"Know!" wrathfully retorted Mrs. Butter. "There's fifty faces turned on to the house now from the playground, if there's one; and all of 'em as meek as lambs! Just look at 'em!"
Thinking she would leave the ketchup for a more auspicious occasion, Miss Brabazon went away, leaving Mrs. Butter fuming and grumbling. Sundry faces certainly were still scanning the house; but Miss Brabazon appeared to see nothing, and went on her way. In turning round by the chapel, she encountered the senior boy.
"Did you send that present to Mrs. Butter just now, Gall?"
"A present, Miss Brabazon?"
"A live mouse done up in a parcel."
Gall stared, and then laughed. He knew nothing of it. The seniors were above those practical tricks. "It was the second desk, no doubt," he said. "Am I to inquire into it, Miss Brabazon?"
"No, not from me. But they should not tease the old woman beyond bearing."
"She is of a cranky temper," said Gall.
"And the boys make it worse. Gall," added Miss Brabazon, her tone changing, and the senior boy thought it bore a touch of fear, "you have not discovered yet who fired the pistol?"
"Not at all. We begin to think now, Miss Brabazon, that it was not one of us."