“I had more to do with planning the trick than Pierce had, sir, so it’s only just that I should be the scapegoat. We fixed upon Pierce to personate the ghost because he was tall and lanky. And a flogging is not much to my skin,” added honest, impudent Bywater. “So _you_ were the planner of it, were you, Mr. Bywater?” demanded the angry master. “In a great measure I was, sir. If I do go in for mischief, it shall not be said that I let others suffer for it. Little Channing had offended me, and I wished to serve him out. But I never thought to do him harm.” In the perplexity of deciding what he ought to do, when official proceedings were interrupted in this unprecedented way, the master hesitated. What he would have done is uncertain--flogged Pierce first and Bywater afterwards, perhaps--but at that moment there occurred another interruption, and a more serious one. Diggs, the man who lived at the boat-house, had entered the school, and was asking to speak to the head-master. Catching sight of the signs of the ceremony about to be performed, he waited for no permission, but went forward at once, a college cap in his hand, and his voice trembling with excitement. Its excitement was not lessened when he recognized Hamish Channing. “I am the bearer of bad news, gentlemen,” he said, addressing them both. “I fear one of the young college lads was drowned last night by my boat-house. We have picked up his cap this morning. It was poor little Master Channing.” Hamish controlled his emotion better than did the Rev. Mr. Pye. The latter turned his eyes on the horrified school, himself equally horrified, and then signified to Pierce senior to dress himself--to Bywater to retire to his place. “The affair has become serious,” he observed, “and must be dealt with differently. Poor child! Poor little Channing!” And the boys, in their emotion, broke into an echoing wail. “Poor little Channing! poor little Channing!” CHAPTER XLIII. -- DRAGGING THE RIVER. The echoes of lamentation were dying away in the high roof of the college school. Hamish Channing, pale, but calm and self-controlled, stood perfectly ready to investigate the account brought by the boat-house keeper of the drowning of Charles. The feelings of those who had had a hand in the work may be imagined, perhaps, but certainly cannot be described. Bill Simms choked and sobbed, and pulled his lanky straw-coloured hair, and kicked his legs about, and was altogether beside himself. The under-masters looked on with stern countenances and lowering brows; while old Ketch never had had such a disappointment in all his life (the one grand disappointment of last night excepted) as he was feeling now, at the deferred flogging.