where he stopped without speaking, as he saw Helen come down the garden, and she walked close by him without raising her eyes, and passed on.

“I say,” said Dexter, a few days later, as he followed Helen into the drawing-room. “What have I been doing now!”

“I hope nothing fresh, Dexter. Have you been in mischief!”

“I don’t know,” he said; “only I’ve been in the study, and there’s a tall gent.”

“Say gentleman, Dexter.”

“Tall gentleman with a white handkerchief round his neck, and he has been asking me questions, and every time I answered him he sighed, and said, ‘Dear me!’”

“Indeed!” said Helen, smiling. “What did he ask you?”

“If I knew Euclid; and when I said I didn’t know him, he said, ‘Oh dear me!’ Then he asked me if I knew Algebra, and I said I didn’t, and he shook his head at me and said, ‘Dear me! dear me!’ and that he would have to pull me up. I say, what have I done to be pulled up!”

“Don’t you know that Euclid wrote a work on Geometry, and that Algebra is a study by which calculations are made!”

“No,” said Dexter eagerly. “I thought they were two people. Then why did he say he would have to pull me up?”

“He meant that you were very much behind with, your studies, and that he would have to teach you and bring you forward.”

“Oh, I see! And is he going to teach me?”

“Yes, Mr Limpney is your private tutor now; and he is coming every day, so I hope you will be very industrious, and try hard to learn.”

“Oh yes, I’ll try. Mr Limpney; I don’t think he much liked me, though.”

“Nonsense, Dexter; you should not think such things.”

“All right. I won’t then. It will be like going to school again, won’t it?”

“Much pleasanter, I hope.”

Time glided rapidly on after its usual fashion, and Dexter grew fast.

There was a long range of old stabling at the doctor’s house, with extensive lofts. The first part was partitioned off for a coachman’s room, but this had not been in use for half a century, and the whole place was ruinous and decayed. Once upon a time some one with a love of horses must have lived there, for there were stalls for eight, and a coach-house as well, but the doctor only kept two horses, and they occupied a new stable built in front of the old.

The back part was one of Dexter’s favourite hunting-grounds. Here he could be quite alone, and do pretty well as he liked. Peter the groom never noticed his goings-out and comings-in, and there was no one to find fault with him for being untidy.

Here then he had quite a little menagerie of his own. His pocket-money, as supplied by the doctor, afforded him means for buying any little thing he fancied, and hence he had in one of the lofts a couple of very ancient pigeons, which the man of whom he bought them declared to be extremely young; a thrush in a cage; two hedge-sparrows, which were supposed to be linnets, in another; two mice in an old cigar-box lined with tin; and a very attenuated rat, which had been caught by Peter in a trap, and which was allowed to liveminusone foreleg that had been cut short off close to the shoulder, but over which the skin had grown.

No one interfered with Dexter’s pets, and in fact the old range of stabling was rarely visited, even by the gardeners, so that the place became not only the boy’s favourite resort in his loneliness, but, so to speak, his little kingdom where he reigned over his pets.

There was plenty of room, especially in the lofts with their cross-beams and ties; and here, with his pets, as the only spectators, Dexter used to go daily to get rid of the vitality which often battled for exit in the confinement of the house. Half an hour here of the performance of so many natural gymnastic tricks seemed to tame him down—these tricks being much of a kind popular amongst caged monkeys, who often, for no apparent object, spring about and hang by hands or feet, often by their tail.

But he had one piece of enjoyment that would have driven a monkey mad with envy. He had discovered among the lumber a very large old-fashioned bottle-jack, and after hanging this from a hook and winding it up, one of his greatest pleasures was to hang from that jack, and roast till he grew giddy, when he varied the enjoyment by buckling on a strap, attaching himself with a hook from the waist, and then going through either a flying or swimming movement as he spun slowly round.

Then he had a rope-trick or two contrived by means of a long piece of knotted together clothes-line, doubled, and hung from the rafters to form a swing or trapeze.

Dexter had paid his customary morning visit to his pets, and carefully fed them according to his wont; his plan, a very regular one among boys, being to give them twice as much as was good for them one day, and a starving the next—a mode said to be good with pigs, and productive of streaky bacon, but bad for domestic pets. Then he had returned to the house to go through his lessons, and sent long-suffering Mr Limpney, BA, almost into despair by the little progress he had made, after which he had gone down the garden with the expectation of meeting Dan’l at some corner, but instead had come upon Peter, busy as usual with his broom.

“Yer needn’t look,” said the latter worthy; “he’s gone out.”

“What! Dan’l has?”

“Yes; gone to see a friend who’s a gardener over at Champney Ryle, to buy some seeds.”

It was like the announcement of a holiday, and leaving the groom making the usual long stretches with his broom, Dexter went on aimlessly to the river-side, where, for the first time for many months, he found Bob Dimsted fishing.

“Hullo, old un!” was the latter’s greeting, “how are you!”

Dexter gave the required information, and hesitated for a few moments, something in the way of a collection of Helen’s warnings coming vaguely to his hand; but the volunteered information of the boy on the other side of the river, that he had got some “glorious red wums,” and that the fish were well on the feed, drove everything else away, and in a few minutes Dexter was sitting upon the crown of a willow pollard, ten feet out over the river, that much nearer to the fisher, and in earnest conversation with him as he watched his float.

Once more the memory of words that had been spoken to him came to Dexter, but the bobbing of the float, and the excitement of capturing a fish, drove the thoughts away—the fascination of the fishing, and the pleasant excitement of meeting a companion of near his own age, cut off, as he was, from the society of boys, being too much for him; and he was soon eagerly listening, and replying to all that was said.

“Ever go fishing in a boat?” said Bob, after a time.

“No.”

“Ah! you should go in a boat,” said Bob. “You sit down comfortable, with your feet all dry, and you can float over all the deep holes and best places in the river, and catch all the big fish. It’s lovely!”

“Did you ever fish out of a boat?” asked Dexter.

“Did I ever fish out of a boat? Ha! ha! ha! Lots of times. I’m going to get a boat some day, and have a saucepan and kettle and plate and spoon, and take my fishing-tackle, and then I shall get a gun or a pistol, and go off down the river.”

“What for!”

“What for? Why, to live like that, catching fish, and shooting wild ducks and geese, and cooking ’em, and eating ’em. Then you have a ’paulin and spread it over the boat of a night, and sleep under it—and there you are!”

Dexter looked at the adventurous being before him in wonder, while he fished on and talked.

“I should make myself a sail, too, and then I shouldn’t have to row so much; and then I could go right on down to the end of the river, and sail away to foreign countries, and shoot all kinds of wonderful things. And then you could land sometimes and kill snakes, and make yourself a hut to live in, and do just as you liked. Ah, that is a fine life!”

“Yes,” said Dexter, whose eager young mind rapidly painted an illustration to everything his companion described.

“A man I know has been to sea, and he says sometimes you come to places where there’s nothing but mackerel, and you can almost ladle ’em out with your hands. I should boil ’em over a fire. They are good then.”

Dexter’s eyes grew more round.

“Then out at sea you have long lines, and you catch big cod-fish, and soles almost as big as the boat.”

“And are you going to have a boat?”

“To be sure I am. I get tired of always coming out to catch little roach and dace and eels. I mean to go soon.”

Dexter sighed.

“That man says when you go far enough away, you come to islands where the cocoa-nuts grow; and then, all you’ve got to do is go ashore and pull your boat up on the sands, and when you are hungry you climb a tree and get a cocoa-nut; and every one has got enough meat and drink in it for a meal.”

“Do you?”

“Yerrrs! That you do. That’s the sort of place to go and live at. I’m tired o’ Coleby.”

“Why don’t you go and live there, then!” said Dexter.

“I’m going to, some day. It’s no use to be in too much of a hurry; I want to save a little money first, and get some more tackle. You see, you want big hooks for big fish, and some long lines. Then you must have a boat.”

The idea of the unknown countries made Dexter thrill, and he listened eagerly as the boy went on prosing away while he fished, taking out his line from time to time, and dropping the bait in likely places.

“Haven’t made up my mind what boat I shall have yet, only it must be a good one.”

“Yes,” said Dexter; “you’d want a good big boat.”

“Not such a very big un,” said Bob. “I should want a nice un with cushions, because you’d have to sit in it so long.”

“And sleep in it too?”

“Oh yes; you’d have to sleep in it.”

“Should you light the fire, and cook in it!” said Dexter innocently.

“Yah! No, o’ course not. You’d go ashore every time you wanted to cook, and light a fire there with a burnin’-glass.”

“But suppose the sun didn’t shine!”

“Sun always shines out there,” said Bob. “That sailor chap told me, and the birds are all sorts of colours, and the fish too, like you see in glass globes. I mean to go.”

“When shall you go?”

“Oh, some day when I’m ready. I know of a jolly boat as would just do.”

“Do you?”

“Yes; I dessay you’ve seen it. Belongs to Danby’s, down the river. Lives in a boat-house.”

“Yes, I’ve seen it,” said Dexter eagerly. “It is a beauty!”

“Well, that’s the sort of boat I mean to have. P’r’aps I shall have that.”

