"What's the matter, Bertie? What's in that parcel?" So Bertie Loftus had to explain: he had taken a brace of pistols to school, and the Doctor had despatched them back again. Sir Simon enjoyed the information immensely; that is the "despatching back" portion of it. He knew very little about pistols himself; could not remember, like Brown major, to have handled one in his life; and regarded them rather in the light of a dangerous animal that you were never sure of. "I should have buried them in the ground, had I been the Doctor, instead of giving them back to you. You'll come to some mischief, Mr. Albert, if you meddle with edged tools." "I'd as soon he had buried them, as sent me back with them in the face of the school," avowed Loftus, in his subdued spirit. Very subdued just now, for there was more behind. Too honourable not to tell the whole, he went on to disclose the calamity that the pistols had caused. Sir Simon was horror-struck. "_Albert!_ You have shot a boy?" "It was that miserable Dick," returned Loftus, looking as chapfallen as it was possible for him, with his naturally proud face, to look. "I'm very sorry, of course; I'd rather have been shot myself. But it was not my fault, and Dick ought to be punished." "No; you ought to be punished for taking the things to school," rebuked Sir Simon. "It would be punishment enough for my whole life, sir, if I had been the means of putting a fellow-creature's life in danger. Here, stop! Where are you going now?" "To put the pistols away," answered Loftus, who was turning to the house. "Are they loaded?" "No, sir; not now." "I'd not permit a loaded pistol to come inside my house, look you, Albert. You'll shoot yourself, sir; that's what you'll do. And it's poor Talbot, is it? I knew his father when I lived in Bermondsey." Away went Loftus, feeling no security that the pistols were not going to be confiscated here. He locked them up in the room he occupied when staying at his uncle's, and came forth again directly, delivering the Head Master's message as he passed Sir Simon. "Very well; I'll come, tell Dr. Brabazon. I suppose he is going to complain of this underhanded act of yours." Mr. Loftus supposed so too: had supposed nothing else since the message was given him. "Here; stop a bit; don't stride off like that. I suppose you must _eat_, though you have done your best to kill a boy. Will you have some dinner? There's a beautiful couple of ducks." "I can't stay, Uncle Simon: the Head Master ordered me back at once. Thank you all the same." Sir Simon nodded, and Bertie set off back again; leaving Pond Place behind him, and the cherished pistols that had come altogether to grief.