"Tell us," I said. And Tod glanced over his shoulders, to make sure no one was within hearing before he replied. "Wolfe Barrington." "Why don't you accuse him, Tod?" "It wouldn't do. And I am not absolutely sure. What I saw, was this. In the rush, one of them fell: I saw his head lying on the ground. Before I could shout out to the fellows to take care, a boot with a grey trouser over it came stamping down (not kicking) on the side of the head. If ever anything was done deliberately, that stamp seemed to be; it could hardly have been chance. I know no more than that: it all passed in a moment. I didn't _see_ that it was Barrington. But--what other fellow is there among us who would have wilfully harmed little Hearn? It is that thought that brings conviction to me." I looked round to where a lot of them stood at a distance. "Wolfe has got on grey trousers, too." "That does not tell much," returned Tod. "Half of us wear the same. Yours are grey; mine are grey. It's just this: While I am convinced in my own mind that it was Barrington, there's no sort of proof that it was so, and he denies it. So it must rest, and die away. Keep counsel, Johnny." The funeral took place from the school. All of us went to it. In the evening, Mrs. Hearn, who had been staying at the house, surprised us by coming into the tea-room. She looked very small in her black gown. Her thin cheeks were more flushed than usual, and her eyes had a great sadness in them. "I wished to say good-bye to you; and to shake hands with you before I go home," she began, in a kind tone, and we all got up from the table to face her. "I thought you would like me to tell you that I feel sure it must have been an accident; that no harm was intended. My dear little son said this to Joseph Todhetley when he was dying--and I fancy that some prevision of death must have lain then upon his spirit and caused him to say it, though he himself might not have been quite conscious of it. He died in love and peace with all; and, if he had anything to forgive--he forgave freely. I wish to let you know that I do the same. Only try to be a little less rough at play--and God bless you all. Will you shake hands with me?" John Whitney, a true gentleman always, went up to her first, meeting her offered hand. "If it had been anything but an accident, Mrs. Hearn," he began in tones of deep feeling: "if any one of us had done it wilfully, I think, standing to hear you now, we should shrink to the earth in our shame and contrition. You cannot regret Archibald much more than we do." "In the midst of my grief, I know one thing: that God has taken him from a world of care to peace and happiness; I try to _rest_ in that. Thank you all. Good-bye." Catching her breath, she shook hands with us one by one, giving each a smile; but did not say more.