"Couldn't have believed it," said the doctor one evening, when a week
had passed away. "It's wonderful." Helen smiled.
"A whole week, and the young dog's behaviour has been even better than I
could wish. Well, it's very hopeful, and I am extremely glad, Helen,
extremely glad."
Helen said nothing, but she thought a good deal, and, among other
things, she wondered how Dexter would have behaved if he had been left
to himself. Consequently, she felt less sanguine than the doctor.
The fact was that she had given up everything to devote the whole of her
time to the boy, thus taking care that he was hardly ever left to
himself.
She read to him, and made him read to her, and battled hard to get him
out of his schoolboy twang.
Taken by his bright, handsome face, and being clever with her brush, she
had made him sit while she painted his likeness; that is, she tried to
make him sit, but it was like dealing with so much quicksilver, and she
was fain to give up the task as an impossibility after scolding,
coaxing, and bribing, coming to the conclusion that the boy could not
keep still.
She played games with him; and at last risked public opinion very
bravely by taking the boy out with her for a walk, when one of the first
persons she met was Lady Danby.
"I say, what did she mean!" said Dexter, as they walked away.
"That lady--Lady Danby!"
"Yes. Why did she look sorry for me, and call me a _protege_?"
"Oh," said Helen, smiling; "it is only a French word for any one who is
adopted or protected, as papa is protecting you."
"But is it a funny word!"
"Funny? Oh dear no!"
"Then why did she laugh, curious like?"
Helen could not answer that question.
"She looked at me," said Dexter, "as if she didn't like me. I've seen
ladies look like that when they've come to see the schools, and us boy's
used to feel as if we'd like to throw slates at them."
"You have no occasion to trouble yourself about other people's opinions,
Dexter," said Helen quietly; "and of course now you couldn't throw
stones or anything else at a lady."
"No; but I could at a boy. I could hit that chap ever so far off. Him
as was with that Lady Danby."
"Oh, nonsense! come along; we'll go down by the river."
"Yes; come along," cried Dexter excitedly; "but I don't see why he
should sneer at me for nothing."
"What? Master Danby!"
"Yes, him. All the time you two were talking, he kept walking round me,
and making faces as if I was physic."
"You fancied it, Dexter."
"Oh no, I didn't. I know when anybody likes me, and when anybody
doesn't. Lady Danby didn't like me, and she give a sneery laugh when
she called me a _protege_, and when you weren't looking that chap made
an offer at me with the black cane he carried, that one with a silver
top and black tassels."
"Did he?"
"Didn't he just! I only wish he had. I'd ha' given him such a oner.
Why, I could fight two like him with one hand tied behind me."
Helen's face grew cloudy with trouble, but she said nothing then, only
hurried the boy along toward the river.
In spite of her determination she avoided the town main street, and
struck off by the narrow turning which led through the old churchyard,
with its grand lime-tree avenue and venerable church, whose crocketed
spire was a landmark for all the southern part of the county.
"Look, look!" cried Dexter. "See those jackdaws fly out? There's one
sitting on that old stone face. See me fetch him down."
"No, no," cried Helen, catching his arm. "You might break a window."
"No, I wouldn't. You see."
"But why throw at the poor bird? It has done you no harm."
"No, but it's a jackdaw, and you always want to throw stones at
jackdaws."
"And at blackbirds and thrushes and starlings too, Dexter?" said Helen.
The boy looked guilty.
"You didn't see me throw at them?"
"Yes, I did, and I thought it very cruel."
"Don't you like me to throw stones at the birds?"
"Certainly I do not."
"Then I won't," said Dexter; and he took aim with the round stone he
carried at the stone urn on the top of a tomb, hitting it with a
sounding crack.
"There, wasn't that a good aim!" he said, with a smile of triumph. "It
couldn't hurt that. That wasn't cruel."
Helen turned crimson with annoyance, for she had suddenly become aware
of the fact that a gentleman, whom she recognised as the Vicar, was
coming along the path quickly, having evidently seen the stone-throwing.
She was quite right in her surmise. It was the Vicar; and not
recognising her with her veil down, he strode toward them, making up an
angry speech.
"Ah, Miss Grayson," he said, raising his hat, and ceasing to make his
stick quiver in his hand, "I did not recognise you."
