He spoke meaningly, as if preparing them for a surprise, and pointed to
a corner of the vestry. There lay a clean, but tumbled surplice, half
soaked in ink. The head-master and Mr. Yorke, lay-clerks and
choristers, all gathered round, and stared in amazement.

"They shall pay me the worth of the surplice," spoke Bywater, an angry
shade crossing his usually good-tempered face.

"And have a double flogging into the bargain," exclaimed the master.
"Who has done this?"

"It looks as though it had been rabbled up for the purpose," cried
Hurst, in schoolboy phraseology, bending down and touching it gingerly
with his finger. "The ink has been poured on to it."

"Where did you find it?" sharply demanded the master--not that he was
angry with the boys before him, but he felt angry that the thing should
have taken place.

"I found it behind the screen, sir," replied Bywater. "I thought I'd
look there, as a last resource, and there it was. I should think nobody
has been behind that screen for a twelvemonth past, for it's over
ankles in dust there."

"And you know nothing of it, Hurst?"

"Nothing whatever, sir," was the reply of the senior chorister, spoken
earnestly. "When Bywater whispered to me what had occurred, I set it
down as the work of one of the choristers, and I taxed them with it.
But they all denied it strenuously, and I believe they spoke the truth.