"Tempest," broke in Dicky Brown, putting in his oar, "isn't the kind of chap to do a thing like that on purpose; and it must have been Mr Jarman blew him up by mistake, with one of his matches or the end of a cigar or something--" "It was a mulish thing of Sarah to stick him there," said Trimble, "but he knows no better, and thought it was all right. So did we, and Pridgin says it was quite an accident, sir, and--" "And if any one's to get in a row," said I, "we'd better, because he was our guy, and the mistake we made was letting his touch-paper tongue hang out so far. He'd have never blown up if it hadn't been for that." Here there was a general pause for breath, and the magistrate, who evidently had a sense of humour, said,-- "And pray who is Sarah, my man?" "That's what they call me when they're fooling; it's not my real name, really, sir. Jones iv. is my real name." "That's right," said Trimble; "he's only called Sarah because he looks like it. He's not more in it than the rest of us, because he only had to take care of the guy because he was president. We're all sorry the tongue was made so long." The magistrate did his best to look grave as he turned to Mr Jarman. "Does this explanation help to clear up the mystery?" Mr Jarman bit his lips and said,-- "If it is as they say, it may account for the explosion. I certainly dropped several matches through the grating." "It is as we say, isn't it, you chaps?" said Langrish. "We wouldn't tell a cram about it." "Rather not!" chimed we. "Very well. Then I don't see that I can do much good," said the magistrate. "Dr England will know better how to deal with the matter. An accident is an accident after all; and if I may give an opinion, these boys have done quite properly in coming here and telling all about it. Little boys should not be allowed to play with explosives. At the same time, you must allow me to say, Mr Jarman, that it is unfortunate for a master to put himself in the position of being made the subject of an effigy. As for Tempest, there is absolutely nothing against him, unless according to the rules of the school it is an offence for a boy who is locked up in a dark room at night to do his best to get out. It is a great pity the matter was brought to me at all; but as it has been, my advice is to let it rest where it is. Meanwhile, this poor fellow who has been injured has some claim, and I dare say this sovereign will help get him the necessary bandages and plaster for his forehead. Good morning, Dr England; good morning, Mr Jarman. Good day, my lads. Let this be a lesson against touch-paper tongues." So ended the famous affair of Mr Jarman's guy. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. GOING DOWN STREAM. If any one supposed that Low Heath had heard the last of Mr Jarman's guy they little knew Mr Jarman, or Tempest, or the Philosophers. The ghost of that unhappy effigy was hardly likely to be laid by a simple magisterial decision.