The king’s scholars were in the schoolroom, cramming their surplices into bags, or preparing to walk home with them thrown upon their arms, and making enough hubbub to alarm the rooks. It dropped to a dead calm at sight of the master. On holidays--and this was one--it was not usual for the masters to enter the school after service. The school was founded by royal charter--its number limited to forty boys, who were called king’s scholars, ten of whom, those whose voices were the best, were chosen choristers. The master marched to his desk, and made a sign for the boys to approach, addressing himself to the senior boy. “Gaunt, some mischief has been done in the vestry, touching Bywater’s surplice. Do you know anything of it?” “No, sir,” was the prompt answer. And Gaunt was one who scorned to tell a lie. The master ranged his eyes round the circle. “Who does?” There was no reply. The boys looked at one another, a sort of stolid surprise for the most part predominating. Mr. Pye resumed: “Bywater tells me that he left his clean surplice in the vestry this morning. This afternoon it was found thrown behind the screen, tumbled together, beyond all doubt purposely, and partially covered with ink. I ask, who has done this?” “I have not, sir,” burst forth from most of the boys simultaneously. The seniors, of whom there were three besides Gaunt, remained silent. But this was nothing unusual; for the seniors, unless expressly questioned or taxed with a fault, did not accustom themselves to a voluntary denial. “I can only think this has been the result of accident,” continued the head-master. “It is incredible to suppose any one of you would wantonly destroy a surplice. If so, let that boy, whoever he may have been, speak up honourably, and I will forgive him. I conclude that the ink must have been spilt upon it, I say accidentally, and that he then, in his consternation, tumbled the surplice together, and threw it out of sight behind the screen. It had been more straightforward, more in accordance with what I wish you all to be--boys of thorough truth and honour--had he candidly confessed it. But the fear of the moment may have frightened his better judgment away. Let him acknowledge it now, and I will forgive him; though of course he must pay Bywater for another surplice.” A dead silence. “Do you hear, boys?” the master sternly asked. No answer from any one; nothing but continued silence. The master rose, and his countenance assumed its most severe expression. “Hear further, boys. That it is one of you, I am convinced; and your refusing to speak compels me to fear that it was _not_ an accident, but a premeditated, wicked act. I now warn you, whoever did it, that if I can discover the author or authors, he or they shall be punished with the utmost severity, short of expulsion, that is allowed by the rules of the school. Seniors, I call for your aid in this. Look to it.”