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.