“You couldn’t have that,” cried Dexter.

“Why not? They never use it, not more’n twice a year. Dessay they’d lend it.”

“That they wouldn’t,” cried Dexter.

“Well, then, I should borrow it, and bring it back when I’d done with it. What games you could have with a boat like that!”

“Yes,” sighed Dexter; “wish we had one!”

“Wouldn’t be such a good one as that if you had. That’s just the boat I’ve made up my mind to have.”

“And shall you sail right away to a foreign country!” said Dexter, from his nest up in the willow.

“Why, how can you sail away to another place without a mast and sail, stoopid!” cried Bob.

“If you call me stupid,” said Dexter sharply, “I’ll come and punch your head.”

“Yah! Yer can’t get at me.”

“Can’t I? I could swim across in a minute, and I would, if it wasn’t for wetting my clothes.”

“Yah!” cried Bob scoffingly. “Why, I could fight yer one hand.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“Yes, I could.”

“Well, you’d see, if I came across.”

“But yer can’t get across,” laughed Bob. “I know of a capital mast.”

Dexter looked sulky.

“It’s part of an old boat-hook my father found floating in the river. I shall smooth it down with my knife if I can’t borrow a spokeshave.”

“And what’ll you do for a sail?” said Dexter, his interest in the expedition chasing away his anger.

“Oh, I shall get a table-cloth or a sheet. Sheets make beautiful sails. You just hoists ’em up, and puts an oar over the stern to steer with, and then away you go, just where you like. Sailing along in a boat’s lovely!”

“Ever been in a boat sailing?” asked Dexter.

“No; but I know it is. That sailor told me. He says when you’ve got all sail set, you just cruises along.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. I know; and I mean to go some day; but it’s no use to be in a jolly hurry, and you ought to have a mate.”

“Ought you?”

“Yes, so as he could steer while a chap went to sleep; because sometimes you’d be a long way from the shore.”

Dexter sat very thoughtful and still, dreaming of the wonders of far-off places, such as could be reached by Bob Dimsted and his companion, the impracticability of such a journey never once occurring to him. Bob had been about all his life free to go and come, while he, Dexter, seemed to have been always shut up, as it were, in a cage, which had narrowed his mind.

“Some chaps would be glad of such a chance,” said Bob. “It’ll be a fine time. My, what fishing I shall have!”

“Shall you be gone long!” said Dexter, after a time.

“Long? Why, of course I shall; years and years. I shan’t come back till I’ve made a fortune, and am a rich man, with heaps of money to spend. Some chaps would be glad to go.”

“Yes, of course,” said Dexter dreamily.

“I want to get a mate who isn’t afraid of anything. Dessay we should meet lions sometimes, and big snakes.”

“What! in England!”

“England! Yah! Who’s going to stop in England? I’m going to sail away to wonderful places all over the world.”

“But would the boat be big enough to cross the great sea?”

“Who’s going to cross the great sea?” cried Bob. “Of course I shouldn’t. I should only go out about six miles from shore, and keep close in, so as to land every night to get grub, or anything else. P’r’aps to go shooting. My father’s got an old gun—a fine un. Think I don’t know what I’m about? Shoots hares with it, and fezzans.

“There’s another!” he exclaimed, as he hooked and landed an unfortunate little perch, which he threw into his basket with a look of disgust. “I’m sick of ketching such miserable little things as these. I want to get hold of big sea-fish of all kinds, so as to fill the boat. Some chaps would be glad to go,” he said again, as he threw his line in once more.

“Yes,” said Dexter thoughtfully; “I should like to go.”

“You!” said Bob, with a mocking laugh. “You! Why, you’d be afraid. I don’t believe you dare go in a boat!”

“Oh yes, I dare,” said Dexter stoutly.

“Not you. You’re afraid of what the doctor would say. You daren’t even come fishing with me up the river.”

“They said I was not to go with you,” said Dexter quietly; “so I couldn’t.”

“Then what’s the use of your saying you’d like to go. You couldn’t.”

“But I should like to go,” said Dexter excitedly.

“Not you. I want a mate as has got some pluck in him. You’d be afraid to be out all night on the water.”

“No, I shouldn’t. I should like it.”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Bob dubiously. “I might take you, and I mightn’t. You ain’t quite the sort of a chap I should want; and, besides, you’ve got to stay where you are and learn lessons. Ho! ho! ho! what a game, to be obliged to stop indoors every day and learn lessons! I wonder you ain’t ashamed of it.”

Dexter’s cheeks flushed, and he looked angrily across the river with his fists clenched, but he said nothing.

“You wouldn’t do. You ain’t strong enough,” said Bob at last.

“I’m as strong as you are.”

“But you daren’t come.”

“I should like to come, but I don’t think they’d let me.”

“Why, of course they wouldn’t, stoopid. You’d have to come away some night quietly, and get in the boat, and then we’d let her float down the river, and row right away till morning, and then we could set the sail, and go just wherever we liked, because we should be our own masters.”

“Here’s some one coming after you,” said Bob, in a low voice; and he shrank away, leaving Dexter perched up in the crown of the tree, where he stopped without speaking, as he saw Helen come down the garden, and she walked close by him without raising her eyes, and passed on.

Chapter Twenty Three.The Trouble Grows.Dexter got down out of the willow-tree with a seed in his brain.Bob Dimsted had dropped that seed into his young mind, and there it had struck root directly, and continued to grow. A hard fight now commenced.So long as he was with Helen or the doctor, he could think of nothing but the fact that they were so kind to him, and took so much interest in his welfare, that it would be horribly ungrateful to go away without leave, and he vowed that he would not go.But so sure as he was alone, a series of dissolving views began to float before his vivid imagination, and he saw Sir James Danby’s boat managed by Bob Dimsted and himself, gliding rapidly along through river and along by sunlit shores, where, after catching wonderfully tinted fish, he and the boy landed to light a fire, cook their food, and partake of it in a delightful gipsy fashion. Then they put to sea again, and glided on past wondrous isles where cocoa-nut palms waved in the soft breeze.Try how he would, Dexter could not keep these ideas out of his head, and the more he thought, the brighter and more attractive they became; and day after day found him, whenever he had an opportunity, waiting about by the river-side in the expectation of seeing Bob Dimsted.Bob did not come, but as Dexter climbed up into his nest in the willow pollard his vivid imagination supplied the words he had said, and he seemed to see himself sailing away, with the boy for his companion, down the river, and out into the open sea; a portion of this globe which he formed out of his own fancy, the result being wonderfully unlike the truth.Bob did not come, but Helen noticed how quiet and thoughtful the boy seemed, and also how he affected that portion of the garden.“Why don’t you fish, Dexter?” she said to him one day, as she saw him gazing disconsolately at the river.He had not thought of this as an excuse for staying down by the river, but he snatched at the idea now, and for the next week, whenever he could get away from his lessons or their preparation, he was down on the bank, dividing his time between watching his float and the opposite shore.But still Bob Dimsted did not come; and at last Dexter began to settle down seriously to his fishing, as the impressions made grew more faint.Then all at once back they came; for as he sat watching his float one day, a voice said sharply—“Now then! why don’t you strike!”But Dexter did not strike, and the fish went off with the bait as the holder of the rod exclaimed—“Why haven’t you been fishing all this time!”“What was the good?” said Bob, “I was getting ready to go, and talking to my mate, who’s going with me.”“Your mate!” exclaimed Dexter, whose heart sank at those words.“Yes, I know’d you wouldn’t go, so. I began to look out for a chap who would.”“But I didn’t say that I really would not go,” said Dexter, as he laid his tackle under the bushes.“Oh yes, you did; I could see what you meant. Do they bite to-day!”“I don’t know,” said Dexter dolefully. “But, I say, you couldn’t have that boat if you wanted to.”“Oh yes, I could if I liked.”“But it isn’t yours.”“Tchah! couldn’t you borrow it!”Dexter did not see how, and he climbed into the willow, while Bob went on fishing.“I hate a chap who is always trying to find out things to stop a fellow from doing anything. Why don’t you say you won’t go and ha’ done with it?”Dexter sighed as he thought of the wonderful fish to be caught, and the great nuts on the trees, each of which nuts would make a meal. Then of the delight of sailing away in that beautiful boat down the river, and then out to sea, where they could land upon the sands and light their fire; and it seemed to him that such a life would be one long time of delight.He sat in his nest picking the buds off the willow twigs, and bending and lacing them together, furtively glancing at grubby-looking Bob Dimsted, whose appearance was not attractive; but what were appearances to a boy who possessed such gifts of knowledge in fishing and managing a boat, and had learned so much about foreign lands?Dexter sighed again, and Bob gave him a furtive look, as with evident enjoyment he took a red worm out of some moss and stuck his sharp hook into it, drew the writhing creature over the shank, and then passed the point through again and again.So to speak, he had impaled Dexter on a moral hook as well, the barb had gone right in so that it could not be drawn out without tearing; and Dexter writhed and twined, and felt as if he would have given anything to get away.Bob went on fishing, throwing the twisting worm just down among the roots of a willow-tree, and the float told directly after that the cast was not without avail, for there was a quick bobbing movement, then a sharp snatch, Bob struck, and, after a good deal of rushing about and splashing, a good-sized perch was landed, with its sharp back fin erect, and its gilded sides, with their black markings, glistening in the sunshine.“What a beauty!” cried Dexter enthusiastically, as for the moment the wonders of the boating expedition were forgotten.But they were brought back directly.“Pooh!” exclaimed Bob contemptuously. “That’s nothing; only a little perch. Why, if we went off fishing in that boat, you’d chuck a fish like that in again.”But Bob did not “chuck” that perch in again; he placed it in his basket, and directly after caught up his various articles of fishing-gear and ran off.Dexter was about to speak, but just then he heard a harsh cough, and, glancing through the screen of willow twigs which surrounded him, he saw old Dan’l coming hastily down over the grass path towards the tree.“Yes, I can see yer,” he shouted, as he reached the water’s edge; and, to Dexter’s surprise, he found that it was not he the old gardener was addressing. “You come over there fishing again, I’ll send the police arter yer.”Bob, safe at a distance, made a derisive gesture.“None of your sarse, you poaching young vagabond. I know what you came there for. Be off with you.”“Shan’t,” cried Bob, as he settled down to fish a hundred yards away.“Always coming here after that boy,” grumbled Dan’l. “If I could have my way I’d bundle ’em both out of the town together. Young robbers,—that’s what they are, the pair of ’em.”Dexter’s face flushed, and he was about to respond, but the old gardener began to move away.“Doctor ought to be ashamed of himself,” he grumbled, as he stood for a moment or two looking round in search of Dexter, but never looking above the brim of his broad straw hat, and the next moment Dexter was left alone seated in the crown of the old willow, very low-spirited and thoughtful, as he came down from his perch, brushed the bits of green from his clothes, and then walked slowly up toward the house, taking the other side of the garden; but of course coming right upon Dan’l, who followed him about till he took refuge in the doctor’s study, with a book whose contents seemed to be a history of foreign lands, and the pictures records of the doings of one Dexter Grayson and his companion Bob. For the old effervescence consequent upon his having been kept down so long was passing off, and a complete change seemed to be coming over the boy.

