Part 33 (1/2)

Further behind was Dan'l Copestake, who came panting up with the longest handled rake just as Dexter was nearing the bank.

”Will he be drowned?” whispered Helen, as she held tightly by her father's arm.

”No; he swims like a water-rat,” said the doctor.

”No, no,” shouted Dexter, beginning to splash the water, and sheering off as he saw Dan'l about to make a dab at him with the rake.

There was more zeal than discretion in the gardener's use of this implement, for it splashed down into the water heavily, the teeth nearly catching the boy's head.

”Here, catch hold of this,” cried Peter Cribb.

”No, no; let me be,” cried Dexter, declining the offer of the clothes-prop, as he had avoided it before when he was on the top of the wall. ”I can swim ash.o.r.e if you'll let me be.”

This was so self-evident that the doctor checked Dan'l as he was about to make another skull-fracturing dash with the rake; and the next minute Dexter's hand clutched the gra.s.s on the bank, and he crawled out, with the water streaming down out of his clothes, and his short hair gummed, as it were, to his head.

”Here!” he cried; ”where's my fish?”

”Fish, sir!” cried the doctor; ”you ought to be very thankful that you've saved your life.”

”O Dexter!” cried Helen.

”I say, don't touch me,” cried the boy, as she caught at his hand. ”I'm so jolly wet.”

He was like a sponge just lifted out of a pail, and already about him there was a pool.

”Here, quick, sir; run up to the house and change your clothes,” cried the doctor.

”But I must get my fish, sir.”

”Fis.h.!.+” cried the doctor angrily; ”that's not the way to fish.”

”Yes, it was, sir; and I caught one.”

”You caught one!”

”Yes, sir; a beauty.”

”Look here, Dexter,” cried the doctor, catching him by his wet arm; ”do you mean to tell me that you dived into the river like that and caught a fis.h.!.+”

”No, sir; I fell in when I was getting my line out of the tree.”

”Oh, I see.”

”Beg pardon, sir,” said Dan'l sourly; ”but he've broke a great branch off this here tree.”

”Well, I couldn't help it,” said Dexter, in an ill-used tone. ”I caught my line in the tree, and was obliged to get up and fetch it, and--stop a minute. I can see it. All right.”

He ran off along the river-bank till they saw him stoop just where the wall dipped down into the river. There he found the rod floating close to the edge, and, securing it, he soon after drew in the loose branch he had cut off the tree, and disentangled his line, with the little roach still on the hook.

”There!” he cried in triumph, as he ran back with rod, line, and fish; ”look at that, Miss Grayson, isn't it a beauty, and--What are you laughing at!”