Dexter eagerly, as his eyes ran over the
cushioned seats, and the sculls of varnished wood lying all ready along
the thwarts.

Edgar made no reply, only moved nearer to the water, and threw himself
on a garden seat near the edge.

"Isn't this a good place for fishing?" said Dexter, trying another tack.

No answer, and it was getting very monotonous. But Dexter took it all
good-humouredly, attributing the boy's manner more to shyness than
actual discourtesy.

"I say, don't you fish sometimes!"

No reply.

"Have you got any rods and lines!"

Eddy gave a contemptuous sniff, which might have meant anything.

"There's lots at Dr Grayson's," said Dexter eagerly, for the sight of
the roach gliding about in the clear water in the shade of the
boat-house excited the desire to begin angling. "Shall I go and fetch
the rods and lines?"

Eddy leaned back in the garden seat, and rested his head upon his hand.

In despair Dexter sighed, and then recalled Sir James's words about
their enjoying themselves.

It was a lovely day; the garden was very beautiful; the river ran by,
sparkling and bright; but there was very little enjoyment so far, and
Dexter sat down upon the grass at a little distance from his young host.

But it was not in Dexter's nature to sit still long, and after staring
hard at the bright water for a few minutes, he looked up brightly at
Edgar.

"I say," he cried; "that bullock didn't hurt you the other day, did it?"

Edgar shifted himself a little in his seat, so that he could stare in
the other direction, and he tried to screw up his mouth into what was
meant to be a supercilious look, though it was a failure, being
extremely pitiful, and very small.

Dexter waited for a few minutes, and then continued the one-sided
conversation--

"I never felt afraid of bullocks," he said thoughtfully. "If you had
run after them with your stick--I say, you got your stick, didn't you?"

No reply.

"Oh, well," said Dexter; "if you don't want to talk, I don't."

"I don't want to talk to a boy like you," said Edgar, without looking.

Dexter started, and stared hard.

"I'm not accustomed to associate with workhouse boys."

Dexter flinched.

Not long back the idea of being a workhouse boy did not trouble him in
the least. He knew that there were plenty of boys who were not
workhouse boys, and seeing what freedom they enjoyed, and how much
happier they seemed, something of the nature of envy had at times