The incident of the six Abernethys and the 6 pence was not seriously considered. There was no evidence that Rollitt had effected the mysterious purchase, and the eccentricities of the young shopmen left it very doubtful whether more than half of that story was not a sensational fiction of their own. Masters and boys alike went to bed full of trouble and foreboding. Fisher major, more perhaps than any one, took the situation to heart. He had never ranged himself with Rollitt's accuser; yet, had it not been for his bad management and stupidity, all the trouble would never have come about. Now, if anything grave had happened to the missing boy, Fisher major felt that on his shoulders rested all the blame. But his misery was turned into rage when, just before bedtime, a fag came over with the following letter from Dangle:-- "I am not surprised you should be so ready to be imposed upon. You have done mischief enough already; but you have been robbed all the same. Any one but a simpleton would see that the turning up of the money just when it did was a suspicious coincidence. What could be easier than for the thief either to impose on Widow Wisdom, and get her to bring back the money with the story about the shirt; or else, during one of his frequent visits there, as soon as he saw that he was found out, to slip it into the pocket himself! Where he got it from I don't pretend to guess; but I don't mind betting that somebody in the School is poorer by £4 10 shillings for this tardy act of restitution. It deceived no one but you. `None are so blind,' etcetera. "R. Dangle." Fisher fairly tore his hair over this scoundrelly document. His impulse was to go over then and there, drag the writer out of his bed, and make him literally swallow his own words. He might have done it, had not the captain just then looked in. "Why, what's up?" said the latter, who seemed none the worse for his big climb. "What's the matter?" "Matter? Read this!" shouted Fisher. Yorke read the letter. An angry flush spread over his face as he did so. "He shall answer for it to-night!" said Fisher. "No, not to-night. Let the cad have a night's rest. He shall answer for it to-morrow, though, before the whole School. Let me have the letter, old man." "If you'll promise to make him smart for it." "You can make your mind easy about that." Next morning, to the surprise of every one, a notice appeared on the door of each house. Notice. "A School meeting is summoned for this afternoon at 3. "(Signed) C. Yorke (Wakefield's). G. Clapperton (Forder's). P. Bingham (Stratton's). L. Porter (Wilbraham's)." "What's up now?" said Wally, as he read it. "Like Clapperton's cheek to go sticking his name under our man's--and old Bingham, too! What right has he to stick his nose in it?--and, ha, ha, Porter! that's the green idiot in specs, who calls himself captain of Wilbraham's! Well, I never!" "Shall you go?" asked D'Arcy.