Then followed the customary hand-shakings and inquiries, during which
Dexter hung back, and gazed up at the crocketed spire, and at the
jackdaws flying in and out of the slits which lit the stone staircase
within.
"And who is this?" said the Vicar, raising his glasses to his eyes, but
knowing perfectly well all the time, he having been one of the first to
learn of the doctor's eccentricity. "Ah, to be sure; Doctor Grayson's
_protege_. Yes, I remember him perfectly well, and I suppose you
remember me!"
"Yes, I remember you," said Dexter. "You called me a stupid boy because
I couldn't say all of _I desire_."
"Did I? Ah, to be sure, I remember. Well, but you are not stupid now.
I dare say, if I asked you, you would remember every word."
"Don't think I could," said the boy; "it's the hardest bit in the Cat."
"But I'm not going to ask you," said the Vicar. "Miss Grayson here will
examine you, I'm sure. There, good day. Good day, Miss Grayson;" and,
to Helen's great relief, he shook hands with both. "And I'm to ask you
not to throw stones in the churchyard," he added, shaking his stick
playfully. "My windows easily break."
He nodded and smiled again, as Helen and her young companion went on,
watching them till they had passed through the further gate and
disappeared.
"A mischievous young rascal!" he said to himself. "I believe I should
have given him the stick if it had been anybody else."
As he said this, he walked down a side path which led past the tomb that
had formed Dexter's target.
"I dare say he has chipped the urn," he continued, feeling exceedingly
vexed, as a Vicar always does when he finds any wanton defacement of the
building and surroundings in his charge.
"No," he said aloud, and in a satisfied tone, "unhurt. But tut--tut--
tut--tut! what tiresome young monkeys boys are!"
He turned back, and went thoughtfully toward the town.
"Singular freak on the part of Grayson. Most eccentric man," he
continued. "Danby tells me--now really what a coincidence! Sir James,
by all that is singular! Ah, my dear Sir James, I was thinking about
you. Ah, Edgar, my boy, how are you?"
He shook hands warmly with the magistrate and his son.
"Thinking about me, eh!" said Sir James, rather pompously. "Then I'll
be bound to say that I can tell you what you are thinking."
"No, I believe I may say for certain you cannot," said the Vicar,
smiling.
"Of calling on me for a subscription."
"Wrong this time," said the Vicar good-humouredly. "No; I have just met
Miss Grayson with that boy."
"Indeed!"
"Yes; very eccentric of Grayson, is it not!"
"Whim for a week or two. Soon get tired of it," said Sir James,
laughing.
"Think so?"
"Sure of it, sir; sure of it."
"Well, I hope not," said the Vicar thoughtfully. "Fine thing for the
poor boy. Make a man of him."
"Ah, but he is not content with that. He means to make a gentleman of
him, and that's an impossibility."
"Ah, well," said the Vicar good-humouredly; "we shall see."
"Yes, sir," said Sir James; "we shall see--we shall see; but it's a most
unpleasant episode in our midst. Of course, being such near neighbours,
I have been on the most intimate terms with the Graysons, and Lady Danby
is warmly attached to Helen Grayson; but now they have this boy there,
they want us to know him too."
"Indeed!" said the Vicar, looking half-amused, half puzzled.
"Yes, sir," said Sir James; "and they want--at least Grayson does--Edgar
here to become his playmate."
"Ah!" ejaculated the Vicar.
"Sent word yesterday that they should be glad if Edgar would go and
spend the afternoon. Awkward, sir; extremely awkward."
"Did he go?"
"Go? no, sir; decidedly not. Edgar refused to go, point-blank."
Master Edgar was walking a little way in front, looking like a small
edition of his father in a short jacket, for he imitated Sir James's
stride, put on his tall hat at the same angle, and carried his black
cane with its two silken tassels in front of him, as a verger in church
carries a wand.
"I wasn't going," said Master Edgar importantly. "I don't want to know
a boy like that."
"What would you do under the circumstances?" said Sir James.
"Do?" said the Vicar; "why I should--I beg your pardon--will you excuse
me? I am wanted."
He pointed to a lady who was signalling to him with a parasol, and
hurried off.
"How lucky!" he said to himself. "I don't want to offend Sir James; but
'pon my word, knowing what I do of his young cub, I would rather have
Grayson's _protege_ on spec."
