Soon this red began to glow as if gradually getting hotter. Then another and another speck appeared—then scores, fifties, hundreds—and Dexter stood bathed in the rich light which played through the curling river mists, as the whole of the eastern heavens became damasked with flecks of gold.
In a comparatively short time these faded, and a warm glow spread around the meadows and wild country on either side, where empurpled hills rose higher and higher, grew more and more glorious, and the river sparkled and danced and ran in smooth curves, formed eddies, and further in advance became one wonderful stretch of dancing golden ripples, so beautiful that Dexter stood on the thwart with the pole balanced in his hand wondering whether everything could be as beautiful at Coleby as he saw it now.
Then there was a sudden shock, so sharp that he could not save himself, but took a kind of header, not into the water, but right on to Bob Dimsted, landing with his knees in Bob’s softest portion, and the pole right across his neck, just as Bob tried to rise, and uttered a tremendous yell. The wonder was that the end of the boat-hook had not gone through the bottom of the boat.
Chapter Thirty Two.
Master and Slave.
“Eee! I say! Whatcher doing of!” roared Bob, beginning to struggle, as Dexter contrived to get his feet once more.
“I—I couldn’t help it, Bob,” he said, in a shame-faced way.
“Couldn’t help it! Here, don’tcher try to wake me again that way.”