"I dunno. Looks like a young invalid."

"Ay, that's it," said the gardener. "Hair cut short, and looks very white. He's a young luneattic come for the governor to cure. Well, if that's going to be it, I shall resign my place."

"Oh, I wouldn't do that," said Peter, who was moved to say it from the same feeling which induced the old woman to pray for long life to the tyrant--for fear they might get a worse to rule over them. "Doctor'll make him better. Rum-looking little chap."

As they spoke, they were carrying the ladder and board round to the back of the house, and, in doing so, they had to pa.s.s the kitchen door, where Maria was standing.

"See that game!" said Peter.

"Oh yes. I saw him out of one of the bedroom windows."

"Young patient, ain't he?" said Peter.

"Patient! Why, he's a young workhouse boy as master's took a fancy to.

I never see such games, for my part."

Peter whistled, and the head-gardener repeated his determination to resign.

"And he'll never get another gardener like me," he said.

"That's a true word, Mr Copestake, sir," said Peter seriously. And then to himself: "No, there never was another made like you, you old tyrant. I wish you would go, and then we should have a little peace."

CHAPTER TEN.

DEXTER IS VERY SORRY.

Dexter walked into the doctor's study, and Helen came as rearguard behind.

"Now, sir," said the doctor sternly, "I suppose you know that I'm very much displeased with you."

"Yes, sir, of course you are," said the boy seriously. "I don't wonder at it."

Dr Grayson bit his lip.

"Are you going to cane me?"

"Wait and see, sir. Now, first thing, you go up to your room and wash your hands, and dress yourself properly. Then come down to me."

Dexter glanced at Helen, but she kept her eyes averted, and the boy went slowly out, keeping his gaze fixed upon her all the time.

"A young scamp!" said the doctor, as soon as they were alone. "I'm afraid I shall have to send him back."

Helen looked at him.

"I expected him to be a little wild," continued the doctor; "but he is beyond bearing. What do you say, my dear? Too bad, is he not?"

Helen was silent for a few moments.

"It is too soon to say that, papa," she replied at last. "There is a great deal in the boy that is most distasteful, but, on the other hand, I cannot help liking the little fellow."

"Yes; that's just it," cried the doctor. "I feel as if I should like to give him a sound thrashing, but, at the same time, I feel that I could not raise a hand against him. What's to be done? Shall I send him back, and choose another?"

"No, no, papa. If you intend to adopt a boy, let us keep this one, and see what he turns out."

Just then the bell rang for lunch, and a minute after Dexter came running down into the room, with a smile, as if nothing was the matter, shining out of his eyes.

"I say, wasn't that the dinner-bell?" he cried. "I am so precious hungry."

"And have you no apologies to make, sir? Aren't you sorry you were so mischievous, and broke the top of my vinery?"

"Yes; I'm very sorry, sir; but it was that old chap's fault. He made me run and slip. I say, what would he have done if he had caught me?"

"Punished you, or brought you in to me, sir. Now, then, I've been talking about sending you back to the workhouse. You are too mischievous for me."

"Send me back!"

"Yes, of course. I want a boy who will be good."

"Well, I will."

"So you said before, but you are not good. You are about as mischievous a young rascal as I ever saw in my life."

"Yes, sir; that's what Mr Sibery used to say," replied the boy quietly.

"I don't want to be."

"Then why are you, sir?"

The boy shook his head, and looked up at the doctor thoughtfully.

"I suppose it's in me," he said.

Helen bit her lip, and turned away, while her father gave his head a fierce rub, as if he was extremely vexed.

"Shall you send me back, sir!" said Dexter at last; and his look was full of wistful appeal.

"Well, I shall think about it," said the doctor.

"I don't want to go," said the boy thoughtfully. "You don't want me to go, do you?" he continued, turning to Helen.

"Here, the lunch is getting cold," said the doctor. "Come along."

As he spoke he half-pushed Dexter before him, and pointed to a chair.

The boy hesitated, but a sharp command from the doctor made him scuffle into his place, after which the grace was said, and the dinner commenced for Dexter--the lunch for his patron and friend.

Roast fowl most delicately cooked, with a delicious sauce; in addition to that made with bread; and there was an ornamentation round the dish of tempting sausages.