They were, and their very rightness puzzled Prout, King, and the
Sergeant. Boys with bad consciences show it. They slink out past the
Fives Court in haste, and smile nervously when questioned. They
return, disordered, in bare time to save a call-over. They nod and
wink and giggle one to the other, scattering at the approach of a
master. But Stalky and his allies had long out-lived these
manifestations of youth. They strolled forth unconcernedly, and
returned in excellent shape after a light refreshment of strawberries
and cream at the Lodge.

The Lodge-keeper had been promoted to keeper, _vice_ the murderous
fisherman, and his wife made much of the boys. The man, too, gave
them a squirrel, which they presented to the Natural History Society;
thereby checkmating little Hartopp, who wished to know what they were
doing for Science. Foxy faithfully worked some deep Devon lanes
behind a lonely cross-roads inn; and it was curious that Prout and
King, members of Common-room seldom friendly, walked together in the
same direction--that is to say, northeast.

Now, the Pleasant Isle of Aves lay due southwest. "They're
deep--day-vilish deep," said Stalky. "Why are they drawin' those
covers?"

"Me," said Beetle sweetly. "I asked Foxy if he had ever tasted the
beer there. That was enough for Foxy, and it cheered him up a little.
He and Heffy were sniffin' round our old hut so long I thought they'd
like a change."

"Well, it can't last forever," said Stalky. "Heffy's bankin' up like
a thunder-cloud, an' King goes rubbin' his beastly hands, an'