The reader will have judged by this time that I belonged to the species prig in my youthful days. Let that pass; I was not a unique specimen. Full of my noble resolve of saving the Dux from himself, I went out to take the air, and strolled aimlessly in the direction of the pond. A professional burglar could not have ordered his footsteps more circumspectly. I perambulated the pool, whistling a cheerful tune, and looking attentively at the rooks overhead. Not a soul was in sight. I began to throw stones into the water, small to begin with, then larger, then bits of stick about six inches long. Then I smuggled the unlucky pistol out of my pocket in my handkerchief, and whistled still more cheerfully. Although no one was looking, it seemed prudent to adopt an air of general boredom, as if I was tired of throwing sticks into the pond. I would only throw one more. Even that was a fag, but I would do it. What a plump, noisy splash it made, sending out circles far and near, and gurgling in a sickening way as it sank in a very unsticklike fashion to the bottom. My whistling ceased, my air of dejection increased. I must be unsociable no longer. Let me rejoin my dear schoolfellows, making a little _detour_ in order to appear to reach them from the direction not of the pond but of the orchard. I was sheering off by the lower end of the pond, when, to my horror, I perceived a boy groping on the grass on all fours, apparently digging up the ground with a trowel. On closer inspection I found that it was Dicky. "Oh, it's you, is it?" said he, as I came upon him. "Have you done chucking things into the pond?" "Why," said I, taken aback; "why, Dicky, what on earth are you up to?" "Never mind--an experiment, that's all. I'm glad it's only you. I was afraid it was some one else. You must be jolly hard up for a bit of fun to come and chuck things into the pond." "Oh!" said I, with tell-tale embarrassment, "I just strolled down for the walk. I didn't know you'd taken to gardening." "There goes the bell," said Dicky. "Cut up. I'll be there as soon as you." I obeyed, mystified and uncomfortable. Suppose Dicky had seen the pistol! I found the fellows hanging about the school door waiting to go in. "Been to the funeral, kid?" said the Dux, as I approached. I wished he would speak more quietly on such dangerous topics when Plummer was within earshot. "No, I've been a stroll," said I. "It's rather hot walking." "I guess it will be hotter before long," said some one. "Plummer looks as if he means to have it out this afternoon." "I hope he won't go asking any awkward questions," said Dicky, who had by this time joined us. "What's the odds, if you didn't do it?" demanded the Dux. "Look out," said Faulkner; "here he comes. He's beckoning us in." "Now we're in for it!" thought we all.