as I think best; but I tell you this: I shall be
perfectly firm and just, and shall leave no stone unturned to find out
the author of this scandal."

The Doctor turned and left the room, leaving the two boys alone.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

DOWN THE SCHOOL GROUNDS.

Later on in life, when Dr Bewley's pupils had grown up to manhood, they
used to think that in spite of school-troubles and a great deal of hard
work, with the natural accompaniments of temporary fits of ill-health
(which matured reason taught them had generally been due to some bit of
boyish folly not unconnected with pocket-money, extra home-tips, and
visits to the highly popular tuck-shop), the sun had always seemed to
shine brightly at Dr Bewley's establishment.

There was only one boy there who wore spectacles, not because he had bad
eyes, for they were very bright and good, but because nature had formed
the lenses of a more than usually rounded shape, with the consequence
that their owner was short-sighted and needed a pair of concave glasses
to deal with the rays of light and lengthen the focus of the natural
lenses. But, metaphorically and poetically, as somebody once wrote,
every boy wore glasses of the _couleur-de-rose_ type--those which make
everything that is happily beautiful seem ten times more so, and in
later days have made many a man say to himself, "Oh, if I could see life
now as I saw it then!"

There were cloudy and rainy days, of course, at Plymborough; and when
the former were recalled it was generally in connection with the loss of
Singh's belt.

It was on one of these cloudy days, when paradoxically the sun was
shining brilliantly in the pure blue south-western sky, that Glyn and
Singh were strolling down the grounds together, looking straight before
them, with the full intention of driving the school-troubles out of
their minds for the time being.

"What's the good of worrying about it, Singhy?" Glyn had said. "I know
it's a horrible nuisance, with the suspicion and unpleasantry, and it
was a very beautiful thing, which I am very, very sorry has been lost;
but let's try and forget it."

"Oh, who can forget it?" cried Singh impatiently.

"Well, I know it's hard work, and it all seems like a nasty little bit
of grit in the school machine. I can't get on with a single lesson
without your wretched belt getting into it."

"My wretched belt!" cried Singh hotly.

"Now, don't get into a passion, old chap. That isn't being