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Updated: June 19, 2025
It would have been far easier to have disentangled the line, but Bob Dimsted was a learned fisher, and he had laid down the law. So Dexter cut and cut into the soft green wood till he got through the little bough all but one thin piece of succulent bark, dancing up and down the while over the deep water some fifteen feet from the bank. Soss!
Dexter sat very thoughtful and still, dreaming of the wonders of far-off places, such as could be reached by Bob Dimsted and his companion, the impracticability of such a journey never once occurring to him. Bob had been about all his life free to go and come, while he, Dexter, seemed to have been always shut up, as it were, in a cage, which had narrowed his mind.
But the bole of the tree was short, for it had been pollarded, and in a minute or two he was in a nest of branches, several of which protruded over the water, the one in particular which had entangled the fishing-line being not even horizontal, but dipping toward the surface. "That's the way," shouted Bob Dimsted. "Look sharp, they're biting like fun." "Think it'll bear?" said Dexter. "Bear?
It was not big, and would take up little room, and cost nothing to feed. Why not? He hesitated as he descended and crossed the yard to the garden, and decided that he would not. Bob Dimsted might not like it. He reached the garden, and crossed the lawn to the sunny verbena bed.
"I just see his legs coming down, and he snatched 'em up again, and slammed the trap." "The young rascal!" said the doctor; "he's here somewhere. There must be some loose boards under which he is hidden." But there was not a loose board big enough to hide Bob Dimsted; and after another search the doctor rubbed his head in a perplexed manner. "Shall I come up, sir, and have a look?" said Dan'l.
And then he thought about how long it would be before he might venture to call Bob. And then he began thinking about nothing at all. When he opened his eyes next it was morning, with the sun shining brightly, and the birds singing, and Bob Dimsted had just kicked him in the side. "Here, I say, wake up," he cried. "Why, you've been to sleep."
This little unfortunate might have been bought for a shilling by such a boy as Bob Dimsted, but the superfine broadcloth of Dexter's jacket and trousers sent it up to five, and pocket-money had to be saved for weeks before it finally came into the boy's possession, to be watched with the greatest attention to see if its hair would grow.
For quite half an hour Dexter sat there dreamily gazing at his float, but seeing nothing but the past, when he started to his feet, for there was a splash in the water close to his feet, the drops flying over him, and there, across the river, grinning and looking very dirty, was Bob Dimsted. "Yah! Who stole the boat?" he cried. Dexter flushed up, but he made no reply.
There was a week of watching, but Bob Dimsted was not caught, and the doctor sternly said that he would not place the matter in the hands of the police.
But so sure as he was alone, a series of dissolving views began to float before his vivid imagination, and he saw Sir James Danby's boat managed by Bob Dimsted and himself, gliding rapidly along through river and along by sunlit shores, where, after catching wonderfully tinted fish, he and the boy landed to light a fire, cook their food, and partake of it in a delightful gipsy fashion.
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