Dexter sighed. Then a very natural boyish thought came into his head.
“I wonder what’s for dinner,” he said to himself; but at the same time he knew that it must be a long while yet to dinner-time, and, sighing once more, he walked slowly down the path, found himself near the river again, and went and sat on a stump close to the boat-house, where he could look into the clear water, and see the fish.
It was very interesting to him to watch the little things gliding here and there, and he wished that he had a rod and line to try for some of them, when all at once he started, for a well-aimed stone struck him upon the side of the head, and as it reached its goal, and Dexter started up angrily, there was a laugh and a rustle among the shrubs.
As the pain went off, so did Dexter’s anger, and he reseated himself upon the stump, thinking, with his young wits sharpened by his early life.
“I don’t call this coming out to enjoy myself,” he said drily. “Wonder whether all young gentleman behave like this?”
Then he began thinking about Sam Stubbs, a boy at the workhouse school, who was a terrible bully and tyrant, knocking all his companions about.
But the sight of the clean-looking well-varnished boat, floating so easily in the shade of the roof of its house, took his attention, and he began thinking of how he should like a boat like that to push off into the stream, and go floating along in the sunshine, looking down at the fish, and fastening up every now and then to the overhanging trees. It would be glorious, he thought.
“I wish Dr Grayson had a boat,” he thought. “I could learn to row it, and—”
Whack!
Dexter jumped up again, tingling with pain; and then with his face scarlet he sat down once more writhing involuntarily, and drawing his breath hard, as there was a mocking laugh.