"It's of no good," said Dexter suddenly, and with a look of despair upon his face. "I'm so terribly stupid."

"I'm afraid, Dexter," said Helen merrily, "if you are stupid, I am too."

"What! can't you do it!"

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Dexter. Algebra is beyond me."

"Hooray!" cried the boy, leaping from his seat, and dancing round the room, ending by relieving his excitement by turning head over heels on the hearthrug.

"Is that to show your delight at my ignorance, Dexter?" said Helen, smiling.

"No," he cried, colouring up, as he stood before her out of breath. "It was because I was glad, because I was not so stupid as I thought."

"You are not stupid, Dexter," said Helen, smiling. "We must go back to the beginning, and try and find out how to do these things. Does not Mr Limpney explain them to you?"

"Yes," said Dexter dismally, "but when he has done, I don't seem to see what he means, and it does make me so miserable."

"Poor boy!" said Helen gently. "There, you must not make your studies a trouble. They ought to be a great pleasure."

"They would be if you taught me," said Dexter eagerly. "I say, do ask Dr Grayson to send Mr Limpney away, and you help me. I will try so hard."

"A pretty tutor I should make," cried Helen, laughing. "Why, Dexter, I am as ignorant, you see, as you!"

Dexter's face was a study. He seemed hurt and pleased at the same time, and his face was full of reproach as he said--

"Ignorant as me! Oh!"

"There, I'll speak to papa about your lessons, and he will, I have no doubt, say a few words to Mr Limpney about trying to make your tasks easier, and explaining them a little more."

"Will you!" cried the boy excitedly, and he caught her hands in his.

"Certainly I will, Dexter."

"Then I will try so hard, and I'll write down on pieces of paper all the things you don't want me to do, and carry 'em in my pockets, and take them out and look at them sometimes."

"What!" cried Helen, laughing.

"Well, that's what Mr Limpney told me to do, so that I should not forget the things he taught me. Look here!"

He thrust his hand into his trousers-pocket, and brought out eagerly a crumpled-up piece of paper, but as he did so a number of oats flew out all over the room.

"O Dexter! what a pocket! Now what could you do with oats?"

"They were only for my rabbits," he said. "There, those are all nouns that end in _us_, feminine nouns. Look, _tribus, acus, porticus_.

Isn't it stupid?"

"It is the construction of the language, Dexter."

"Yes; that's what Mr Limpney said. There, I shall put down everything you don't like me to do on a piece of paper that way; and take it out and read it, so as to remember it."

"Try another way, Dexter."

"How?" he said wonderingly.

"By fixing these things in your heart, and not on paper," Helen said, and she left the room.

"Well, that's the way to learn them by heart," said the boy to himself thoughtfully, as with brow knit he seated himself by a table, took a sheet of paper, and began diligently to write in a fairly neat hand, making entry after entry; and the princ.i.p.al of these was--

"Bob Dimsted: not to talk to him."

The next day the doctor had a chat with Mr Limpney respecting Dexter and his progress.

"You see," said the doctor, "the boy has not had the advantages lads have at good schools; and he feels these lessons to be extremely difficult. Give him time."

"Oh, certainly, Doctor Grayson," said Mr Limpney. "I have only one wish, and that is to bring the boy on. He is behind to a terrible extent."

"Yes, yes, of course," said the doctor; "but make it as easy for him as you can--for the present, you know. After a time he will be stronger in the brain."

Mr Limpney, BA, looked very stern. He was naturally a good-hearted, gentlemanly, and scholarly man. He thoroughly understood the subjects he professed to teach. In fact, the ordinary routine of cla.s.sic and mathematical study had, by long practice, grown so simple to him, that he was accustomed to look with astonishment upon a boy who stumbled over some of the learned blocks.

In addition, year upon year of imparting knowledge to reckless and ill-tempered as well as stupid boys had soured him, and, in consequence, the well-intentioned words of the doctor did not fall on ground ready to receive them quite as it should.

"Complaining about my way of teaching, I suppose," he said to himself.

"Well, we shall see."

The result was that Mr Limpney allowed the littleness of his nature to come uppermost, and he laboriously explained the most insignificant portions of the lessons in a sarcastic manner which made Dexter writhe, for he was not slow to find that the tutor was treating him with contempt.

To make matters worse, about that time Dan'l watched him more and more; Peter was unwell and very snappish; there was a little difficulty with Mrs Millett over some very strong camomile-tea which Dexter did not take; and on account of a broken soap-dish which Maria took it into her head Dexter meant to lay to her charge,--that young lady refused even to answer the boy when he spoke; lastly, the doctor seemed to be remarkably thoughtful and stern. Consequently Dexter began to mope in his den over the old stable, and at times wished he was back at the Union Schools.

The wish was momentary, but it left its impression, and the thought that, with the exception of Helen, no one liked him at the doctor's house grew and grew and grew like the cloud that came out of the fisherman's pot when Solomon's seal was removed, and that cloud threatened to become the evil genii that was to overshadow the boy's life.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

DEXTER WRITES A LETTER.

Dexter watched his chance one afternoon when the study was empty, and stole in, looking very guilty.

Maria saw him going in, and went into the kitchen and told Mrs Millett.

"I don't care," she said, "you may say what you like, but it's in him."

"What's in him!" said the old housekeeper, raising her tortoise-sh.e.l.l spectacles so as to get a good look at Maria, who seemed quite excited.