ing-places from which to look on safely
and observe all that happened.

Stalking pompously down the path leading from his own residence, Mr
Julius Workman scarcely deigned to acknowledge the polite salute which
two of the lads gave him. He walked--or rather waddled--along towards
the lake, and, arrived there, sniffed, drew his snuff-box from a pocket
in the tail of his coat, and helped himself to a liberal pinch. Then he
drew out a highly-coloured silk handkerchief, and, holding it in one
hand, was in the act of patting it to his nose, when his eye lit upon
the statue. Unable to believe that what he saw was real, he wiped his
glasses and stared again. Then his face assumed a livid hue, his cheeks
puffed out, and for the moment he looked as though he were on the point
of exploding, or of having an apoplectic fit.

"Tarred and feathered, as I live!" he shouted, dancing from foot to foot
in his rage, and shaking his stick threateningly. "Some wretch has
destroyed my statue, the most beautiful I ever saw. It is a piece of
wickedness; yes, wickedness! and I will search Highgate--ay, and even
the whole of London--to find the culprit."

For a moment he stopped for lack of breath, and behind their shelters
Phil and his friends enjoyed the scene to their hearts' content.

"Ah, I know!" the old gentleman suddenly shouted; "it's one of those
rascally boys. I know it. It must be their work. They shall pay for
it, the young scamps, and so shall Ebden!" and, still shaking his stick,
and in a towering rage, he went off to the school to interview its head.

"By George, the fat's in the fire now!" cried Wheeler, with a laugh
which was not altogether cheerful. "Phil, there'll be an awful row.
What shall we do?"

"Wait and see," answered Phil easily. "We've had our joke, and a good
one it was, and perhaps we shall have to pay for it."

Meanwhile Mr Julius Workman had reached the school, and had asked for
Mr Ebden. He was shown into the library, and there, as he waited and
thought over the matter, his rage, instead of decreasing, grew even more
violent, so that when the pleasant-faced little master entered, and in
his cheery voice said, "Ah, Mr Workman! this is a pleasure I had not
expected," the stout old gentleman was beyond himself, and could
scarcely speak.

"Pleasure, sir! Pleasure!" he spluttered at last. "It's no pleasure to
me, sir; let me tell you that. I have a serious complaint to make.
What have you to s