g room for a few minutes, and Mr
Ebden once more bent over the letter with which he was occupied. A
faint rustle in a far-off corner then attracted the attention of the
boys, and, looking up, Phil watched a lad named Carrol spell off some
words on his fingers.

"I've got it," they ran. "It's about Old Bumble's statues."

Then, as the lad's excitement increased, the message became
unintelligible, and Phil sent back, "Can't make it out. Start again."

By this time all the boys were on the _qui vive_ and staring hard at
Carrol. But a sudden movement on Mr Ebden's part and a sharp "Go on
with your work, boys!" disturbed them. Another attempt failed for the
same reason, and then Carrol seemed to give it up altogether. But a few
minutes later, keeping a wary eye upon the master, who was sitting at
his desk in the centre of the room, Carrol held up a slate upon which
was written in large letters, "We'll tar and feather Old B.'s statues."

Instantly a suppressed giggle went round the room, and the lads looked
at one another with eyes which clearly said: "By Jove! he's got it.
What a joke it will be!"

That night, when Ebden's was supposed to be buried in profound sleep, a
council of war was held in Phil's cubicle, at which the details of the
plot were worked out.

"We're certain to catch it hot," Phil remarked, with a smile, as,
dressed in a flimsy night-gown, he sat on the edge of his bed, and
surveyed the three lads squatting on the floor in front of him. "Old
Bumble will suspect us at once, and will do his best to find out which
of us played the joke. But we'll do it, if only to show that we can.
By Jove, I wonder what the old boy will do when he sees Hercules dressed
like a hen? He'll simply blow up with rage, and I wouldn't miss the
sight for worlds."

"There's safe to be a ruction," Wheeler broke in complacently, "and some
of us will get a licking. But what does it matter? Ebden will talk at
us till we feel as limp as rags, and then he'll cane us till we go as
stiff as any poker. Then it will all be over, and we'll be as good
friends as ever. It'll be a fine spree, and I vote we see about it
to-morrow."

"I take a share in it at any rate," cried Carrol, looking round at the
others to see if they agreed, for he was usually left in the background.
"I invented the joke, remember that, you chaps."

"We're all four of us in it," Phil answered gaily; "and now how about
the stuff? The feathers and the ta