It was near the close of the summer term, the end of the school-year, and the boys were looking forward with brightest anticipations towards the camping season. Provided their school reports had averaged well throughout the year, the boys were given a fortnight of camp-life before scattering to their several homes.

Sometimes they had gone to the mountains with their tents and accoutrements for hunting and fishing; sometimes to Lake Myrtle; and last year they had explored Barrimore river from the mouth to the source.

This year Mr. Bernard had obtained permission to take his boys out to Whaleback, an island containing about a hundred acres, uninhabited save by the family of the lighthouse-keeper.

There they would be "monarchs of all they surveyed," and no one would be disturbed by their noise--consequently no one to complain of "those dreadful boys."

This excursion was the great treat of the year for the Academy boys, and through the spring months it was the favourite theme for conversation.

Some ten or fifteen of the boys had forfeited their right to join the excursion by bad conduct or incorrigible laziness with lessons; but those who had reason to expect to go were already collecting and putting in order fishing-tackle, guns, bows and arrows, and all the things that boys consider essential to camp-life.

The rifle barrels were polished till they shone like steel mirrors; and under the careful supervision of one of the teachers, the owners practised with them two or three times a week.

The archery club had their targets set in the playground, and were in daily practice, the members considering themselves rivals of the rifle club.

Joe Chester was one of the most eager of all for the fun of camp-life, and he, with some four or five other boys, had ordered a boat to be sent to the landing where they were to take the steamer for the island.

Two or three other boats had also been engaged for the use of the scholars--row-boats; for Mr. Bernard absolutely declined the responsibility of sail-boats, even for those who were accustomed to manage them.

During the forenoon following the summary dismissal of school, the boys were anxiously discussing the probable effect of this mischief upon their vacation trip; and, after all, their conjectures ended in a return to the same question, "Who can the mean fellow be who made all this trouble?"

In the midst of the discussion the great bell sounded, and the boys returned to the school-room.

There were no laggards now; every boy was in his seat before the desk-bell had been struck.

Mr. Bernard stood in the desk with his hand on the open ledger, while the other teachers were seated near by.

The room was so still that a pin dropped would have sounded loud, and the boys almost held their breath while they waited for Mr. Bernard to speak.

He was evidently in no haste; lessons could wait. After a silence that seemed very long to the boys, he began to speak.

It was a short, sharp lecture upon the meanness of falsehood and all deceit, without a word in regard to the original trouble--the mutilation of the books.

I think it doubtful if a lecturer ever before had so attentive and awe-struck an audience. At the close he said, "Boys, I will call the roll once more. Let each answer on his honour--if he have any honour--whether he mutilated the books of the class in 'Anabasis.'"

Again from the beginning to the end of the roll the names were called, and again every voice unhesitatingly answered, "No."

Joe Chester's face was crimson; he dared not look up.

Some of his school-mates noticed his confusion, and whispered to their neighbours, "Look at little Joe! Do you suppose he did it after all?"

"Is it possible?" exclaimed Mr. Bernard in a despairing tone. "Have I been harbouring a liar among my boys all the year?"

With a sigh he opened the book again, and said, "On your honour, boys, answer me this question: Do you know who did the mischief? Although I confess I almost forget that in my regret that one of my boys has told a direct lie."

Once more the boys answered to their names, "No."

Joe listened almost heart-sick, hoping that Carver would say yes; but his negative was a decided one.

Then followed "Cheney."

"No."

"Chester."

The whole burden was to rest on him after all.

Joe blushed to the very roots of his hair, and without glancing up, answered bravely, "Yes, sir."

There was a little pause, followed by a suppressed buzz of surprise; then Mr. Bernard proceeded with the roll.

Again Drayton's name was called; and, as before, he answered boldly, "No."

No one but Joe Chester in all the school knew aught of the mischief-maker.

The ledger was returned to its place in the desk, and leaving the room in charge of Mr. Andrews, one of the head-teachers, Mr. Bernard retired to his study, and summoned poor Joe for an interview.

The boy turned as pale as he had been rosy, as he passed up the room and across the platform to the door of the study, and disappeared.

"Little Chester, after all!" said some.

"Ain't I glad I am not Joe Chester?" and similar expressions, were exchanged by the boys, until Mr. Andrews began to distribute black marks, which had a tendency to restore order, as a certain number of these marks would prevent participation in the summer gipsying, and some of the boys were alarmingly near the limit.