Dexter got down out of the willow-tree with a seed in his brain.

Bob Dimsted had dropped that seed into his young mind, and there it had struck root directly, and continued to grow. A hard fight now commenced.

So long as he was with Helen or the doctor, he could think of nothing but the fact that they were so kind to him, and took so much interest in his welfare, that it would be horribly ungrateful to go away without leave, and he vowed that he would not go.

But so sure as he was alone, a series of dissolving views began to float before his vivid imagination, and he saw Sir James Danby’s boat managed by Bob Dimsted and himself, gliding rapidly along through river and along by sunlit shores, where, after catching wonderfully tinted fish, he and the boy landed to light a fire, cook their food, and partake of it in a delightful gipsy fashion. Then they put to sea again, and glided on past wondrous isles where cocoa-nut palms waved in the soft breeze.

Try how he would, Dexter could not keep these ideas out of his head, and the more he thought, the brighter and more attractive they became; and day after day found him, whenever he had an opportunity, waiting about by the river-side in the expectation of seeing Bob Dimsted.

Bob did not come, but as Dexter climbed up into his nest in the willow pollard his vivid imagination supplied the words he had said, and he seemed to see himself sailing away, with the boy for his companion, down the river, and out into the open sea; a portion of this globe which he formed out of his own fancy, the result being wonderfully unlike the truth.

Bob did not come, but Helen noticed how quiet and thoughtful the boy seemed, and also how he affected that portion of the garden.

“Why don’t you fish, Dexter?” she said to him one day, as she saw him gazing disconsolately at the river.

He had not thought of this as an excuse for staying down by the river, but he snatched at the idea now, and for the next week, whenever he could get away from his lessons or their preparation, he was down on the bank, dividing his time between watching his float and the opposite shore.

But still Bob Dimsted did not come; and at last Dexter began to settle down seriously to his fishing, as the impressions made grew more faint.

Then all at once back they came; for as he sat watching his float one day, a voice said sharply—

“Now then! why don’t you strike!”

But Dexter did not strike, and the fish went off with the bait as the holder of the rod exclaimed—

“Why haven’t you been fishing all this time!”

“What was the good?” said Bob, “I was getting ready to go, and talking to my mate, who’s going with me.”

“Your mate!” exclaimed Dexter, whose heart sank at those words.

“Yes, I know’d you wouldn’t go, so. I began to look out for a chap who would.”

“But I didn’t say that I really would not go,” said Dexter, as he laid his tackle under the bushes.

“Oh yes, you did; I could see what you meant. Do they bite to-day!”

“I don’t know,” said Dexter dolefully. “But, I say, you couldn’t have that boat if you wanted to.”

“Oh yes, I could if I liked.”

“But it isn’t yours.”

“Tchah! couldn’t you borrow it!”

Dexter did not see how, and he climbed into the willow, while Bob went on fishing.

“I hate a chap who is always trying to find out things to stop a fellow from doing anything. Why don’t you say you won’t go and ha’ done with it?”

Dexter sighed as he thought of the wonderful fish to be caught, and the great nuts on the trees, each of which nuts would make a meal. Then of the delight of sailing away in that beautiful boat down the river, and then out to sea, where they could land upon the sands and light their fire; and it seemed to him that such a life would be one long time of delight.

He sat in his nest picking the buds off the willow twigs, and bending and lacing them together, furtively glancing at grubby-looking Bob Dimsted, whose appearance was not attractive; but what were appearances to a boy who possessed such gifts of knowledge in fishing and managing a boat, and had learned so much about foreign lands?

Dexter sighed again, and Bob gave him a furtive look, as with evident enjoyment he took a red worm out of some moss and stuck his sharp hook into it, drew the writhing creature over the shank, and then passed the point through again and again.

So to speak, he had impaled Dexter on a moral hook as well, the barb had gone right in so that it could not be drawn out without tearing; and Dexter writhed and twined, and felt as if he would have given anything to get away.

Bob went on fishing, throwing the twisting worm just down among the roots of a willow-tree, and the float told directly after that the cast was not without avail, for there was a quick bobbing movement, then a sharp snatch, Bob struck, and, after a good deal of rushing about and splashing, a good-sized perch was landed, with its sharp back fin erect, and its gilded sides, with their black markings, glistening in the sunshine.

“What a beauty!” cried Dexter enthusiastically, as for the moment the wonders of the boating expedition were forgotten.

But they were brought back directly.

“Pooh!” exclaimed Bob contemptuously. “That’s nothing; only a little perch. Why, if we went off fishing in that boat, you’d chuck a fish like that in again.”

But Bob did not “chuck” that perch in again; he placed it in his basket, and directly after caught up his various articles of fishing-gear and ran off.

Dexter was about to speak, but just then he heard a harsh cough, and, glancing through the screen of willow twigs which surrounded him, he saw old Dan’l coming hastily down over the grass path towards the tree.

“Yes, I can see yer,” he shouted, as he reached the water’s edge; and, to Dexter’s surprise, he found that it was not he the old gardener was addressing. “You come over there fishing again, I’ll send the police arter yer.”

Bob, safe at a distance, made a derisive gesture.

“None of your sarse, you poaching young vagabond. I know what you came there for. Be off with you.”

“Shan’t,” cried Bob, as he settled down to fish a hundred yards away.

“Always coming here after that boy,” grumbled Dan’l. “If I could have my way I’d bundle ’em both out of the town together. Young robbers,—that’s what they are, the pair of ’em.”

Dexter’s face flushed, and he was about to respond, but the old gardener began to move away.

“Doctor ought to be ashamed of himself,” he grumbled, as he stood for a moment or two looking round in search of Dexter, but never looking above the brim of his broad straw hat, and the next moment Dexter was left alone seated in the crown of the old willow, very low-spirited and thoughtful, as he came down from his perch, brushed the bits of green from his clothes, and then walked slowly up toward the house, taking the other side of the garden; but of course coming right upon Dan’l, who followed him about till he took refuge in the doctor’s study, with a book whose contents seemed to be a history of foreign lands, and the pictures records of the doings of one Dexter Grayson and his companion Bob. For the old effervescence consequent upon his having been kept down so long was passing off, and a complete change seemed to be coming over the boy.

