w more faint.

Then all at once back they came; for as he sat watching his float one
day, a voice said sharply--

"Now then! why don't you strike!"

But Dexter did not strike, and the fish went off with the bait as the
holder of the rod exclaimed--

"Why haven't you been fishing all this time!"

"What was the good?" said Bob, "I was getting ready to go, and talking
to my mate, who's going with me."

"Your mate!" exclaimed Dexter, whose heart sank at those words.

"Yes, I know'd you wouldn't go, so. I began to look out for a chap who
would."

"But I didn't say that I really would not go," said Dexter, as he laid
his tackle under the bushes.

"Oh yes, you did; I could see what you meant. Do they bite to-day!"

"I don't know," said Dexter dolefully. "But, I say, you couldn't have
that boat if you wanted to."

"Oh yes, I could if I liked."

"But it isn't yours."

"Tchah! couldn't you borrow it!"

Dexter did not see how, and he climbed into the willow, while Bob went
on fishing.

"I hate a chap who is always trying to find out things to stop a fellow
from doing anything. Why don't you say you won't go and ha' done with
it?"

Dexter sighed as he thought of the wonderful fish to be caught, and the
great nuts on the trees, each of which nuts would make a meal. Then of
the delight of sailing away in that beautiful boat down the river, and
then out to sea, where they could land upon the sands and light their
fire; and it seemed to him that such a life would be one long time of
delight.

He sat in his nest picking the buds off the willow twigs, and bending
and lacing them together, furtively glancing at grubby-looking Bob
Dimsted, whose appearance was not attractive; but what were appearances
to a boy who possessed such gifts of knowledge in fishing and managing a
boat, and had learned so much about foreign lands?

Dexter sighed again, and Bob gave him a furtive look, as with evident
enjoyment he took a red worm out of some moss and stuck his sharp hook
into it, drew the writhing creature over the shank, and then passed the
point through again and again.

So to speak, he had impaled Dexter on a moral hook as well, the barb had
gone right in so that it could not be drawn out without tearing; and
Dexter writhed and twined, and felt as if he would have given anything
to get away.

Bob went on fishing, throwing the twisting worm just down among the
roots of a willow-tree, and the float told directly af