"They don't bite to-day. Caught any down your garden!"

"No," said Dexter, to whom the company of the boy was very cheering just
then. "I haven't tried since."

"You are a fellow! Why, if I had a chance like you have, I should be
always at it."

"I say, what did you say your name was?"

"Bob Dimsted--Bob," said the fisher, throwing in again. "I know what
yours is. You come out of the workus."

"Yes," said Dexter sadly, as he wondered whether he did not wish he was
there now. "I came out of the workus--workhouse," he added, as he
remembered one of Helen's teachings.

"Why don't you get your rod some day, and a basket of something to eat,
and come right up the river with me, fishing? There's whackers up
there."

"I should like to," said Dexter thoughtfully, for the idea of the
fishing seemed to drive away the troubles from which he suffered.

"Well, come then. I'd go any day, only you must let me have all you
caught."

"All?" said Dexter, as he began to think of trophies.

"Yes. As I showed you the place where they're caught, I should want to
take them home."

"All right," said Dexter. "You could have them."

"Ah, it's all very well," said the boy, "but there wouldn't be many that
you caught, mate. Ah! No, he's off again. Keep a little furder back."

Dexter obeyed, and sat down on the grass, feeling in a half-despairing
mood, but as if the company of this rough boy was very pleasant after
what he had gone through, and that boys like this were more agreeable to
talk to than young tyrants of the class of Edgar Danby.

"Fish don't half bite to-day," said Bob Dimsted. "I wish you'd got a
rod here, I could lend you a line--single hair."

"But I haven't got a rod."

"Well, run home and fetch it," said Bob.

"Run home and fetch it?" How could he run home and fetch it? How could
he ever go back to the doctor's again?

"No," he said at last, as he shook his head. "I can't go and fetch it."

"Then you can't fish," said the boy, "and 'tain't much use. It's no fun
unless they bite, and some days it don't matter how you try, they
won't."

"Won't they?" said Dexter, and then he started to his feet, for a
familiar voice had spoken close to his ear--

"Why, Dexter!"

The voice was as full of astonishment as the pleasant face which looked
in his.

"I thought you were at Sir James Danby's! Is Edgar out here, in the
meadows!"

"No--no," faltered Dexter; and Bob Dimsted began to gather u