Chapter Twenty Four.The Pleasant Ways of Learning.“Now, Master Grayson,” said Mr Limpney, “what am I to say to the doctor!”The private tutor threw himself back in his seat in the study, vacated by the doctor, while Dexter had his lessons, placed his hands behind his head, and, after wrinkling his forehead in lines from his brow to right on the top, where the hair began, he stared hard at his pupil.“I say again, sir, what am I to tell the doctor!”“I don’t know,” said Dexter dolefully. Then, plucking up a little spirit: “I wrote out all my history questions, and did the parsing with a little help from Miss Grayson, and I did the sum you set me all by myself.”“Yes; but the Algebra, the Classics, and the Euclid! Where are they?”“There they are,” said Dexter, pointing dismally to some books on the table.“Yes, sir, there they are—on that table, when they ought to be in your head.”“But they won’t go in my head, sir,” cried Dexter desperately.“Nonsense, sir! you will not let them, and I warn you plainly, that if we do not make better progress, I shall tell the doctor that I will not continue to take his payment for nothing.”“No; I say; don’t do that,” said Dexter piteously. “He wouldn’t like it.”“I cannot help that, sir. I have my duty to perform. Anybody can do those childish history and grammatical questions; it is the classical and mathematical lessons in which I wish you to excel. Now, once more. No, no, you must not refer to the book. ‘In any right-angled triangle, the square of the side—’ Now, go on.”Dexter took up a slate and pencil, wrinkled up his forehead as nearly like the tutor’s as he could, and slowly drew a triangle.“Very good,” said Mr Limpney. “Now, go on.”Dexter stared at his sketch, then helplessly at his instructor.“I ought to writeABChere, oughtn’t I, sir?”“Yes, of course. Go on.”Dexter hesitated, and then put a letter at each corner.“Well, have it that way if you like,” said Mr Limpney.“I don’t like it that way, sir,” said Dexter. “I’ll put it your way.”“No, no. Go on your way.”“But I haven’t got any way, sir,” said Dexter desperately.“Nonsense, nonsense! Go on.”“Please, sir, I can’t. I’ve tried and tried over and over again, but the angles all get mixed up with the sides, and it is all such a muddle. I shall never learn Euclid. Is it any use?”“Is it any use!” cried the tutor scornfully. “Look at me, sir. Has it been any use to me!”Dexter looked at the face before him, and then right up the forehead, and wondered whether learning Euclid had made all the hair come off the top of his head.“Well, go on.”“I can’t, sir, please,” sighed the boy. “I know it’s something about squares, andABC, andBAC, andCAB, and—but you produce the lines.”“But you do not produce them, sir,” cried Mr Limpney angrily; “nor anything else! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir!”“I am,” said Dexter innocently. “I’m a dreadfully stupid boy, sir, and I don’t think I’ve got any brains.”“Are you going through that forty-seventh problem this morning, sir?”Dexter made a desperate attempt, floundered on a quarter of a minute, and broke down in half.“Tut—tut—tut!” ejaculated Mr Limpney. “I’m sure you have not looked at it since I was here.”“That I have, sir,” cried Dexter, in a voice full of eager protest. “Hours and hours, sir, I walked up and down the garden with it, and then I took the book up with me into my loft, and made a chalk triangle on the floor, and kept on saying it over and over, but as fast as I said it the words slipped out of my head again. I can’t help it, sir, I am so stupid.”“Algebra!” said Mr Limpney, in a tone of angry disgust.“Am I not to try and say the Euclid, sir?”“Algebra!” cried Mr Limpney again, and he slapped the table with a thin book. “Now then, where are these simple equations?”Dexter drew a half-sheet of foolscap paper from a folio, and rather shrinkingly placed it before his tutor, who took a pair of spectacles from his pocket, and placed them over his mild-looking eyes.“Let me see,” he said, referring to a note-book. “The questions I gave you were: ‘A spent 2 shillings and 6 pence in oranges, and says that three of them cost as much under a shilling as nine of them cost over a shilling. How many did he buy?’”Mr Limpney coughed, blew his nose loudly, as if it were a post-horn, and then went on—“Secondly: ‘Two coaches start at the same time for York and London, a distance of 200 miles, travelling one at nine and a half miles an hour, the other at nine and a quarter miles; where will they meet, and in what time from starting?’”He gave his nose a finishing touch with his handkerchief, closed his note-book, and turned to Dexter.“Now then,” he said. “Let us see.”He took the sheet of paper, looked at one side, turned it over and looked at the other, and then raised his eyes to Dexter’s, which avoided his gaze directly.“What is this?” he cried.“The equations, sir,” said Dexter humbly.“Tut—tut—tut!” ejaculated Mr Limpney. “Was there ever such a boy?pluswhere it ought to beminus, and—why, what’s this!”“This, sir?” said Dexter. “Half-crowns.”“But it was to be oranges. How many did he buy? and here you say he bought ninety-seven half-crowns. I don’t know how you arrived at it, or what you mean. A man does not go to a shop to buy half-crowns. He spent half a crown in oranges.”“Yes, sir.”“I believe it’s sheer obstinacy. You do not want to do these equations—simple equations too, mind you! Now then, about the stage-coaches. When did they meet, and in what time from starting? Now then—there are your figures, where did they meet? Look and tell me.”Dexter took the half-sheet of paper, stared at it very doubtfully, and then looked up.“Well!” said Mr Limpney. “Where did they meet?”“Peterborough, sir.”“Where!” cried Mr Limpney in astonishment.“Peterborough, sir.”“Now, will you have the goodness to tell me how you found out that?”“On the map, sir.”“Bless my soul!” exclaimed the tutor. “Well, go on. At what time from starting!”“About ten o’clock, sir.”“Better and better,” said the tutor sarcastically. “Now, will you kindly explain—no, no, don’t look at your figures— Will you kindly explain how you arrived at this sapient conclusion?”Dexter hesitated, and shifted one foot over the other.“Well, sir, I am waiting,” cried Mr Limpney, in a tone of voice which made Dexter think very much resembled that of Mr Sibery when he was angry.“I—I—”“Don’t hesitate, sir. Have I not told you again and again that a gentleman never hesitates, but speaks out at once? Now then, I ask you how you arrived at this wonderful conclusion?”“I tried over and over again, sir, with thea’sandb’s, and then I thought I must guess it.”“And did you guess it?”“No, sir, I suddenly recollected what you said.”“And pray, what did I say!”“Why, sir, you always said letxrepresent the unknown quantity, and—andxstands for ten—ten o’clock.”Mr Limpney snatched the paper from the boy’s hand, and was about to tear it up, when the door opened and Dr Grayson entered.“Well,” he said pleasantly, “and how are we getting on?”“Getting on, sir?” said Mr Limpney tartly. “Will you have the goodness to ask my pupil!”“To be sure—to be sure,” said the doctor. “Well, Dexter, how are you getting on? Eh? what’s this? Oh, Algebra!” he continued, as he took the half-sheet of paper covered with the boy’s calligraphy. “Oh, Algebra! Hah! I never was much of a fist at that.”“Only simple equations, sir,” said the tutor.“Ah, yes. Simple equations. Well, Dexter, how are you getting on?”“Very badly, sir.”“Badly? Nonsense!”“But I am, sir. These things puzzle me dreadfully. I’m so stupid.”“Stupid? Nonsense! Nothing of the kind. Scarcely anybody is stupid. Men who can’t understand some things understand others. Now, let’s see. What is the question? H’m! ah! yes, oranges. H’m! ah! yes; not difficult, I suppose, when you know how. And—what’s this? London and York—stage-coaches. Nine and a half miles, nine and a quarter miles, and—er—h’m, yes, of course, where would they meet?”“Peterborough, sir,” said Mr Limpney sarcastically, and with a peculiar look at Dexter.“H’m! would they now?” said the doctor. “Well, I shouldn’t have thought it! And how is he getting on with his Latin, Mr Limpney!”“Horribly, sir!” exclaimed the tutor sharply. “I am very glad you have come, for I really feel it to be my duty to complain to you of the great want of diligence displayed by my pupil.”“Dear me! I am very sorry,” exclaimed the doctor. “Why, Dexter, my boy, how’s this? You promised me that you would be attentive.”“Yes, sir, I did.”“Then why are you not attentive?”“I do try to be, sir.”“But if you were, Mr Limpney would not have cause to complain. It’s too bad, Dexter, too bad. Do you know why Mr Limpney comes here?”“Yes, sir,” said the boy dismally; “to teach me.”“And you do not take advantage of his teaching. This is very serious. Very sad indeed.”“I am sure, Dr Grayson, that no tutor could have taken more pains than I have to impart to him the various branches of a liberal education; but after all these months of teaching it really seems to me that we are further behind. He is not a dull boy.”“Certainly not. By no means,” said the doctor.“And I do not give him tasks beyond his powers.”“I hope not, I am sure,” said the doctor.“And yet not the slightest progress is made. There is only one explanation, sir, and that is want of diligence.”“Dear me! dear me! dear me!” exclaimed the doctor. “Now, Dexter, what have you to say?”“Nothing, sir!” said the boy sadly; “only I think sometimes that my brains must be too wet.”“Good gracious! boy: what do you mean!”“I mean too wet and slippery, sir, so that they will not hold what I put into them.”The doctor looked at the tutor, and the tutor looked at the doctor, as if he considered that this was impertinence.“I am very sorry—very sorry indeed, Dexter,” said the doctor. “There, sir, you can go now. I will have a talk to Mr Limpney. We must see if we cannot bring you to a better frame of mind.”

“Now, Master Grayson,” said Mr Limpney, “what am I to say to the doctor!”

The private tutor threw himself back in his seat in the study, vacated by the doctor, while Dexter had his lessons, placed his hands behind his head, and, after wrinkling his forehead in lines from his brow to right on the top, where the hair began, he stared hard at his pupil.

“I say again, sir, what am I to tell the doctor!”

“I don’t know,” said Dexter dolefully. Then, plucking up a little spirit: “I wrote out all my history questions, and did the parsing with a little help from Miss Grayson, and I did the sum you set me all by myself.”