The eighty-five tongues were stilled, but twice eighty-five eyes were continually straying towards the study door behind the desk. In the meantime, Drayton could only conceal his anxiety and alarm by pretending to be very much engaged looking up a Latin translation, while all the time he was saying over and over to himself, "Joe promised to be mum! Joe promised to be mum!" and the minutes seemed hours.

"What could teacher and scholar be doing?"

The boys were all asking themselves that question, as they studied, or tried to study, in obedience to Mr. Andrews's orders.

It was a full hour before Joe appeared and came across the platform.

He did not glance up as he came down the room, and hastily seated himself, bending over his book, with both hands thrust through his short curls.

Mr. Bernard did not appear at once, and the lessons went on as usual.

When the usual hour for closing came, Mr. Bernard addressed the school again:--

"I am aware that among boys there is a code of honour in regard to information that will implicate a companion, and I have respect for it; but in this case, if the boy who is guilty will not confess, I deem it my duty to the school to hunt him down, and it seems to me that ordinary scruples ought not to prevent justice. This lie rests like a cloud over the whole school. Chester refuses to tell me what he knows."

A murmur of applause followed, but a heavy rap on the desk silenced it, and Mr. Bernard continued:--

"I am sorry to add, that unless the guilty boy is manly enough to save him by confessing his guilt, Chester must lose his fortnight in camp."

An audible "Oh no!" followed this. But Joe's voice did not join in the murmur; he only bent a little lower over his book, and looked steadily at the page without seeing a word upon it.

"You are dismissed."

The bell gave the signal for each class, and the boys passed out in an orderly way; but once outside there was a shout, "Chester! Chester!"

As soon as he appeared he was seized by the crowd and borne on the shoulders of his comrades to the centre of the playground, where all began cheering and scolding him in the same breath.

"If any fellow is mean enough to keep still and let you bear the punishment, he ought to be told on! I wouldn't keep his secret for him!" exclaimed one of the older boys.

"I declare I didn't know we had such a mean fellow among us!" said another.

"He must feel about the size of a dried pea about this time."

"But he won't be mean enough to let you stay behind and go himself to camp out," said Fred Wurden, one of the quiet boys.

Some of the more impulsive boys cried, "If Joe can't go, we won't any of us go!"

Joe said little, and went away to his room as soon as possible with David Winter, his room-mate. Drayton had not joined the indignant crowd. He and Ben Carver had an errand at the village, and hurried away; and during the remainder of the term these two boys held themselves aloof from the other boys, who were, however, too busy with their plans for vacation to remark upon it.

Only once did Ralph and Joe meet alone, and then Ralph said, "I don't know how this affair is to end, old boy; but I would rather be in your shoes than mine."

"So would I!" exclaimed Joe heartily.

At length the examinations were over, and the last day of school was about closing, when Mr. Bernard said, "To-morrow morning at six we are to start for the Cape to take steamer for our island camp-ground. Several boys will be left behind, having forfeited their pleasure. Unless the boy who was guilty of the mischief, and the far greater crime of hiding himself behind a lie, will confess, Joseph Chester must stay behind."

There was a pause long enough to allow the guilty boy time to speak.

"There is time now for the guilty boy or boys to speak."

No voice answered, and the silence grew painful.

Then Mr. Bernard said, "Chester, my boy, unless you receive other orders you will remain behind. This, I think you know, gives me more pain than it does you, and I am sure you understand why I deem it necessary."

Chester bowed, and made a desperate effort to bear the sentence bravely, but soon resorted to the old attitude, and sat staring blindly at his book, with both elbows on the desk and both hands buried in his hair.

The boys passed out of the room when dismissed, and only Chester remained behind with the teachers, who waited to speak with him; but finding that he could not well bear their pity, and that his quivering lips could not frame a reply, each expressed his regret at the disappointment, and presently Joe occupied the room alone. Still he showed no sign of moving after a half-hour had passed.

Presently the door opened and some one peeped in; then Joe heard a step inside, and with the pretence of looking up a book on the different desks, he stood a moment at Joe's side, and dropped a note on his open Virgil, and then hastily retreated.

Joe unfolded the note and read:--

"JOE, I hate to go. I only go to keep my father from finding out. You can't hate me any more than I hate myself. D."

That evening Joe kept his room; he could not bear to hear his friends saying continually, "Poor Joe!" "Oh, if Joe could go!"