You fibber! Patrick thought. You great big fibber! But he didn’t say anything.

Mr Boots hadn’t finished yet. He was enjoying his moment in the limelight. “So Patrick’s standing there now on the bank, all shivering and shaking, and that’s when I have a little look inside the sack, don’t I? And what do I find? It’s full of puppies, that’s what, five of the little beggars, and if I’m not mistaken, which I’m not, they’re greyhounds, about seven weeks old by the look of them. We’ve got brindles in there, blacks and a fawn one too. I go down the greyhound track from time to time, so I know my greyhounds. I’m what you might call a greyhound connoisseur. They’re lovely pups too, fine dogs. And young Patrick here jumped in the canal and saved them. I saw him with my own eyes. He’s a bleeding hero, if you ask me – ‘scuse my French, Mrs Brightwell – but that’s what he is, a bleeding hero.”

Patrick had never heard such a depth of silence as he heard in that hall when Bossy Boots had finished. Then one of the puppies squeaked, and suddenly they were all at it, a whole chorus of squealing, yelping puppies. “Aaah, sweet,” said someone. Someone else started giggling, and soon there was laughter and clapping too, rippling round the hall. Within moments the assembly hall was loud with cheering and whooping – one or two were yelping like puppies. Patrick stood there soaking in the applause and feeling about ten foot tall. Even Mrs Brightwell was clapping now. Patrick saw there were tears in her eyes as she beamed at him. That was the first time, Patrick thought, that she’d ever beamed at him. He’d never seen her cry before either; he didn’t know she could. Suddenly he found himself really quite liking her, and that hadn’t happened before either.

As the applause died away at last, Mrs Brightwell came down off the platform, and peered into the sack. “One. Two. Three. Four, five, and they’re all alive because of you, Patrick. What you did was very special. You risked your life to save them. I think that’s about as special as it gets.” She looked into the sack again, shaking her head sadly now. “Beautiful creatures. Beautiful, but unwanted it seems. So sad, and so wicked too.”

Her voice was trembling with anger as she spoke to the whole school. “It’s difficult to believe, children. I won’t hide from you what must have happened. Someone tried to get rid of these puppies, tried to drown them in the canal. And if Patrick here hadn’t jumped in and…” For a moment she could hardly speak. “And we mustn’t ever let the wicked people have their way, must we Patrick? That’s why we must report this at once to the Police.”

She had her hand on Patrick’s shoulder now. Although he was still all aglow inside, he must have been shivering, because Mrs Brightwell suddenly noticed it. “Goodness gracious,” she said. “We’re standing here nattering away, and this poor boy is half frozen to death. We’ll have three loud cheers for Patrick, children, and then we’ll get him into a hot shower and warm him up. He’ll be needing some dry clothes too – we’ve got plenty in the lost property cupboard. Three cheers then for Patrick and his puppies! Hip, hip!”