About daybreak there came a ring at the school-bell, and half the school jumped to its feet. Fisher was down on the Green among the first, in slippers and ulster.
Five shivering youngsters were standing inside the gate, with dripping garments and chattering teeth and white faces—D’Arcy, Lickford, Ramshaw, Cottle, and Cash—but no Fisher minor.
“Where’s my minor?” asked the senior.
“What! hasn’t he turned up?” said D’Arcy. “Haven’t Wally and Percy and Ashby turned up? We got lost on Hawk’s Pike. I’m awfully hungry, I say.”
“No one’s turned up. Do you mean to say he’s out on the hill a night like this?”
“He was behind—he and Ashby. He was a lame duck, you know. The others were in front.”
“Were they together?”
“Who? Young Fisher minor and Ashby? I don’t think so.”
“Ashby yelled to see if we knew where he was, and must have gone to look for him. We made sure they’d be back long ago, didn’t we, you chaps?”
Here the doctor and several of the prefects came on the scene. The truants were ordered to the hot bath and bed at once, and a council was held as to what should be done. Fisher major did not wait to take part in it. He rushed to his room, flung on his clothes and boots, and started off, accompanied by Denton, at full speed, in the direction of the mountain.