"Bless my life, I must go too," cried Mr. Carlyon. "The impudence of the scoundrels! Is this the result of Sir Bevil’s intervention? Come along, Squire; bring your pistols. Man of peace as I am, I will give you absolution if you wing one of those fellows!" The two hastened forth less than a minute after the boys. Both were active men, in spite of their years, and they scrambled down the path with no more stumbles than were excusable in elderly gentlemen a little short in the wind. Before they got to the bottom they saw a boat just pulling off from the shore, and the boys knee-deep in water, trying to give a parting salutation with their weapons to the disturbers of the peace. Sam had the satisfaction of hearing a bellow from the man in the stern of the boat as the whip-thong slashed his face; but Dick’s cutlass was not long enough for effective use, and in a few seconds the marauders were out of reach. The four met on the beach and hastened up towards the shed. To their surprise the door was only half open. "They must have heard the noise," said Dick. "My window is open. I daresay they waited to see what it meant, and then heard us coming down, for when we got to the foot of the path they were beginning to shove the boat off." "The neatest contrivance I ever heard of. I congratulate you on your ingenuity," said the Vicar heartily. "But we may as well see that the villains have done no mischief." As he spoke he pulled the door fully open, and before Dick could check him, set his foot on the threshold. Instantly there was a splash; the worthy man gasped and spluttered, and came out with a spring, shaking his head like a dog emerging from a bath. "God bless my soul!" cried the Squire, looking with amazement at the dark shower pouring from his friend on to the sand. "What on earth is this?" "Ho! ho!" laughed Sam, prancing with delight, his veneration for the Church quite eclipsed by his joy at a fellow mortal’s misadventure. "I ha’ seed it arter all. Ho! ho!" Dick, overwhelmed with dismay, shook Sam by the arm and bade him be silent. What excuse, what reparation could he make to the venerable gentleman who had suffered so untoward an accident? "I didn’t think—I tried to—I’m dreadfully sorry, sir," he stammered. "Ha! ha!" came the parson’s rolling laugh. "’Pon my life, he’s an apt pupil, Squire. The young dog! Ha! ha!" "Explain this—this—" began the Squire angrily. "This booby-trap, Squire," cried Mr. Carlyon. "’Tis I am the booby. I taught Dick, in a reckless burst of confidence, how we young rantipoles at Oxford used to deal with each other—and our tutors too, I’m bound to say. I wish I hadn’t. But, you young rascal, I told you that we used flour: what is this horrible stuff?" "Only a solution of indigo, sir; it won’t do you any harm," replied poor Dick.