head-master. "It is incredible to suppose any one of you would wantonly
destroy a surplice. If so, let that boy, whoever he may have been,
speak up honourably, and I will forgive him. I conclude that the ink
must have been spilt upon it, I say accidentally, and that he then, in
his consternation, tumbled the surplice together, and threw it out of
sight behind the screen. It had been more straightforward, more in
accordance with what I wish you all to be--boys of thorough truth and
honour--had he candidly confessed it. But the fear of the moment may
have frightened his better judgment away. Let him acknowledge it now,
and I will forgive him; though of course he must pay Bywater for
another surplice."

A dead silence.

"Do you hear, boys?" the master sternly asked.

No answer from any one; nothing but continued silence. The master rose,
and his countenance assumed its most severe expression.

"Hear further, boys. That it is one of you, I am convinced; and your
refusing to speak compels me to fear that it was _not_ an accident, but
a premeditated, wicked act. I now warn you, whoever did it, that if I
can discover the author or authors, he or they shall be punished with
the utmost severity, short of expulsion, that is allowed by the rules
of the school. Seniors, I call for your aid in this. Look to it."

The master left the schoolroom, and Babel broke loose--questioning,
denying, protesting, one of another. Bywater was surrounded.

"Won't there be a stunning flogging? Bywater, who did it? Do you know?"