"It's all right. I've got it, you chaps," Phil suddenly cried in tones of excitement and pleasure. "The lake's only a foot deep. We'll shove one form out, and then put another in front of it, and so on till we reach the statue. The bottom is made of stone, so there's no fear of toppling over or sinking in mud." A half-suppressed shout of joy answered him, and all at once set to work to make the bridge. It was easier than they had hoped, and before very long, by means of two extra forms, Hercules was reached. Then began the work of tar-and-feathering, an act of vandalism for which each and every one of them deserved a good thrashing, done though it was as a piece of pure boyish mischief, and in all thoughtlessness. At length it was finished, and with hands and faces smeared with tar, and feathers sticking to their clothes, Phil and his boon companions returned silently to the house, and having hastily washed themselves took their places in "prep." as though nothing had happened. But a scarcely-suppressed bubble of excitement and huge grins of amusement showed that all at Ebden's were conscious of the prank, save the worthy head himself, who, if he had only known, would there and then have gone out and done his best to clean the statue before the light of day disclosed it to Mr Julius Workman. On the following afternoon a game of cricket was in progress, when a cry of "Here's old Bumble!" put a sudden stop to it, and the boys at once selected the nearest and best hiding-places from which to look on safely and observe all that happened. Stalking pompously down the path leading from his own residence, Mr Julius Workman scarcely deigned to acknowledge the polite salute which two of the lads gave him. He walked--or rather waddled--along towards the lake, and, arrived there, sniffed, drew his snuff-box from a pocket in the tail of his coat, and helped himself to a liberal pinch. Then he drew out a highly-coloured silk handkerchief, and, holding it in one hand, was in the act of patting it to his nose, when his eye lit upon the statue. Unable to believe that what he saw was real, he wiped his glasses and stared again. Then his face assumed a livid hue, his cheeks puffed out, and for the moment he looked as though he were on the point of exploding, or of having an apoplectic fit. "Tarred and feathered, as I live!" he shouted, dancing from foot to foot in his rage, and shaking his stick threateningly. "Some wretch has destroyed my statue, the most beautiful I ever saw. It is a piece of wickedness; yes, wickedness! and I will search Highgate--ay, and even the whole of London--to find the culprit." For a moment he stopped for lack of breath, and behind their shelters Phil and his friends enjoyed the scene to their hearts' content.