“Oh yes; your ball.”
“But I haven’t got a ball.”
“Then you shall have one,” said Helen. “We’ll buy one as we go back. There, it was a mistake, Dexter, so remember not to do it again.”
They were now on the banks of the glancing river, the hay having been lately cut, and the way open right to the water’s edge.
“Yes, I’ll remember,” said Dexter. “Look—look at the fish. Oh, don’t I wish I had a rod and line! Here, wait a moment.”
He was down on his chest, reaching with his hand in the shallow water.
“Why, Dexter,” said Helen, laughing, “you surely did not think that you could catch fishes with your hand!”
“No,” said the boy, going cautiously forward and striking an attitude; “but you see me hit one.”
As he spoke he threw a large round pebble which he had picked out of the river-bed with great force, making the water splash up, while, instead of sinking, the stone skipped from the surface, dipped again, and then disappeared.
As the stone made its last splash, the reality of what he had done seemed to come to him, and he turned scarlet as he met Helen’s eyes.