t 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 grass 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 passed 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 cluster, 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 h