as a girl's, and it had gained for him in the school the _sobriquet_ of
"Miss."

"What's the matter with you, Miss Charley?"

"Oh, nothing, Bywater."

"Charley Channing," exclaimed Gaunt, "do you know who did it?"

"If I did, Gaunt, I should not tell," was the fearless answer.

"_Do_ you know, Charley?" cried Tom Channing, who was one of the
seniors of the school.

"Where's the good of asking that wretched little muff?" burst forth
Gerald Yorke. "He's only a girl. How do you know it was not one of the
lay-clerks, Bywater? They carry ink in their pockets, I'll lay. Or any
of the masons might have gone into the vestry, for the matter of that."

"It wasn't a lay-clerk, and it wasn't a mason," stoically nodded
Bywater. "It was a college boy. And I shall lay my finger upon him as
soon as I am a little bit surer than I am. I am three parts sure now."

"If Charley Channing does not suspect somebody, I'm not here,"
exclaimed Hurst, who had closely watched the movement alluded to; and
he brought his hand down fiercely on the desk as he spoke. "Come, Miss
Channing, just shell out what you know; it's a shame the choristers
should lie under such a ban: and of course we _shall_ do so, with Pye."

"You be quiet, Hurst, and let Miss Charley alone," drawled Bywater. "I