But now, the informant was not Mr. Henry—as I daresay you have divined: the real one was Lamb. When Brown minor carried back the news to his chamber of what he had seen, Lamb, who slept there, treasured it up, and whispered it to Mr. Long the first thing in the morning. Not a single boy, save himself, would have told. The whole lot of juniors, from the second desk downwards, would have scorned it: they were too fond of escapades themselves, to tell of the seniors; not to speak of the hidings—to use their own language—they would have been treated to in private. In this instance Lamb was not suspected, the suspicion having fixed itself on Mr. Henry. Something almost amounting to a rebellion took place in the quadrangle after morning school; and perhaps no man had ever been called so many hard names as the unfortunate foreign master. Paradyne was not there; being an outsider, and not in favour besides, he had gone home at once; or the news of the accusation might have reached Mr. Henry. A cad! a sneak! a German spy! What was to be done? asked the enraged boys, one of another. Well, nothing much could be done, except send him to Coventry. Not being the Head Master, they had not the authority to dismiss him from his place; neither, as the affair had its rise in that forbidden fruit, tobacco, could they be demonstrative in the hearing of the masters. "Let's go to him," foamed Savage. "Let's have it out." "Better not," advised Fullarton, who, as purchaser of the cigars, felt a trifle more insecure than the rest, and naturally wished the affair to die away. "There'd only be a row. You know you never can keep your temper, Savage." "Temper be bothered," cried Brown major. "He ought to be told that we've found him out." "Then let Trace go. Trace can keep his." Trace declined. "He'd rather not speak to the fellow." "I'll go," said Loftus. Away he went, on the spur of the moment, nearly the whole lot at his heels. Brown major walked into the room with him; Fullarton pushed in also, to see that peace was kept. Mrs. Butter, in a hot flurry banged her kitchen-door in their faces; but their visit this time was not to her. Mr. Henry was at dinner. A snow-white cloth and napkin, and silver forks; everything of that sort nice, as befitted a gentleman's table; but the dinner itself consisted of potatoes, eaten with salt. A Dutch cheese was there; bread; and a small glass of milk. The intruding gentlemen stared at the fare, and Mr. Loftus's handsome nose went up with an air, Mr. Henry rose and stood before the table, courteous always; and Fullarton kicked out behind to keep out the throng. "You were pacing the gravel walk at the back last night, Mr. Henry," began Loftus, so calmly that no human listener could have supposed it the advance trumpet-blast of war, "and saw two or three cigars overhead, I think?" "Both saw them and smelt them," answered Mr. Henry with a smile.