“Yes; but the Algebra, the Classics, and the Euclid! Where are they?”

“There they are,” said Dexter, pointing dismally to some books on the table.

“Yes, sir, there they are—on that table, when they ought to be in your head.”

“But they won’t go in my head, sir,” cried Dexter desperately.

“Nonsense, sir! you will not let them, and I warn you plainly, that if we do not make better progress, I shall tell the doctor that I will not continue to take his payment for nothing.”

“No; I say; don’t do that,” said Dexter piteously. “He wouldn’t like it.”

“I cannot help that, sir. I have my duty to perform. Anybody can do those childish history and grammatical questions; it is the classical and mathematical lessons in which I wish you to excel. Now, once more. No, no, you must not refer to the book. ‘In any right-angled triangle, the square of the side—’ Now, go on.”

Dexter took up a slate and pencil, wrinkled up his forehead as nearly like the tutor’s as he could, and slowly drew a triangle.

“Very good,” said Mr Limpney. “Now, go on.”

Dexter stared at his sketch, then helplessly at his instructor.

“I ought to writeABChere, oughtn’t I, sir?”

“Yes, of course. Go on.”

Dexter hesitated, and then put a letter at each corner.

“Well, have it that way if you like,” said Mr Limpney.

“I don’t like it that way, sir,” said Dexter. “I’ll put it your way.”

“No, no. Go on your way.”

“But I haven’t got any way, sir,” said Dexter desperately.

“Nonsense, nonsense! Go on.”

“Please, sir, I can’t. I’ve tried and tried over and over again, but the angles all get mixed up with the sides, and it is all such a muddle. I shall never learn Euclid. Is it any use?”

“Is it any use!” cried the tutor scornfully. “Look at me, sir. Has it been any use to me!”

Dexter looked at the face before him, and then right up the forehead, and wondered whether learning Euclid had made all the hair come off the top of his head.

“Well, go on.”

“I can’t, sir, please,” sighed the boy. “I know it’s something about squares, andABC, andBAC, andCAB, and—but you produce the lines.”

“But you do not produce them, sir,” cried Mr Limpney angrily; “nor anything else! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir!”

“I am,” said Dexter innocently. “I’m a dreadfully stupid boy, sir, and I don’t think I’ve got any brains.”

“Are you going through that forty-seventh problem this morning, sir?”

Dexter made a desperate attempt, floundered on a quarter of a minute, and broke down in half.

“Tut—tut—tut!” ejaculated Mr Limpney. “I’m sure you have not looked at it since I was here.”

“That I have, sir,” cried Dexter, in a voice full of eager protest. “Hours and hours, sir, I walked up and down the garden with it, and then I took the book up with me into my loft, and made a chalk triangle on the floor, and kept on saying it over and over, but as fast as I said it the words slipped out of my head again. I can’t help it, sir, I am so stupid.”

“Algebra!” said Mr Limpney, in a tone of angry disgust.

“Am I not to try and say the Euclid, sir?”

“Algebra!” cried Mr Limpney again, and he slapped the table with a thin book. “Now then, where are these simple equations?”

Dexter drew a half-sheet of foolscap paper from a folio, and rather shrinkingly placed it before his tutor, who took a pair of spectacles from his pocket, and placed them over his mild-looking eyes.

“Let me see,” he said, referring to a note-book. “The questions I gave you were: ‘A spent 2 shillings and 6 pence in oranges, and says that three of them cost as much under a shilling as nine of them cost over a shilling. How many did he buy?’”

Mr Limpney coughed, blew his nose loudly, as if it were a post-horn, and then went on—

“Secondly: ‘Two coaches start at the same time for York and London, a distance of 200 miles, travelling one at nine and a half miles an hour, the other at nine and a quarter miles; where will they meet, and in what time from starting?’”

He gave his nose a finishing touch with his handkerchief, closed his note-book, and turned to Dexter.

“Now then,” he said. “Let us see.”

He took the sheet of paper, looked at one side, turned it over and looked at the other, and then raised his eyes to Dexter’s, which avoided his gaze directly.

“What is this?” he cried.

“The equations, sir,” said Dexter humbly.

“Tut—tut—tut!” ejaculated Mr Limpney. “Was there ever such a boy?pluswhere it ought to beminus, and—why, what’s this!”

“This, sir?” said Dexter. “Half-crowns.”

“But it was to be oranges. How many did he buy? and here you say he bought ninety-seven half-crowns. I don’t know how you arrived at it, or what you mean. A man does not go to a shop to buy half-crowns. He spent half a crown in oranges.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I believe it’s sheer obstinacy. You do not want to do these equations—simple equations too, mind you! Now then, about the stage-coaches. When did they meet, and in what time from starting? Now then—there are your figures, where did they meet? Look and tell me.”

Dexter took the half-sheet of paper, stared at it very doubtfully, and then looked up.

“Well!” said Mr Limpney. “Where did they meet?”

“Peterborough, sir.”

“Where!” cried Mr Limpney in astonishment.

“Peterborough, sir.”

“Now, will you have the goodness to tell me how you found out that?”

“On the map, sir.”

“Bless my soul!” exclaimed the tutor. “Well, go on. At what time from starting!”

“About ten o’clock, sir.”

“Better and better,” said the tutor sarcastically. “Now, will you kindly explain—no, no, don’t look at your figures— Will you kindly explain how you arrived at this sapient conclusion?”

Dexter hesitated, and shifted one foot over the other.

“Well, sir, I am waiting,” cried Mr Limpney, in a tone of voice which made Dexter think very much resembled that of Mr Sibery when he was angry.

“I—I—”

“Don’t hesitate, sir. Have I not told you again and again that a gentleman never hesitates, but speaks out at once? Now then, I ask you how you arrived at this wonderful conclusion?”

“I tried over and over again, sir, with thea’sandb’s, and then I thought I must guess it.”

“And did you guess it?”

“No, sir, I suddenly recollected what you said.”

“And pray, what did I say!”

“Why, sir, you always said letxrepresent the unknown quantity, and—andxstands for ten—ten o’clock.”

Mr Limpney snatched the paper from the boy’s hand, and was about to tear it up, when the door opened and Dr Grayson entered.

“Well,” he said pleasantly, “and how are we getting on?”

“Getting on, sir?” said Mr Limpney tartly. “Will you have the goodness to ask my pupil!”

“To be sure—to be sure,” said the doctor. “Well, Dexter, how are you getting on? Eh? what’s this? Oh, Algebra!” he continued, as he took the half-sheet of paper covered with the boy’s calligraphy. “Oh, Algebra! Hah! I never was much of a fist at that.”

“Only simple equations, sir,” said the tutor.

“Ah, yes. Simple equations. Well, Dexter, how are you getting on?”

“Very badly, sir.”

“Badly? Nonsense!”

“But I am, sir. These things puzzle me dreadfully. I’m so stupid.”

“Stupid? Nonsense! Nothing of the kind. Scarcely anybody is stupid. Men who can’t understand some things understand others. Now, let’s see. What is the question? H’m! ah! yes, oranges. H’m! ah! yes; not difficult, I suppose, when you know how. And—what’s this? London and York—stage-coaches. Nine and a half miles, nine and a quarter miles, and—er—h’m, yes, of course, where would they meet?”

“Peterborough, sir,” said Mr Limpney sarcastically, and with a peculiar look at Dexter.

“H’m! would they now?” said the doctor. “Well, I shouldn’t have thought it! And how is he getting on with his Latin, Mr Limpney!”

“Horribly, sir!” exclaimed the tutor sharply. “I am very glad you have come, for I really feel it to be my duty to complain to you of the great want of diligence displayed by my pupil.”

“Dear me! I am very sorry,” exclaimed the doctor. “Why, Dexter, my boy, how’s this? You promised me that you would be attentive.”

“Yes, sir, I did.”

“Then why are you not attentive?”

“I do try to be, sir.”

“But if you were, Mr Limpney would not have cause to complain. It’s too bad, Dexter, too bad. Do you know why Mr Limpney comes here?”

“Yes, sir,” said the boy dismally; “to teach me.”

“And you do not take advantage of his teaching. This is very serious. Very sad indeed.”

“I am sure, Dr Grayson, that no tutor could have taken more pains than I have to impart to him the various branches of a liberal education; but after all these months of teaching it really seems to me that we are further behind. He is not a dull boy.”

“Certainly not. By no means,” said the doctor.

“And I do not give him tasks beyond his powers.”

“I hope not, I am sure,” said the doctor.

“And yet not the slightest progress is made. There is only one explanation, sir, and that is want of diligence.”

“Dear me! dear me! dear me!” exclaimed the doctor. “Now, Dexter, what have you to say?”

“Nothing, sir!” said the boy sadly; “only I think sometimes that my brains must be too wet.”

“Good gracious! boy: what do you mean!”

“I mean too wet and slippery, sir, so that they will not hold what I put into them.”

The doctor looked at the tutor, and the tutor looked at the doctor, as if he considered that this was impertinence.

