TEN days passed, and Alfred received another letter from his mother, saying that his father was expected home in three days’ time. Moreover, the lady he had met at the deanery had called again, this time with her husband, Mr. Rogers, and they had promised to repeat the visit when his father came home. “Don’t forget, Alfie,” wrote his sister, “that we hope next week to come and see you.” Alfred was not likely to forget that; he almost counted the hours and minutes to the day when he should see his father again.

Steve met him as usual, as he was on his way to school, and as they passed Mr. Cottenham’s shop, he called to them:

“Steve,” he said, “poor Polly’s gone!”

“Dead, sir?”

“No; Steve; at least I hope not. Last night a strange cat came into my parlour, through the open window, and flew at Polly. I only heard a noise, and when I came in I saw the parrot fly through the window, and the cat after it. I rushed down the garden, but Poll, although one wing has had a few feathers taken out to prevent it from flying away, can still fly some yards at a time—farther than I thought it could. I have been out half the night and early again this morning, but I cannot find any trace of it. I hope I sha’n’t catch that cat until I am less angry, or it will be a bad job for it.”“We will look about, sir,” replied Steve, “and run back if we should see it or hear anything about it. Everybody in the town knows it, I should think, so I do hope you will get it back again.”

“I hope so too, Steve, I can assure you.”

The boys went on to school without seeing Polly, or meeting anyone who had seen it. They told their school-fellows, and all of them determined to join Mr. Cottenham in their spare time in hunting for the bird.

The dean still retained something of the schoolmaster about him, and used twice a year to examine the choir-boys in the school for about a couple of hours. His visit was always an unexpected one, and the boys, when assembled after service, were surprised when he walked in, accompanied by Mr. Young. All the boys were afraid of him, not that they need have been, for although he was a firm believer in discipline, he was very fond of young people, and boys had at various times experienced many kindnesses at his hands. But still, he was the dean, and because he was the dean, the choir-boys were always uneasy, to say the least, when the surprise examination took place. Moreover, if a boy were very bad and had to be expelled, he was taken before the dean, and in that light, as a judge, he was always regarded.

“He will be sure to be down on me, worse luck,” exclaimed King, “on account of that young sneak, Davidson!”

King had been often called “Onions” since the first of April incident, and was always very angry when anyone used the nickname. He could not see that side of the joke.

If the boys were anxious, the master was equally so, as he wished them to show up well before the dean. This did not always happen, and work which Mr. Harmer had been through time after time, they sometimes quite forgot when they were questioned by the dean. The unlucky boy, who from inattention had not learnt his work properly, or from nervousness was unable to remember, would not only be reproved by the dean, but, after he had gone, Mr. Harmer would give him some impositions in order to help his memory.

Those boys who had been previously examined remembered this, and that was one reason why they were always very glad when the dean’s visit was over.

While the dean was talking to Mr. Harmer about the work the boys had done during the past few months, the boys themselves were quietly talking about their chances.

“I wish I had been unwell to-day,” said Harry Cox, “so that I should not have been able to come. Frank Pitt, lucky beggar, is at home with a bad cold. I wish I had twenty colds!”

“You’ll find it warm enough presently to cure all your colds, Harry,” said Steve. “I hope the dean is in a good temper; he is sometimes.”

“He isn’t likely to be so with me, anyhow,” observed King, who was trying to put on a bold face and tone; but it was rather a failure, for he looked more nervous than anyone.

The dean took the master’s seat and glanced round the class. Not a sound was heard.

“I have been reading the report on your conduct, boys, and on the whole it is satisfactory, although I find some complaints. It appears that at times some of you boys have not been quite so truthful as I should like to see. All British boys like to be thought brave! Quite right, too. I like to see brave boys, and so always remember this, that lying is the refuge of cowards. Don’t forget what I say, boys. To be brave you must be truthful. I am not going to preach to you.”

The dean looked at Harry Cox and two other boys. They all felt and looked very much ashamed.

Mr. Harmer and Mr. Young left the room, and the dean took his seat at the masters desk.

He was glancing over the list of subjects which the boys had done, when suddenly a voice exclaimed, “Come, Joe, hurry up!” Then there was a quiet laugh.

“What boy has dared to make that impertinent remark?” exclaimed the dean angrily.

No boy answered or moved.

“I will severely punish every boy, if necessary, to find out the guilty one,” said the dean.

Still no boy answered.

“As you are all silent, I shall question each one of you separately, and the boy who has been guilty of this insult shall be severely punished.”

“Herbert King,” said the dean, “stand up. Did you speak, or do you know who spoke?”

“No, sir,” replied King, pale with fear.

“Phew!” came the sound of a whistle.

“Who whistled?” exclaimed the dean. “It was one of you boys at the end of the room. Do you suppose I cannot tell where the sound comes from? Stand up, every one of you!”

As the boys rose a voice called out, “Wipe your boots!”The dean looked at the boys in blank astonishment.

“One of you boys is trying to mock me by imitating a man’s voice. How dare you? Which boy is it? It must be one of you who were sitting on that end form. Unless you at once confess, I will send for Mr. Harmer and have you all caned.”

“Look out!” said the voice.

The dean could see that none of the boys was speaking.

“Do you want a pill?” said the voice.

The dean and all the boys looked towards the end of the room. No one was there.

“Where’s the bottle?” said the voice, and then there was a loud whistle, followed by a sneeze.

“Please, sir,” said Steve, “there’s Mr. Cottenham’s parrot on that beam. He lost it last night.”

“Oh dear! Oh dear!” said Polly, “where’s the sugar?”

Steve was right. There was the lost parrot eyeing the boys in a very knowing manner. Had the dean been anyone else than a dean he must have laughed; as it was, he smiled.

“You had better fetch Mr. Cottenham,” said the dean to Steve. “King, close the window, so that the bird cannot fly away.”Away ran Steve as fast as he could, and in less than five minutes he was at Mr. Cottenham’s.