Dexter rubbed his head again thoughtfully.
“I haven’t torn my clothes this week, and I haven’t been down on my knees; and I haven’t been on the top of the wall, and I did want to ever so badly.”
“No, Dexter; but you climbed right to the top of the big pear-tree,” said Helen quickly; “and it was a terribly dangerous thing to do.”
“Now you’ve begun at me!” said the boy in a lachrymose tone. “I’m afraid I’m a regular bad one, and you’d better send me back again.”
The doctor looked at Helen, and she returned the glance with a very serious aspect, but there was a merry light in her eyes, as she saw her father’s discomfiture.
He read her looks aright, and got up from his seat with an impatient ejaculation.
“I’m going out, my dear,” he said shortly.
“Are you going to get a cane!” cried Dexter excitedly. “I say, don’t, and I will try so hard to do what you want.”
“I was not going to buy a cane, sir,” said the doctor, who was half-angry, half-amused by the boy’s earnestness. “One of my walking-sticks would do very well when I give you a good sound thrashing. Here, Helen, my dear, you can speak to Dexter a bit. I will have another talk to him to-night.”
The doctor left the room, and Dexter stood listening as his step was heard in the hall. Then the door closed, and Helen bent thoughtfully over her work, while the boy stood first on one foot, then on the other, watching her. The window was open, the sun shone, and the garden with its lawn and bright flowers looked wonderfully tempting, but duty and the disgrace he was in acted as two chains to hold the boy there.