e could leap ashore.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

TIMES OF DELIGHT!

"Here we are!" said Bob Dimsted, as he sat handling the sculls very
fairly, and, as the stream was with them, sending the boat easily along.
"I think we managed that first-rate."

Dexter made no reply, for he had his teeth fast set, and his lips
pressed together to keep the former from chattering, but he thought a
great deal, and found himself wondering what Bob had done toward getting
the boat.

With the covering up of his goose-skinned body, and the return of some
of his surface heat, the terrible fit of despondency began to pass away,
and Dexter felt less ready to sit down in helpless misery at the bottom
of the boat.

"Getting nice and warm, ain'tcher?"

"Not very, yet."

"Ah, you soon will be, and if you ain't you shall take one of these here
oars. That'll soon put you right. But what a while you was!"

"I--I couldn't help it," shivered Dexter, drawing in his breath with a
quick hissing sound; "the chain was so hard to undo."

"Ah, well, never mind now," said Bob, "only, if we'd got to do it again
I should go myself."

Dexter made no protest, but he thought it sounded rather ungrateful. He
was too busy, though, with buttons, and getting his fingers to work in
their regular way, to pay much heed, and he went on dressing.

"I say, what a jolly long while you are!" continued Bob. "Oh, and look
here! I'd forgot again: why didn't you bring your bundle with all your
clothes and things, eh!"

"Because they weren't mine."

"Well, you are a chap! Not yourn? Why, they were made for you, and you
wore 'em. They can't be anybody else's. I never see such a fellow as
you are! I brought all mine."

It was an easy task, judging from the size of the bundle dimly seen in
the bottom of the boat, but Dexter said nothing.

"How much money have you got?" said Bob, after a pause.

"None at all."

"What?"

There was utter astonishment in Bob Dimsted's tones as he sat
motionless, with the sculls balanced on the rowlocks, staring wildly
through the gloom, as Dexter now sat down and fought hard with an
obstinate stocking, which refused to go on over a wet foot--a way
stockings have at such times.

"Did you say you hadn't got any money?" cried Bob.

"Yes. I sent it all in a letter to pay for the boat in case we kept
it."

"What, for this boat?" cried Bob.

"Yes."

"And you call yourself a mate?" cried Bob, letting the scull blades dro