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Updated: June 26, 2025
"But I didn't do it on purpose," returned the old man. "We was ordered into the burial-ground to put it a bit to rights, and I fell down with my hand on a broken phial. I ain't as active as I was. I say, though, sir, do you know that service has begun?" "Let it begin," returned careless Bywater. "This was the bottle you fell over, was it not? I found it on Joe's mantelpiece, just now."
It had been more straightforward, more in accordance with what I wish you all to be boys of thorough truth and honour had he candidly confessed it. But the fear of the moment may have frightened his better judgment away. Let him acknowledge it now, and I will forgive him; though of course he must pay Bywater for another surplice." A dead silence. "Do you hear, boys?" the master sternly asked.
I protest that I heard you mention the word 'surplice' to Gerald Yorke, the day there was that row in the cloisters, when Roland Yorke gave Tod a thrashing and I tore the seat out of my pants. Gerald Yorke looked ready to kill you for it, too! Come, out with it. This is about the sixth time I have had you in trap, and you have only defied me." "I don't defy you, Bywater.
Pye resumed: "Bywater tells me that he left his clean surplice in the vestry this morning. This afternoon it was found thrown behind the screen, tumbled together, beyond all doubt purposely, and partially covered with ink. I ask, who has done this?" "I have not, sir," burst forth from most of the boys simultaneously. The seniors, of whom there were three besides Gaunt, remained silent.
But the occupant with whom this narrative is more immediately concerned was a certain ex-military man named Bywater, who woke up the echoes of York society for a few brief months, between sixty and seventy years ago, and who, after passing a lurid interval of his misspent life in this community, solved the great problem of human existence by falling down stairs and breaking his neck.
He presented himself before the master, and entered upon his complaint, schoolboy fashion. "Please, sir, I think I have found out who inked my surplice." The master had allowed the occurrence to slip partially from his memory. At any rate, it was some time since he had called it up. "Oh, indeed!" said he somewhat cynically, to Bywater, after a pause given to revolving the circumstances.
I was only chaff teasing him," rejoined Bywater, substituting one word for the other, as if fearing the first might not altogether be suited to the bishop's ears; "and Ketch fell into a passion." "As he often does, I fear," remarked his lordship. "I fancy you boys provoke him unjustifiably."
Punishment for the present was reserved; and what the precise punishment would be when it came, none could tell. Talkative Bywater was fond of saying that it did not matter whether Miss Charley turned up or not, so far as their backs were concerned: they would be made to tingle, either way. Arthur, after communicating to Constance the strange fact of the return of the money to Mr.
"Why! about Pye giving it to Gerald Yorke, over the others' heads," returned Bywater. "You know Gerald's crowing over it, like anything, but I say it's a shame. I heard him and Griffin say this morning that there was only Huntley to get over, now Tom Channing was put out of it through the bother about Arthur." "What's the dean about, that he does not give Pye a word of a sort?" asked Roland.
"Except the milk, and he gave me my ha'porth through the winder." "Hurrah!" said Bywater, throwing up his trencher. "It's a clear case of dreams. You dreamt you had a second pair of keys, Ketch, and couldn't get rid of the impression on awaking. Mr. Ketch, D.H., Dreamer-in-chief to Helstonleigh!" Bywater commenced an aggravating dance. Ketch was aggravated sufficiently without it.
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