ew.

_Slap_!

"Got it!" cried Bob. And then, "Oh!"

There was a splash.

"Just kitched on the top o' my finger, and bounced off," whispered the
boy excitedly.

"O Bob, what have you done!"

"Well, I couldn't help it. I ain't a howl.--How could I see in the
dark!"

"Can't you see where it fell in!"

"Why, ain't I a-trying. Don't be in such a fuss."

Dexter felt as if their expedition was at an end, and he stood listening
with a breast full of despair as Bob lay down at the edge of the river,
and rolling up his sleeve began feeling about in the shallow water.

"It's no good," he said. "It's gone."

"O Bob!"

"Well, what's the good of `O Bobbing' a fellow? I couldn't help it.
It's gone, and--Here: I got it!"

Bob rose up and gave his arm a whirl to drive off some of the moisture.

"It's all right," he said. "I'll wrap it in my hankychy, and it'll soon
dry in my pocket, I say, what's inside?"

"Something for Sir James."

"Oh! S'pose you don't know!"

"Is the paper undone?" said Dexter anxiously.

"No, it's all right, I tell yer, and it'll soon get dry."

"And you'll be sure and take it to Sir James's."

"Now?"

"No, no, last thing to-night, just before you come, and don't ring, only
drop the thing in the letter-box."

"All right. Didn't I get my arm wet! There, I'm going home to get it
dry, and put the rest of my things ready. Mind you bring yours all
right."

Dexter did not answer, but his companion's words made him feel very
low-spirited, for he had a good deal in his mind, and he stood listening
to Bob, as that young worthy went off, whistling softly, to make his
final preparations for the journey down the river to sea, and then to
foreign lands, and the attempt seemed now to begin growing very rapidly,
till it was like a dense dark cloud rising higher and higher, and
something seemed to keep asking the boy whether he was doing right.

He felt that he was not, but, at the same time, the idea that he was
thoroughly misunderstood, and that he would never be happy at the
doctor's, came back as strongly as ever.

"They all look upon me as a workhouse boy," he muttered, "and Bob's
right. I'd better go away."

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT.

Dexter listened till Bob Dimsted's whistle died away, and then stole
from the place of appointment to go back to the house, where he struck
off to the left, and made his way into the loft, where he took a small
piece o