em 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.

Plummer evidently meant business this time. The melancholy ceremony at
which he had just assisted had kindled the fires within him, and he sat
at his desk glowering as each boy dropped into his place, with the air
of a wolf selecting his victim.

As I encountered that awful eye, I found myself secretly wondering
whether by any chance I might have shot the dog in a fit of absence of
mind. Brown, I think, was troubled by a similar misgiving. Some of the
seniors evidently resented the way in which the head master glared at
them, and tried to glare back. Faulkner assumed an air of real
affliction, presumably for the departed. Tempest, on the other hand,
drummed his fingers indifferently on the desk, and looked more than
usually bored by the whole business.

"Now, boys," began Plummer, in the short sharp tones he used to affect
when he was