"Where are we going for a walk, pa!" said Master Edgar importantly.
"Through the quarry there, and by the windmill, and back home."
"_No_; I meant to go down by the river, pa, to see if there are any
fish."
"Another day will do for that, Eddy."
"No, it won't. I want to go now."
"Oh, very well," said Sir James; and they took the way to the meadows.
Meanwhile Helen and Dexter had gone on some distance ahead.
"There, you see, Dexter; how easy it is to do wrong," said Helen, as,
feeling greatly relieved, she hurried on toward the meadows.
"I didn't know it was doing wrong to have a cockshy," said Dexter.
"Seems to me that nearly everything nice that you want to do is wrong."
"Oh no," said Helen, smiling at the boy's puzzled face.
"Seems like it," said Dexter. "I say, he was going to scold me, only he
found I was with you, and that made him stop. Wish I hadn't thrown the
stone."
"So do I," said Helen quickly. "Come, you have broken yourself off
several bad habits this last week, and I shall hope soon to find that
you have stopped throwing stones."
"But mayn't I throw anything else?"
"Oh yes; your ball."
"But I haven't got a ball."
"Then you shall have one," said Helen. "We'll buy one as we go back.
There, it was a mistake, Dexter, so remember not to do it again."
They were now on the banks of the glancing river, the hay having been
lately cut, and the way open right to the water's edge.
"Yes, I'll remember," said Dexter. "Look--look at the fish. Oh, don't
I wish I had a rod and line! Here, wait a moment."
He was down on his chest, reaching with his hand in the shallow water.
"Why, Dexter," said Helen, laughing, "you surely did not think that you
could catch fishes with your hand!"
"No," said the boy, going cautiously forward and striking an attitude;
"but you see me hit one."
As he spoke he threw a large round pebble which he had picked out of the
river-bed with great force, making the water splash up, while, instead
of sinking, the stone skipped from the surface, dipped again, and then
disappeared.
As the stone made its last splash, the reality of what he had done
seemed to come to him, and he turned scarlet as he met Helen's eyes.
"Dexter!" she said reproachfully.
The boy took off his cap, looked in it, rubbed his closely cropped head
in a puzzled way, and put his cap slowly on again, to stand once more
gazing at his companion.
"I can't tell how it is," he said dolefully. "I think there must be
something wrong in my head. It don't go right. I never mean to do what
you don't like, but somehow I always do."
"Look there, Dexter," said Helen quickly; "those bullocks seem vicious;
we had better go back."
She pointed to a drove of bullocks which had been put in the newly-cut
meadows by one of the butchers in the town, and the actions of the
animals were enough to startle any woman, for, being teased by the
flies, they were careering round the field with heads down and tails up,
in a lumbering gallop, and approaching the spot where the couple stood.
They were down by the water, both the stile they had crossed and that by
which they would leave the meadow about equidistant, while, as the
bullocks were making straight for the river to wade in, and try to rid
themselves of their torment, it seemed as if they were charging down
with serious intent.
"Come: quick! let us run," cried Helen in alarm, and she caught at
Dexter's hand.
"What! run away from them!" cried the boy stoutly. "Don't you be afraid
of them. You come along."
"No, no," cried Helen; "it is not safe."
But, to her horror, Dexter shook himself free, snatched off his cap, and
rushed straight at the leading bullock, a great heavy beast with long
horns, and now only fifty yards away, while the drove were close at its
heels.
The effect was magical.
No sooner did the great animal see the boy running forward than it
stopped short, and began to paw up the ground and shake its head, the
drove following the example of their leader, while, to Helen, as she
stood motionless with horror, it seemed as if the boy's fate was sealed.
For a few moments the bullock stood fast, but by the time Dexter was
within half a dozen yards, he flung his cap right in the animal's face,
and, with a loud snort, it turned as on a pivot, and dashed off toward
the upper part of the field, now driving the whole of the rest before
it.
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Dexter, picking up his cap, and coming back
panting. "That's the way to serve them. Come along."
Helen was very white, but the colour began to come in her cheeks again
as she saw the boy's bright, frank, animated face; and, as they crossed
the second stile, and rambled on through the pleasant meads, it began to
dawn upon her that perhaps it would not prove to be so unpleasant a task
after all to tame the young savage placed in her hands.