“You knows the way to fish, don’t you? Goes in after them.”
Dexter laughed, and went on down to the river, examined the place where the branch had broken off, and then gazed down into the clear water at the gliding fish, which seemed to move here and there with no more effort than a wave of the tail.
His next look was across the river in search of Bob Dimsted; but the shabby-looking boy was not fishing, and nowhere in sight either up or down the stream.
Dexter turned away with another sigh. The garden was very beautiful, but it seemed dull just then. He wanted some one to talk to, and if he went again to Peter, old Dan’l would shout and find fault.
“It don’t matter which way I go,” said Dexter, after a few minutes, during which time he had changed his place in the garden again and again; “that old man is always watching me to see what I am going to do.”
He looked round at the flowers, at the coming fruit, at everything in turn, but the place seemed desolate, and in spite of himself he began thinking of his old companions at the great school, and wondering what they were doing.
Then he recalled that he was to go to Sir James Danby’s soon, and he began to think of Edgar.
“I shan’t like that chap,” he said to himself. “I wonder whether he’ll like me.”
He was standing thinking deeply and gazing straight before him at the high red brick wall when he suddenly started, for there was a heavy step on the gravel.
Dan’l had come along the grass edge till he was close to the boy, and then stepped off heavily on to the path.