ly after came a sound with which he was
perfectly familiar at the doctor's--a sound that came beneath his window
among the laurustinus bushes.

_Chink_--_chink_--_chink_--_chink_.

A blackbird--answered by another. And then all at once it seemed to be
so cold that it was impossible to help shivering; and to ward off the
chilling sensation Dexter began to use the boat-hook as a pole,
thrusting it down first on one side of the boat and then on the other as
silently as he could, so as not to wake Bob. Sometimes he touched
bottom, and was able to give the boat a good impetus, but as often as
not he could not reach the river-bed. Still the exercise made his blood
circulate, and drove away the dull sense of misery that had been coming
on.

As he toiled on with the pole, the trees grew plainer and plainer, and a
soft pearly dawn seemed to be floating over the river. The birds
uttered their calls, and then, all at once, in a loud burst of melody,
up rose a lark from one of the dewy meadows on his right. Then further
off there was another, and right away high up in the east one tiny speck
of dull red.

Soon this red began to glow as if gradually getting hotter. Then
another and another speck appeared--then scores, fifties, hundreds--and
Dexter stood bathed in the rich light which played through the curling
river mists, as the whole of the eastern heavens became damasked with
flecks of gold.

In a comparatively short time these faded, and a warm glow spread around
the meadows and wild country on either side, where empurpled hills rose
higher and higher, grew more and more glorious, and the river sparkled
and danced and ran in smooth curves, formed eddies, and further in
advance became one wonderful stretch of dancing golden ripples, so
beautiful that Dexter stood on the thwart with the pole balanced in his
hand wondering whether everything could be as beautiful at Coleby as he
saw it now.

Then there was a sudden shock, so sharp that he could not save himself,
but took a kind of header, not into the water, but right on to Bob
Dimsted, landing with his knees in Bob's softest portion, and the pole
right across his neck, just as Bob tried to rise, and uttered a
tremendous yell. The wonder was that the end of the boat-hook had not
gone through the bottom of the boat.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

MASTER AND SLAVE.

"Eee! I say! Whatcher doing of!" roared Bob, beginning to struggle, as
Dexter contrived to get his fee