“Oh, I say, please, sir, don’t hit a fellow with a thing like that.”
“Bah!” ejaculated the doctor, throwing down the prop, which fell on the grass with a loud thud. “Copestake!—Peter!—take those things away, and send for the glazier to put in those squares. Here, Dexter; this way.”
The doctor strode away half a dozen steps, and then stopped and gazed down.
“Where is your jacket, sir? and where are your boots?”
“I tucked ’em under that tree there that lies on the grass,” said the boy, pointing to a small cedar.
“Fetch them out, sir.”
Dexter went toward the tree, and his first instinct was to make a dash and escape, anywhere, so as to avoid punishment, but as he stooped down and drew his articles of attire from beneath the broad frond-like branches, he caught sight of Helen’s eyes fixed upon him, so full of trouble and amusement that he walked back, put his hand in the doctor’s, and walked with him into the house.
Helen followed, and as she passed through the window Dan’l turned to Peter with—
“I say, who is he?”
“I dunno. Looks like a young invalid.”