―A fat lot you know about it, Thunder! Wells said. I know why they scut.
―Tell us why.
―I was told not to, Wells said.
―O, go on, Wells, all said. You might tell us. We won’t let it out.
Stephen bent forward his head to hear. Wells looked round to see if anyone was coming. Then he said secretly:
―You know the altar wine they keep in the press in the sacristy?
―Yes.
―Well, they drank that and it was found out who did it by the smell. And that’s why they ran away, if you want to know.
And the fellow who had spoken first said:
―Yes, that’s what I heard too from the fellow in the higher line.
The fellows all were silent. Stephen stood among them, afraid to speak, listening. A faint sickness of awe made him feel weak. How could they have done that? He thought of the dark