“I am very sorry—very sorry indeed, Dexter,” said the doctor. “There, sir, you can go now. I will have a talk to Mr Limpney. We must see if we cannot bring you to a better frame of mind.”

Chapter Twenty Five.Dexter’s Dumb Friends.Dexter went out into the hall feeling exceedingly miserable, for he had left the occupants of the study talking about him, and, as the saying goes, it made his ears burn. “I couldn’t help it,” he said dolefully: “I did try. I’ll go and tell Miss Grayson all about it, and ask her to take my part.”He went into the drawing-room, but Helen was not there, so he ran upstairs, and was in the act of tapping at her bedroom door, when Maria came out of another room.It was a curious fact, but there it was: Dexter always had the effect upon Maria that a dog has upon a cat. The dog may be of the most amiable disposition, and without the slightest desire to fight or worry, but as soon as he is seen, up goes the cat’s back in an arch, the tail becomes plumose and the fur horrent, while, with dilated eyes and displayed teeth glistening, puss indulges in the bad language peculiar to cats.Maria being of a different physique did not display these signs of aggression exactly, but she invariably became vicious and metaphysically showed her teeth.“It’s of no use your knocking there, Master Dexter. Miss Helen isn’t at home, and I’m quite sure if she was that she wouldn’t approve of your trapesing up out of the garden in your muddy and dirty shoes. I’ve got enough to do here without cleaning up after you.”“But I haven’t been in the garden, Maria,” said Dexter, apologetically. “I have just come out of the study.”“Don’t I tell you she ain’t at home,” said Maria spitefully.“Do you know when she will be back!”“No, I don’t,” said Maria, and then sarcastically: “I beg your pardon,sir—no I don’t,sir.”Maria went along the passage like a roaring wind, she made so much noise with her skirts, and then hurried downstairs, as if in great haste to get hold of a door that she could bang; and as soon as she did reach one, she made so much use of her opportunity that a picture in the hall was blown sidewise, and began swinging to and fro like a great square pendulum.Dexter sighed, and felt very miserable as he stole downstairs again, and past the study door, where the murmur of voices talking, as he knew, about him made him shiver.He was obliged to pass that door to get his cap, and then he had to pass it again to get to the garden door.Mr Limpney was talking, and Mr Limpney, being accustomed to lecture and teach, spoke very loudly, so that Dexter heard him say—“I must have more authority, sir, and—”Dexter heard no more, for he fled into the garden, but he knew that having authority meant the same as it meant with Mr Sibery, and it sounded like going backwards.He felt more miserable as he went out into the garden.“Nobody hardly seems to like me, or care for me here,” he said dolefully; and, led by his inclination, he began to make his way down the long green path toward the river, half fancying that Bob Dimsted might be fishing.But before he had gone far he saw Dan’l, who was busy doing up a bed, and his appearance seemed to be the signal for the old man to put down his tools and take out his great pruning-knife, as if he meant mischief, but only to stoop from time to time to cut off a dead flower as an excuse, so it seemed, for following Dexter wherever he went.It was impossible to go about the garden under these circumstances, so Dexter went down a little way, passed round a largeWellingtonia, and walked slowly back toward the house, but, instead of entering, went by the open window of the study, where the voice of Mr Limpney could still be heard talking loudly, and, as it seemed to the listening boy, breathing out threatenings against his peace of mind. The voice sounded so loud as he went by that he half-expected to hear himself called in, and in great dread he hurried on by the conservatory, and round the house to the old stable-yard.As he reached this he could hear a peculiar hissing noise—that which Peter always made when he was washing the carriage, or the horses’ legs—to blow away the dust, so he said.For a moment Dexter felt disposed to go into the new stable and talk to Peter, but the opportunity was not tempting, and, hurrying on, the boy reached the old buildings, looked round for a moment, and, thus satisfied that he was not observed, he made a spring up to a little old window, caught the sill, scrambled up directly, and, passing through, disappeared inside.He uttered a sigh as of relief, and crossing the damp stones of the gloomy old place he reached a crazy flight of steps, which led up to a loft, on either side of which were openings, through which, when the stable had been in use, it had been customary to thrust down the stored-up hay.Dexter stopped here in the darkness for a few minutes listening, but no one was following him, and he walked along to a second ladder which led to a trap-door through which he passed, closed the trap, and then, in the long roof a place greatly resembling in shape the triangle over whose problem of squares he had that day stumbled, he seemed once more himself.His first act was to run quietly along some boards laid over the loft ceiling, and, making a jump that would not have disgraced an acrobat, he caught at a rope, pendent from the highest portion of the rafters, twisted his legs about it, and swung easily to and fro.The motion seemed to give him the greatest satisfaction, and as the impetus given died out, he dropped one foot, and with a few vigorous thrusts set himself going again till he was tired.But that was not very soon, and he did not leave off till there were sundry scratchings and squeakings, which drew his attention to his pets, all of which were eager for food.They were a heterogeneous collection, but, for the most part, exceedingly tame, and ready to allow themselves to be handled, constant familiarity with the gentle hand so often thrust into their boxes or cages having robbed it of its terrors.Dexter’s happiest moments were passed here, saving those which Helen continued to make pleasant to the boy; and as soon as his pets had drawn his attention, he took off his jacket and vest, rolled up his sleeves, and began to attend to their wants.His rabbits—two which he had bought through Bob Dimsted, who made a profit of a hundred per cent, by the transaction—were lifted out of the packing-case they occupied, and in which they were kept by the lid being closed within half an inch, by their pink ears, and immediately stood up on their hind-legs, with drooping fore-paws, their pink noses twitching as they smelt their owner’s legs, till he gave them a couple of red carrots, a portion of Dan’l’s last year’s store.The next to be taken out was a hedgehog, a prize of his own discovering, and captured one day asleep and tightly rolled up beneath one of the Portugal laurels.The minute before its box was open, the hedgehog was actively perambulating its dark prison, but the moment it was touched it became a ball, in which form it was rolled out on to the rough floor close to a flower-pot saucer of bread and milk, smuggled up directly after breakfast each morning.Next came the large grey rat, captured originally in the steel trap, and whose first act might have been anticipated. It did not resent its owner’s handling; but the moment it was set down it darted under the loose boards, and remained there until tempted forth by the smell of the bread and milk, and a tempting piece of candle-end, the former of which it helped the hedgehog to eat.The mice, which lived in the old cigar-box—not white mice, nor those furry little sleepers given to hiding away in nooks and corners for elongated naps, but the regular grey cheese-nibblers—next, after a good deal of scratching, took Dexter’s attention. As soon as the lid was open, and the boy’s hand thrust in, they ran up his fingers, and then along his arm to his shoulder, wonderfully active and enterprising with their sharp little noses, one even venturing right up the boy’s head after a pause by one ear, as if it looked like the cavernous entrance to some extremely snug hiding-place.“Quiet! Don’t tickle,” cried Dexter, as he gently put up one hand for the mouse to run upon; and every movement was made so gently that the little creatures were not alarmed, but rested gently upon the boy’s hand, as he lifted them down to where he had placed some scraps of cheese and a biscuit, all articles of provender being derived from the stores situated in his trousers-pockets, and that of his jacket.The list was not yet complete, for an old wire trap had been turned into a cage, and here dwelt Dexter’s greatest favourite—about the shabbiest-looking squirrel that ever exhibited bare patches upon its skin, and a tail from which the plume-like hair had departed.It cost five shillings, all the same, at a little broker’s shop down in the most poverty-stricken part of Coleby. It had been bought by the broker at a sale in company with a parrot, a cockatoo, and a canary, all being the property of a lady lately deceased. The canary died before he reached home, and the parrot and cockatoo, on the strength of being able to screech and say a few words, soon found owners, but the squirrel, being shabby-looking, hung on hand, or rather outside the little shop, in a canary’s cage, to which it had been promoted after its own revolving wire home had been sold, the purchaser declining to buy the squirrel because he was so shabby.The poor little brute did not improve afterwards, for he rubbed the hair off his face by constantly trying to get through either the seed or water hole, and every time he—for the sake of exercise—whisked round the cage, it was to the disadvantage of his tail, which daily grew more and more like that of Dexter’s rat.This little unfortunate might have been bought for a shilling by such a boy as Bob Dimsted, but the superfine broadcloth of Dexter’s jacket and trousers sent it up to five, and pocket-money had to be saved for weeks before it finally came into the boy’s possession, to be watched with the greatest attention to see if its hair would grow.The squirrel’s nose was thrust between the bars of the old wire rat-trap, and when this was not the case, the active little animal performed a kind of evolution suggestive of itstrying to make the letters SS in its prison, as skaters contrive them upon the ice, till the wire door was open, and with one bound it was upon its owner’s shoulder, then up in the rafters, along one beam and down another, till the first wild excitement of freedom was over, when it dropped upon the floor, and began to forage for food.Dexter was so truly happy among his little subjects that he sat down upon the edge of an old box, forgetful of other claimants while he attended to the wants of these, calling them by endearing names, giving the rabbits oats from his pockets, a handful of which grain came now and then from Peter.The boy had intuitively discovered the way to tame his various pets. Fear will accomplish a great deal with dumb animals, but the real secret of winning their confidence is quietness, the art of never alarming them, but by perfectly passive behaviour, and the most gentle of movements, accustom the timid creatures to our presence. The rest was merely habituating them to the fact that their owner was the sole source from which food was to be obtained.No one told Dexter all this; he learned it in his solitary communings with the animal world. For somehow it seems to be the law of nature that every moving thing goes about in dread of losing its life from something else which either preys upon or persecutes it. The house-sparrow, the most domestic of wild birds, gives a look-out for squalls between every peck, but it will soon learn to distinguish the person who does not molest and who feeds it, even to coming at his call, while fish, those most cold-blooded of creatures, which in an ordinary way go off like a silver flash at the sight of a shadow, will grow so familiar that they will rise to the surface and touch the white finger-tips placed level with the water.So Dexter sat smiling and almost without movement among his subjects, with the rabbits begging, the mice coming and going, now feeding and now taking a friendly walk up his legs and about his chest, and the squirrel bounding to him from time to time after nuts, which were carried up to the beam overhead, and there rasped through with its keen teeth, the rat the while watching it from the floor till furnished with another nut, as it had pounced upon one the squirrel dropped.There was yet another pet—one which had been very sluggish all through the winter, but now in fine sunshiny days fairly active, and ready upon this occasion to come forth and be fed.Dexter rose very slowly, talking gently the while to the mice, which he coaxed to his hand with a piece of cheese, and then placed them upon the floor, while he went to a corner where, turned upside down upon a slate, stood one of Dan’l’s large flower-pots, the hole being covered with a piece of perforated zinc.The pot was lifted, slate and all, turned over, and the slate lifted off, to display quite a nest of damp moss, which, as the boy watched, seemed for a few minutes uninhabited, but all at once it began to heave in one part; there was an increasing movement, as if something was gliding through it, and then from among the soft moss a smooth glistening head with two bright eyes appeared, and a curious little tongue darted out through an opening between the tightly-closed jaws.There was no doubt of the nature of the creature, which glided forth more and more till it developed itself into a snake of a bright olive green, about thirty inches long, its singular markings and mottlings looking as bright as if it had been varnished.Dexter watched the curious horizontal undulating movement of the little serpent for some time before he touched it, and then taking it up very gently, its tail hung swinging to and fro, while the front portion curved and undulated, and searched about for a place to rest till it found one upon the boy’s arm, up which it began to glide as if the warmth were pleasant, ending by nestling its head in the hollow of the elbow-joint.Meanwhile there was another rustling and movement of the moss, but nothing showed for a time.Dexter smoothed and stroked the snake, which seemed to be perfectly content when it was moved, but soon after began to insinuate its blunt rounded head here and there, as if in search of something, till its owner bore it to a large pickle-jar standing upon a beam nearly level with the floor, and upon his placing the reptile’s head on a level with the mouth, it glided in at once, inch by inch, over the side, and through Dexter’s hands, till it disappeared, the finely-graduated tail passing over the edge, and it was gone, the jar being its larder, in which were stored, ready for consumption, half a dozen of Dan’l’s greatest enemies—the slugs.As Dexter turned to the heap of moss once more, at which one of the rabbits was sniffing, there was another heaving movement, followed by a sharp rap on the boards, the alarm signal of the rabbit which bounded away, while a blunt, broad head and two glistening eyes slowly appeared; then what looked like a short sturdy arm with outstretched fingers pressed down the moss, then another arm began to work, and by slow degrees a huge toad, which seemed to be as broad as it was long, extricated itself from the soft vegetable fibre, and crept away on to the boards, all in the most deliberate manner, as if it was too fat to move fast.“Hallo, Sam!” said Dexter, laughing. “Why, you’ve been asleep for a month.”The toad seemed to be looking up at him in an unblinking fashion, but did not move, and Dexter stooped down to touch it, but the moment his hand approached, the reptile rose on its legs, arched its back, lowered its head, swelled itself up, and uttered a low, hissing sound.Dexter waited for a moment, and then softly began to scratch its side, the result evidently being so satisfactory to the toad that it began by leaning over toward the rubbing fingers, and then more and more, as if the sensation were agreeable in the extreme.A little coaxing then induced it to crawl slowly into its master’s hand, which it more than filled, sitting there perfectly contented till it was placed in another pickle-jar to feed, this one being furnished with wood-lice, pill millipedes, and other luxuries dear to a toad.The striking of a clock roused Dexter from his communings with his pets, and hastily restoring them to their various habitations, he resumed his jacket, and after a quick glance round descended the steps.“I couldn’t take them with me,” he said sadly, as he stood for a few minutes in the old dark stable; “and if I left them without setting them at liberty they would all die.”

