“You must have misunderstood him,” returned Gaunt, carelessly taking up Tom Channing’s notion; “and you had no right to blurt out such a thing to the school. Arthur Channing is better known and trusted than you, Mr. Mark.” “I didn’t accuse Arthur Channing to the school. I only repeated to my desk what Butterby said.” “It is that ‘only repeating’ which does three parts of the mischief in this world,” said Gaunt, giving the boys a little touch of morality gratis, to their intense edification. “As to you, Pierce senior, you’ll get more than you bargain for, some of these days, if you poke your ill-conditioned nose so often into other people’s business.” Tom Channing had marched away towards his home, head erect, his step ringing firmly and proudly on the cloister flags. Charley ran by his side. But Charley’s face was white, and Tom caught sight of it. “What are you looking like that for?” “Tom! you don’t think it’s true, do you?” Tom turned his scorn upon the boy. “You little idiot! True! A Channing turn thief! _You_ may, perhaps--it’s best known to yourself--but never Arthur.” “I don’t mean that. I mean, can it be true that the police suspect him?” “Oh! that’s what your face becomes milky for? You ought to have been born a girl, Miss Charley. If the police do suspect him, what of that?--they’ll only have the tables turned upon themselves, Butterby might come out and say he suspects me of murder! Should I care? No; I’d prove my innocence, and make him eat his words.” They were drawing near home. Charley looked up at his brother. “You must wipe your face, Tom.” Tom took out his handkerchief, and gave his face a rub. In his indignation, his carelessness, he would have done nothing of the sort, had he not been reminded by the boy. “Is it off?” “Yes, it’s off. I am not sure but it will break out again. You must take care.” “Oh, bother! let it. I should like to have polished off that Pierce senior as he deserves. A little coin of the same sort would do Galloway no harm. Were I senior of the school, and Arthur not my brother, Mr. Mark should hear a little home truth about sneaks. I’ll tell it him in private, as it is; but I can’t put him up for punishment, or act in it as Gaunt could.” “Arthur is our brother, therefore we feel it more pointedly than Gaunt,” sensibly remarked Charley. “I’d advise you not to spell forth that sentimental rubbish, though you are a young lady,” retorted Tom. “A senior boy, if he does his duty, should make every boy’s cause his own, and ‘feel’ for him.” “Tom,” said the younger and more thoughtful of the two, “don’t let us say anything of this at home.” “Why not?” asked Tom, hotly. He would have run in open-mouthed. “It would pain mamma to hear it.” “Boy! do you suppose _she_ would fear Arthur?” “You seem to misconstrue all I say, Tom. Of course she would not fear him--you did not fear him; but it stung you, I know, as was proved by your knocking down Pierce.”