"Couldn't we tell Mr. Welsby?" suggested Butler, a timid small boy
belonging to the "Dogs' Home."

"Tell Mr. Welsby!" cried half a dozen voices in withering tones;
"of course not!"

It was well known by both parties that whenever the real state of
affairs became known to their respective head-masters, the war would
come to an abrupt termination; and the great reason why each side
forbore to make any open complaint against the other was undoubtedly
because every one secretly enjoyed the excitement of the campaign, and
felt that a peace would make life rather dull and uninteresting.

"The thing that licks us," said Acton, "is what I was speaking about
last week: somehow or other, they always seem to know just what we're up
to, and it's no use our doing anything, because they're always prepared.
Some one's acting the spy. I can't think it's any of you fellows, but I
believe it's old Noaks. You see his son's there, and for some reason or
other he seems to hate every one here like poison. Now, what are we to
do?"

There was a silence, broken at length by Diggory Trevanock.

"I don't know what you think," he began, "but it seems to me it's no use
making any plans until we find out who tells 'em to the Philistines.
I should say that Noaks is the fellow who does it, but we ought to
make certain."

"Yes, but how are we to do it?" asked Acton, laughing; "that's just what