“Dexter!” roared the doctor; “go back and knock that young blackguard’s head off. Quick! Give it him! No mercy!”
Dexter flew back, but Bob flew faster to the hedge, where he leaped and stuck; Dexter overtaking him then, and administering one punch which drove his adversary through, and he got up and ran on again.
“Hi! Dexter!” shouted the doctor; and the boy returned slowly, as Peter stood screwing up his face to look serious, and Dan’l gave his master one of his cast-iron smiles.
“Well, yes, Dan’l, it was excusable under the circumstances,” said the doctor. “But I do not approve of fighting, and—er—don’t say anything about it indoors.”
“No, sir, cert’nly not, sir,” said the men, in a breath; and just then Dexter stood on the far bank looking anxiously across.
“Mind how you come,” cried the doctor. “That’s right; be careful. Give me your hand. Bless my soul! the skin’s off your knuckles. We shall have to tell Miss Grayson after all.”
Dexter looked up at him wildly. He could not speak.
“Better put that cistern back,” said the doctor quickly; and then to Dexter—
“There, slip on your things, and go up to your room and bathe your face and hands. No, stop! I’ll go on first, and shut the drawing-room door.”
The doctor hurried away, and as soon as he was out of sight, Dexter, who had slowly put on his waistcoat and jacket, gazed disconsolately at the two men.