Dexter went out into the hall feeling exceedingly miserable, for he had left the occupants of the study talking about him, and, as the saying goes, it made his ears burn. “I couldn’t help it,” he said dolefully: “I did try. I’ll go and tell Miss Grayson all about it, and ask her to take my part.”

He went into the drawing-room, but Helen was not there, so he ran upstairs, and was in the act of tapping at her bedroom door, when Maria came out of another room.

It was a curious fact, but there it was: Dexter always had the effect upon Maria that a dog has upon a cat. The dog may be of the most amiable disposition, and without the slightest desire to fight or worry, but as soon as he is seen, up goes the cat’s back in an arch, the tail becomes plumose and the fur horrent, while, with dilated eyes and displayed teeth glistening, puss indulges in the bad language peculiar to cats.

Maria being of a different physique did not display these signs of aggression exactly, but she invariably became vicious and metaphysically showed her teeth.

“It’s of no use your knocking there, Master Dexter. Miss Helen isn’t at home, and I’m quite sure if she was that she wouldn’t approve of your trapesing up out of the garden in your muddy and dirty shoes. I’ve got enough to do here without cleaning up after you.”

“But I haven’t been in the garden, Maria,” said Dexter, apologetically. “I have just come out of the study.”

“Don’t I tell you she ain’t at home,” said Maria spitefully.

“Do you know when she will be back!”

“No, I don’t,” said Maria, and then sarcastically: “I beg your pardon,sir—no I don’t,sir.”

Maria went along the passage like a roaring wind, she made so much noise with her skirts, and then hurried downstairs, as if in great haste to get hold of a door that she could bang; and as soon as she did reach one, she made so much use of her opportunity that a picture in the hall was blown sidewise, and began swinging to and fro like a great square pendulum.

Dexter sighed, and felt very miserable as he stole downstairs again, and past the study door, where the murmur of voices talking, as he knew, about him made him shiver.

He was obliged to pass that door to get his cap, and then he had to pass it again to get to the garden door.

Mr Limpney was talking, and Mr Limpney, being accustomed to lecture and teach, spoke very loudly, so that Dexter heard him say—

“I must have more authority, sir, and—”

Dexter heard no more, for he fled into the garden, but he knew that having authority meant the same as it meant with Mr Sibery, and it sounded like going backwards.

He felt more miserable as he went out into the garden.

“Nobody hardly seems to like me, or care for me here,” he said dolefully; and, led by his inclination, he began to make his way down the long green path toward the river, half fancying that Bob Dimsted might be fishing.

But before he had gone far he saw Dan’l, who was busy doing up a bed, and his appearance seemed to be the signal for the old man to put down his tools and take out his great pruning-knife, as if he meant mischief, but only to stoop from time to time to cut off a dead flower as an excuse, so it seemed, for following Dexter wherever he went.

It was impossible to go about the garden under these circumstances, so Dexter went down a little way, passed round a largeWellingtonia, and walked slowly back toward the house, but, instead of entering, went by the open window of the study, where the voice of Mr Limpney could still be heard talking loudly, and, as it seemed to the listening boy, breathing out threatenings against his peace of mind. The voice sounded so loud as he went by that he half-expected to hear himself called in, and in great dread he hurried on by the conservatory, and round the house to the old stable-yard.

As he reached this he could hear a peculiar hissing noise—that which Peter always made when he was washing the carriage, or the horses’ legs—to blow away the dust, so he said.

For a moment Dexter felt disposed to go into the new stable and talk to Peter, but the opportunity was not tempting, and, hurrying on, the boy reached the old buildings, looked round for a moment, and, thus satisfied that he was not observed, he made a spring up to a little old window, caught the sill, scrambled up directly, and, passing through, disappeared inside.

He uttered a sigh as of relief, and crossing the damp stones of the gloomy old place he reached a crazy flight of steps, which led up to a loft, on either side of which were openings, through which, when the stable had been in use, it had been customary to thrust down the stored-up hay.

Dexter stopped here in the darkness for a few minutes listening, but no one was following him, and he walked along to a second ladder which led to a trap-door through which he passed, closed the trap, and then, in the long roof a place greatly resembling in shape the triangle over whose problem of squares he had that day stumbled, he seemed once more himself.

His first act was to run quietly along some boards laid over the loft ceiling, and, making a jump that would not have disgraced an acrobat, he caught at a rope, pendent from the highest portion of the rafters, twisted his legs about it, and swung easily to and fro.

The motion seemed to give him the greatest satisfaction, and as the impetus given died out, he dropped one foot, and with a few vigorous thrusts set himself going again till he was tired.

