There was a painful silence in the doctor’s library for a few minutes.
“‘Patience combined with affectionate treatment,’” read the doctor again. “Helen, I believe that man has beaten and ill-used poor Dexter till he could bear it no longer, and has run away.”
“I’m sure of it, papa,” cried Helen excitedly. “Do you think he will come back!”
“I don’t know,” said the doctor. “Yes, I do. No; he would be afraid. I’d give something to know how to go to work to find him.”
“If you please, sir, may I come in?” said a pleasant soft voice.
“Yes, yes, Millett, of course. What is it?”
“Dan’l has been to say, sir, that he caught sight of that boy, Bob Dimsted, crawling in the garden last night when it was dark, and chased him, but the boy climbed one of the trained pear-trees, got on the wall, and escaped.”
“Confound the young rascal!” cried the doctor.
“And I’m sorry to say, sir, that two blankets have been stolen off Master Dexter’s bed.”
There was a week of watching, but Bob Dimsted was not caught, and the doctor sternly said that he would not place the matter in the hands of the police. But all the same the little pilferings went on, and Mrs Millett came one morning, with tears in her eyes, to say that she couldn’t bear it any longer, for only last night a whole quartern loaf had been taken through the larder bars, and, with it, one of the large white jars of black-currant jam.