'No, it is Wilson,' said another voice.

'No, it is not, it is Cranbourne,' said a third; but all the time we
never allowed Graham to get anywhere near the bed, so as to look close.

'He can't be hurt,' repeated Graham. He had thrown down the turnip, and
though we could not see his face, we guessed from his voice that he was
as badly scared as we had meant him to be.

'Perhaps he could be brought round by artificial respiration,' suggested
Shepherd. 'One of you fellows fetch up Smith quickly. He understands
that sort of thing.'

Graham did not wait for the suggestion to be made twice. He ran, and, as
we heard afterwards, he burst into the study where Smith, the Captain of
the House, and, it so happened, the Doctor himself, were having a talk.

'He is dying!' screamed Graham. 'Come quickly and try and save him.'

'Who is dying?' cried the Doctor in amazement.

'Wilson, or Sergeant, or Cranbourne,' gasped Graham.

So they both followed Graham upstairs as fast as they could go--only to
find our dormitory perfectly still and quiet, and every one in it
apparently fast asleep.

'Wilson! Sergeant! Cranbourne! where are you?' called out the Doctor.

'Here, sir,' answered each boy sleepily, sitting up in bed as if
suddenly awakened.

'Is anything the matter with you?' inquired the Doctor.

'Nothing, sir,' they each replied in a surprised voice.

'What is the meaning of this, Graham?' asked the Doctor, sternly.

'I--I don't know sir!' stammered Graham.

'You bring us up here,' continued the Doctor, 'by declaring that three
of your schoolfellows are dying, and I find them all perfectly well and
sound asleep.'

Graham said nothing, but wriggled wretchedly from one leg to another,
hoping that the Doctor would not notice the painted stripes on his
pyjamas or the turnip-head, which was peeping out from under one of the
beds.

'Perhaps you will also explain what brings you into this dormitory at
all?'

But Graham did not attempt any further explanations, and the Doctor went
on: 'I have known for some time, Graham, that you were a little too fond
of playing practical jokes, but if you are going to try them on the
masters, you will soon find that you are carrying things too far. Smith,
is there a cane handy you could lend me?'

We all felt rather sorry for Graham during the next few minutes. It is
not pleasant to interview the Doctor when he is feeling very angry. Not
that I think he really suspected Graham of