But that was not very soon, and he did not leave off till there were sundry scratchings and squeakings, which drew his attention to his pets, all of which were eager for food.

They were a heterogeneous collection, but, for the most part, exceedingly tame, and ready to allow themselves to be handled, constant familiarity with the gentle hand so often thrust into their boxes or cages having robbed it of its terrors.

Dexter’s happiest moments were passed here, saving those which Helen continued to make pleasant to the boy; and as soon as his pets had drawn his attention, he took off his jacket and vest, rolled up his sleeves, and began to attend to their wants.

His rabbits—two which he had bought through Bob Dimsted, who made a profit of a hundred per cent, by the transaction—were lifted out of the packing-case they occupied, and in which they were kept by the lid being closed within half an inch, by their pink ears, and immediately stood up on their hind-legs, with drooping fore-paws, their pink noses twitching as they smelt their owner’s legs, till he gave them a couple of red carrots, a portion of Dan’l’s last year’s store.

The next to be taken out was a hedgehog, a prize of his own discovering, and captured one day asleep and tightly rolled up beneath one of the Portugal laurels.

The minute before its box was open, the hedgehog was actively perambulating its dark prison, but the moment it was touched it became a ball, in which form it was rolled out on to the rough floor close to a flower-pot saucer of bread and milk, smuggled up directly after breakfast each morning.

Next came the large grey rat, captured originally in the steel trap, and whose first act might have been anticipated. It did not resent its owner’s handling; but the moment it was set down it darted under the loose boards, and remained there until tempted forth by the smell of the bread and milk, and a tempting piece of candle-end, the former of which it helped the hedgehog to eat.

The mice, which lived in the old cigar-box—not white mice, nor those furry little sleepers given to hiding away in nooks and corners for elongated naps, but the regular grey cheese-nibblers—next, after a good deal of scratching, took Dexter’s attention. As soon as the lid was open, and the boy’s hand thrust in, they ran up his fingers, and then along his arm to his shoulder, wonderfully active and enterprising with their sharp little noses, one even venturing right up the boy’s head after a pause by one ear, as if it looked like the cavernous entrance to some extremely snug hiding-place.

“Quiet! Don’t tickle,” cried Dexter, as he gently put up one hand for the mouse to run upon; and every movement was made so gently that the little creatures were not alarmed, but rested gently upon the boy’s hand, as he lifted them down to where he had placed some scraps of cheese and a biscuit, all articles of provender being derived from the stores situated in his trousers-pockets, and that of his jacket.

The list was not yet complete, for an old wire trap had been turned into a cage, and here dwelt Dexter’s greatest favourite—about the shabbiest-looking squirrel that ever exhibited bare patches upon its skin, and a tail from which the plume-like hair had departed.

It cost five shillings, all the same, at a little broker’s shop down in the most poverty-stricken part of Coleby. It had been bought by the broker at a sale in company with a parrot, a cockatoo, and a canary, all being the property of a lady lately deceased. The canary died before he reached home, and the parrot and cockatoo, on the strength of being able to screech and say a few words, soon found owners, but the squirrel, being shabby-looking, hung on hand, or rather outside the little shop, in a canary’s cage, to which it had been promoted after its own revolving wire home had been sold, the purchaser declining to buy the squirrel because he was so shabby.

The poor little brute did not improve afterwards, for he rubbed the hair off his face by constantly trying to get through either the seed or water hole, and every time he—for the sake of exercise—whisked round the cage, it was to the disadvantage of his tail, which daily grew more and more like that of Dexter’s rat.

This little unfortunate might have been bought for a shilling by such a boy as Bob Dimsted, but the superfine broadcloth of Dexter’s jacket and trousers sent it up to five, and pocket-money had to be saved for weeks before it finally came into the boy’s possession, to be watched with the greatest attention to see if its hair would grow.

The squirrel’s nose was thrust between the bars of the old wire rat-trap, and when this was not the case, the active little animal performed a kind of evolution suggestive of itstrying to make the letters SS in its prison, as skaters contrive them upon the ice, till the wire door was open, and with one bound it was upon its owner’s shoulder, then up in the rafters, along one beam and down another, till the first wild excitement of freedom was over, when it dropped upon the floor, and began to forage for food.

Dexter was so truly happy among his little subjects that he sat down upon the edge of an old box, forgetful of other claimants while he attended to the wants of these, calling them by endearing names, giving the rabbits oats from his pockets, a handful of which grain came now and then from Peter.

The boy had intuitively discovered the way to tame his various pets. Fear will accomplish a great deal with dumb animals, but the real secret of winning their confidence is quietness, the art of never alarming them, but by perfectly passive behaviour, and the most gentle of movements, accustom the timid creatures to our presence. The rest was merely habituating them to the fact that their owner was the sole source from which food was to be obtained.

No one told Dexter all this; he learned it in his solitary communings with the animal world. For somehow it seems to be the law of nature that every moving thing goes about in dread of losing its life from something else which either preys upon or persecutes it. The house-sparrow, the most domestic of wild birds, gives a look-out for squalls between every peck, but it will soon learn to distinguish the person who does not molest and who feeds it, even to coming at his call, while fish, those most cold-blooded of creatures, which in an ordinary way go off like a silver flash at the sight of a shadow, will grow so familiar that they will rise to the surface and touch the white finger-tips placed level with the water.

So Dexter sat smiling and almost without movement among his subjects, with the rabbits begging, the mice coming and going, now feeding and now taking a friendly walk up his legs and about his chest, and the squirrel bounding to him from time to time after nuts, which were carried up to the beam overhead, and there rasped through with its keen teeth, the rat the while watching it from the floor till furnished with another nut, as it had pounced upon one the squirrel dropped.

There was yet another pet—one which had been very sluggish all through the winter, but now in fine sunshiny days fairly active, and ready upon this occasion to come forth and be fed.

Dexter rose very slowly, talking gently the while to the mice, which he coaxed to his hand with a piece of cheese, and then placed them upon the floor, while he went to a corner where, turned upside down upon a slate, stood one of Dan’l’s large flower-pots, the hole being covered with a piece of perforated zinc.

The pot was lifted, slate and all, turned over, and the slate lifted off, to display quite a nest of damp moss, which, as the boy watched, seemed for a few minutes uninhabited, but all at once it began to heave in one part; there was an increasing movement, as if something was gliding through it, and then from among the soft moss a smooth glistening head with two bright eyes appeared, and a curious little tongue darted out through an opening between the tightly-closed jaws.

There was no doubt of the nature of the creature, which glided forth more and more till it developed itself into a snake of a bright olive green, about thirty inches long, its singular markings and mottlings looking as bright as if it had been varnished.

Dexter watched the curious horizontal undulating movement of the little serpent for some time before he touched it, and then taking it up very gently, its tail hung swinging to and fro, while the front portion curved and undulated, and searched about for a place to rest till it found one upon the boy’s arm, up which it began to glide as if the warmth were pleasant, ending by nestling its head in the hollow of the elbow-joint.

Meanwhile there was another rustling and movement of the moss, but nothing showed for a time.

Dexter smoothed and stroked the snake, which seemed to be perfectly content when it was moved, but soon after began to insinuate its blunt rounded head here and there, as if in search of something, till its owner bore it to a large pickle-jar standing upon a beam nearly level with the floor, and upon his placing the reptile’s head on a level with the mouth, it glided in at once, inch by inch, over the side, and through Dexter’s hands, till it disappeared, the finely-graduated tail passing over the edge, and it was gone, the jar being its larder, in which were stored, ready for consumption, half a dozen of Dan’l’s greatest enemies—the slugs.

As Dexter turned to the heap of moss once more, at which one of the rabbits was sniffing, there was another heaving movement, followed by a sharp rap on the boards, the alarm signal of the rabbit which bounded away, while a blunt, broad head and two glistening eyes slowly appeared; then what looked like a short sturdy arm with outstretched fingers pressed down the moss, then another arm began to work, and by slow degrees a huge toad, which seemed to be as broad as it was long, extricated itself from the soft vegetable fibre, and crept away on to the boards, all in the most deliberate manner, as if it was too fat to move fast.

“Hallo, Sam!” said Dexter, laughing. “Why, you’ve been asleep for a month.”

The toad seemed to be looking up at him in an unblinking fashion, but did not move, and Dexter stooped down to touch it, but the moment his hand approached, the reptile rose on its legs, arched its back, lowered its head, swelled itself up, and uttered a low, hissing sound.

Dexter waited for a moment, and then softly began to scratch its side, the result evidently being so satisfactory to the toad that it began by leaning over toward the rubbing fingers, and then more and more, as if the sensation were agreeable in the extreme.

A little coaxing then induced it to crawl slowly into its master’s hand, which it more than filled, sitting there perfectly contented till it was placed in another pickle-jar to feed, this one being furnished with wood-lice, pill millipedes, and other luxuries dear to a toad.

The striking of a clock roused Dexter from his communings with his pets, and hastily restoring them to their various habitations, he resumed his jacket, and after a quick glance round descended the steps.

“I couldn’t take them with me,” he said sadly, as he stood for a few minutes in the old dark stable; “and if I left them without setting them at liberty they would all die.”

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