ested, and five minutes after there was a
sharp tug, which half drew his float below the surface.

"Why, you didn't strike," said the boy sharply.

"Well, you can't strike 'em till you've got hold of them," retorted
Dexter; and the shabby-looking boy laughed.

"Yah!" he said; "you don't know how to fish."

"Don't I! Why, I was taught to fish by some one who knows all about
it."

"So it seems," said the boy jeeringly. "Don't even know how to strike a
fish. There, you've got another bite. Look at him; he's running away
with it."

It was no credit to Dexter that he got hold of that fish, for the
unfortunate roach had hooked itself.

As the float glided away beneath the surface, Dexter gave a tremendous
snatch with the rod, and jerked the fish out of the water among the
branches of an overhanging tree, where the line caught, and the captive
hung suspended about a foot below a cluster of twigs, flapping about and
trying to get itself free.

Dexter's fellow-fisherman burst into a roar of laughter, laid down his
rod, and stamped about on the opposite bank slapping his knees, while
the unlucky fisherman stood with his rod in his hand, jigging the line.

"You'll break it if you don't mind," cried the shabby boy.

"But I want to get it out."

"You shouldn't have struck so hard. Climb up the tree, get out on that
branch, and reach down."

Dexter looked at the tree, which hung over the water to such an extent
that it seemed as if his weight would tear it from its hold in the bank,
while the water looked terribly deep and black beneath.

"I say," cried the shabby boy jeeringly; "who taught you how to fish!"

"Why, old Dimsted did, and he knew."

"Who did!" cried the boy excitedly.

"Old Dimsted."

"Yah! That he didn't. Why, he's been in the House these ten years--
ever since I was quite a little un."

"Well, I know that," shouted back Dexter. "He taught me all the same."

"Why, how came you to know grandfather!" cried the shabby boy.

Dexter ceased pulling at the line, and looked across at his
shabbily-dressed questioner. For the first time he glanced down at his
well-made clothes, and compared his personal appearance with that of the
boy opposite, and in a curiously subtle way he began to awake to the
fact that he was growing ashamed of the workhouse, and the people in it.

"Yah! you didn't know grandfather," cried the boy mockingly; "and you
don't know how to fish. Grandfather wouldn't have taug