He went off grumbling to another part of the garden, and Dexter felt disposed to go back indoors.

"He's watching me all the time," he thought to himself; "just as if I was going to steal something. He don't like me."

Dexter strolled on, and heard directly a regular rustling noise, which he recognised at once as the sound made by a broom sweeping gra.s.s, and sure enough, just inside the great laurel hedge, where a little green lawn was cut off from the rest of the garden, there was Peter Cribb, at his usual pursuit, sweeping all the sweet-scented cuttings of the gra.s.s.

Peter was a sweeper who was always on the look-out for an excuse. He was, so to speak, chained to that broom so many hours a day, and if he had been a galley slave, and the broom an oar, it is morally certain that he would have been beaten with many stripes, for he would have left off rowing whenever he could.

"Well, squire," he said, laying his hands one over the other on the top of the broom-handle.

"Well, Peter. How's the horse?"

"Grinding his corn, and enjoying himself," said Peter. "He's like you: a lucky one--plenty to eat and nothing to do."

"Don't you take him out for exercise?" said Dexter.

"Course I do. So do you go out for exercise."

"Think I could ride?" said Dexter.

"Dersay you could, if you could hold on."

"I should like to try."

"Go along with you!"

"But I should. Will you let me try!"

Peter shook his head, and began to examine his half-worn broom.

"I could hold on. Let me go with you next time!"

"Oh, but I go at ha'-past six, hours before you're awake. Young gents don't get up till eight."

"Why, I always wake at a quarter to six," said Dexter. "It seems the proper time to get up. I say, let me go with you."

"Here, I say, you, Peter," shouted Dan'l; "are you a-going to sweep that bit o' lawn, or am I to come and do it myself. Gawsiping about!"

"Hear that?" said Peter, beginning to make his broom swing round again.

"There, you'd better be off, or you'll get me in a row."

Dexter sighed, for he seemed to be always the cause of trouble.

"I say," said Peter, as the boy was moving off; "going fishing again?"

"No; not now."

"You knows the way to fish, don't you? Goes in after them."

Dexter laughed, and went on down to the river, examined the place where the branch had broken off, and then gazed down into the clear water at the gliding fish, which seemed to move here and there with no more effort than a wave of the tail.

His next look was across the river in search of Bob Dimsted; but the shabby-looking boy was not fishing, and nowhere in sight either up or down the stream.

Dexter turned away with another sigh. The garden was very beautiful, but it seemed dull just then. He wanted some one to talk to, and if he went again to Peter, old Dan'l would shout and find fault.

"It don't matter which way I go," said Dexter, after a few minutes, during which time he had changed his place in the garden again and again; "that old man is always watching me to see what I am going to do."

He looked round at the flowers, at the coming fruit, at everything in turn, but the place seemed desolate, and in spite of himself he began thinking of his old companions at the great school, and wondering what they were doing.

Then he recalled that he was to go to Sir James Danby's soon, and he began to think of Edgar.

"I shan't like that chap," he said to himself. "I wonder whether he'll like me."

He was standing thinking deeply and gazing straight before him at the high red brick wall when he suddenly started, for there was a heavy step on the gravel.

Dan'l had come along the gra.s.s edge till he was close to the boy, and then stepped off heavily on to the path.

"They aren't ripe yet," he said with an unpleasant leer; "and you'd best let them alone."

Dexter walked quickly away, with his face scarlet, and a bitter feeling of annoyance which he could not master.

For the next quarter of an hour he was continually changing his position in the garden, but always to wake up to the fact that the old gardener was carrying out a purpose which he had confided to Peter.

This the boy soon learned, for after a time he suddenly encountered the groom, still busy with the broom.

"Why, hullo, youngster!" he said; "what's the matter!"

"Nothing," said Dexter, with his face growing a deeper scarlet.

"Oh yes, there is; I can see," cried Peter.

"Well, he's always watching me, and pretending that I'm getting into mischief, or trying to pick the fruit."

"Hah!" said Peter, with a laugh; "he told me he meant to keep his eye on you."

Just then there was a call for Dan'l from the direction of the house, and Mrs Millett was seen beyond a laurel hedge.

Directly after the old man went up to the house, and it seemed to Dexter as if a cloud had pa.s.sed from across the sun. The garden appeared to have grown suddenly brighter, and the boy began to whistle as he went about in an aimless way, looking here and there for something to take his attention.

He was not long in finding it, for just at the back of the dense yew hedge there were half a dozen old-fashioned round-topped hives, whose occupants were busy going to and fro, save that at the hive nearest the cross-path a heavy cl.u.s.ter, betokening a late swarm, was hanging outside, looking like a double handful of bees.

Dexter knew a rhyme beginning--

"How doth the little busy bee--"

and he knew that bees made honey; but that was all he did know about their habits, save that they lived in hives; and he stood and stared at the cl.u.s.ter hanging outside.

"Why, they can't get in," he said to himself. "Hole's stopped up."