crept
into his breast, but, on the whole, he had been very well contented till
he commenced his residence at the doctor's; and now all seemed changed.

"I'm not a workhouse boy," he said hotly.

"Yes, you are," retorted Edgar, looking at him hard, full in the face,
for the first time. "I know where you came from, and why you were
fetched."

Dexter's face was burning, and there was an angry look in his eyes, as
he jumped up and took a couple of steps toward where Edgar sat back on
the garden seat. But his pleasant look came back, and he held out his
hand.

"I'm not ashamed of it," he said. "I used to be at the workhouse.
Won't you shake hands!"

Edgar sniffed contemptuously, and turned his head away.

"Very well," said Dexter sadly. "I don't want to, if you don't."

Edgar suddenly leaped up, and went along by the side of the river, while
Dexter, after a few moments' hesitation, began to follow him in a
lonely, dejected way, wishing all the time that he could go back home.

Following out his previous tactics, Edgar sidled along path after path,
and in and out among the evergreen clumps, all the while taking care not
to come within sight of the house, so that his actions might be seen;
while, feeling perfectly helpless and bound to follow the caprices of
his young host, Dexter continued his perambulation of the garden in the
same unsatisfactory manner.

"Look here," cried Edgar at last; "don't keep following me about."

"Very well," said Dexter, as he stood still in the middle of one of the
paths, wondering whether he could slip away, and return to the doctor's.

That seemed a difficult thing to do, for Sir James might see him going,
and call him back, and then what was he to say? Besides which, when he
reached the doctor's there would be a fresh examination, and he felt
that the excuse he gave would not be satisfactory.

Dexter sighed, and glanced in the direction taken by Edgar.

The boy was not within sight, but Dexter fancied that he had hidden, and
was watching him, and he turned in the other direction, looking
hopelessly about the garden, which seemed to be more beautiful and
extensive than the doctor's; but, in spite of the wealth of greenery and
flowers, everything looked cheerless and cold.

Dexter sighed. Then a very natural boyish thought came into his head.

"I wonder what's for dinner," he said to himself; but at the same time
he knew that it must be a long while yet to dinner-time, and,