At the conclusion of the service the head-master proceeded to the vestry, where the minor canons, choristers, and lay-clerks kept their surplices. Not the dean and chapter; they robed in the chapter-house: and the king’s scholars put on their surplices in the schoolroom. The choristers followed Mr. Pye to the vestry, Bywater entering with them. The boys grouped themselves together: they were expecting--to use their own expression--a row. “Bywater, what is the meaning of this conduct?” was the master’s stern demand. “I had no surplice, sir,” was Bywater’s answer--a saucy-looking boy with a red face, who had a propensity for getting into “rows,” and, consequently, into punishment. “No surplice!” repeated Mr. Pye--for the like excuse had never been offered by a college boy before. “What do you mean?” “We were ordered to wear clean surplices this afternoon. I brought mine to college this morning; I left it here in the vestry, and took the dirty one home. Well, sir, when I came to put it on this afternoon, it was gone.” “How could it have gone? Nonsense, sir! Who would touch your surplice?” “But I could _not_ find it, sir,” repeated Bywater. “The choristers know I couldn’t; and they left me hunting for it when they went into the hall to receive the judges. I could not go into my stall, sir, and sing the anthem without my surplice.” “Hurst had no business to sing it,” was the vexed rejoinder of the master. “You know your voice is gone, Hurst. You should have gone up to the organist, stated the case, and had another anthem put up.” “But, sir, I was expecting Bywater in every minute. I thought he’d be sure to find his surplice somewhere,” was Hurst’s defence. “And when he did not come, and it grew too late to do anything, I thought it better to take the anthem myself than to give it to a junior, who would be safe to have made a mess of it. Better for the judges and other strangers to hear a faded voice in Helstonleigh Cathedral, than to hear bad singing.” The master did not speak. So far, Hurst’s argument had reason in it. “And--I beg your pardon for what I am about to say, sir,” Hurst went on: “but I hope you will allow me to assure you beforehand, that neither I, nor my juniors under me, have had a hand in this affair. Bywater has just told me that the surplice is found, and how; and blame is sure to be cast upon us; but I declare that not one of us has been in the mischief.” Mr. Pye opened his eyes. “What now?” he asked. “What is the mischief?” “I found the surplice afterwards, sir,” Bywater said. “This is it.” He spoke meaningly, as if preparing them for a surprise, and pointed to a corner of the vestry. There lay a clean, but tumbled surplice, half soaked in ink. The head-master and Mr. Yorke, lay-clerks and choristers, all gathered round, and stared in amazement. “They shall pay me the worth of the surplice,” spoke Bywater, an angry shade crossing his usually good-tempered face.