"Waterman's gone for Dr. Clack."
"That's right. The poor little fellow's in a bad way. Oh, you boys—you boys!" came in a sigh from the matron's lips. "Always in mischief. Who pushed him into the river?"
"Nobody pushed him. He fell in, so far as I could see."
Paul did not tell her that two more Gargoyles had fallen into the river at the same time, for fear of alarming her still more.
"Why didn't you stop him from playing about on the river? You're old enough to know better," said Mrs. Trounce wrathfully.
Paul stood silent under this rebuke. He had not explained all the circumstances of the accident—so far, at least, as he knew them—for fear of implicating the other boys. He had caught a glimpse of the savage "get-up" of Baldry and his companions, and the black stains on Hibbert's face, which had only been partially washed away by the water. He guessed, therefore, that there was more in the accident than at first met the eye.
"If he dies we shall have the police here a-makin' all sorts of inquiries," continued the angry matron. "And I shouldn't wonder if they took you off to the lock-up, and brought you up before a judge and jury. And serve you right, ses I. You elder boys want a lesson. Instead of stopping the little fellow from playing on the river, you encouraged him, I expect. I know the way you big boys have. You use the paws of the little ones to pull out the roast chestnuts. It's disgraceful, I call it."
Thus the matron poured out the vials of her wrath on Paul's head, while she busied herself at the same time in doing all she could to restore the patient to consciousness. Her words fell unheeded on Paul's ears. He was watching the face of Hibbert, and wondering whether the eyes would ever open again, and look up to him as they had looked up to him on that day when he had put his hand timidly on his shoulder and whispered:
"You look so wretched and miserable I could not help coming to you. You're not angry with me, are you?"