“Ah! They consider themselves superior to ordinary delights. Self-sufficient little animals! There’s something in McTurk’s Hibernian sneer that would make _me_ a little annoyed. And they are so careful to avoid all overt acts, too. It’s sheer calculated insolence. I am strongly opposed, as you know, to interfering with another man’s house; but they need a lesson, Prout. They need a sharp lesson, if only to bring down their over-weening self-conceit. Were I you, I should devote myself for a week to their little performances. Boys of that order--and I may flatter myself, but I think I know boys--don’t join the Bug-hunters for love. Tell the Sergeant to keep his eye open; and, of course, in my peregrinations I may casually keep mine open, too.” “_Ti-ra-la-la-i-tu_! I gloat! Hear me!” far down the corridor. “Disgusting!” said King. “Where do they pick up these obscene noises? One sharp lesson is what they want.” The boys did not concern themselves with lessons for the next few days. They had all Colonel Dabney’s estate to play with, and they explored it with the stealth of Red Indians and the accuracy of burglars. They could enter either by the Lodge-gates on the upper road--they were careful to ingratiate themselves with the Lodge-keeper and his wife--drop down into the combe, and return along the cliffs; or they could begin at the combe and climb up into the road. They were careful not to cross the Colonel’s path--he had served his turn, and they would not out-wear their welcome--nor did they show up on the sky-line when they could move in cover. The shelter of the gorze by the cliff-edge was their chosen retreat. Beetle christened it the Pleasant Isle of Aves, for the peace and the shelter of it; and here, the pipes and tobacco once cachéd in a convenient ledge an arm’s length down the cliff, their position was legally unassailable. For, observe, Colonel Dabney had not invited them to enter his house. Therefore, they did not need to ask specific leave to go visiting; and school rules were strict on that point. He had merely thrown open his grounds to them; and, since they were lawful Bug-hunters, their extended bounds ran up to his notice-boards in the combe and his Lodge-gates on the hill. They were amazed at their own virtue. “And even if it wasn’t,” said Stalky, flat on his back, staring into the blue. “Even suppose we were miles out of bounds, no one could get at us through this wuzzy, unless he knew the tunnel. Isn’t this better than lyin’ up just behind the Coll.--in a blue funk every time we had a smoke? Isn’t your Uncle Stalky--?” “No,” said Beetle--he was stretched at the edge of the cliff spitting thoughtfully. “We’ve got to thank Turkey for this. Turkey is the Great Man. Turkey, dear, you’re distressing Heffles.” “Gloomy old ass!” said McTurk, deep in a book. “They’ve got us under suspicion,” said Stalky. “Hoophats _is_ so suspicious somehow; and Foxy always makes every stalk he does a sort of--sort of--”