eventful day arrived. The Scouts, all in full marching kit, fell in to be finally inspected by the Head. The trek-cart, filled to its utmost capacity, was placed in charge of Sayers and Armstrong—to be duly noticed and admired by the Rev. Septimus, who, a skilful amateur carpenter himself, always encouraged his pupils to take up carpentering for a hobby.

"Now, boys, I wish you all a very pleasant holiday," exclaimed the Head. "I have every reason to believe that you will do your best to enjoy yourselves and at the same time to keep up the credit of Collingwood College—and of the Scouts. I trust that you will have good weather, and that you will return safe and sound and ready to resume your studies with renewed keenness when the time comes. I will say no more, except perhaps that I wish I were coming with you."

The Scouts cheered at the last remark. They appreciated the Head's envy, but at the same time they were secretly glad that he was not accompanying them. There was a certain austerity about the Rev. Septimus that acted as a barrier betwixt master and scholar, a barrier that, out of school hours, did not exist between Mr Trematon and the lads.

The Head stepped up to Mr Trematon and shook hands.

"Scouts!" exclaimed the Scoutmaster. "Patrols right—quick march!"

The first stage of the long journey to Seal Island had begun.

CHAPTER V

THE ARRIVAL

It was four o'clock in the afternoon when the Scouts detrained at Wadebridge, the termination of their railway journey. Seven miles of hilly country separated them from the village of Polkerwyck. The afternoon was hot and sultry, there was no wind to cool the heated atmosphere; but braced up by the attractiveness of their novel surroundings the lads thought lightly of their march.

By some unexplained means the news of their impending arrival forestalled them, and at the station two Cornish troops, with drum and fife bands, awaited them. With typical kind-heartedness their west country brother-Scouts regaled their London visitors with tea, Cornish cream, pasties and other delicacies for which the Duchy is noted, while to still further perform their good turns they insisted upon dragging the camping party's trek-cart for nearly five miles.

It was a delicious march. Everything seemed strange to the visiting Scouts, and novelty was one of the chief delights of the holiday. The wild, moorland country, the quaint stone cottages, stone walls in place of hedges, the broad yet attractive dialect of the villagers, and last but not least their wholehearted hospitality, filled the lads with unbounded delight, while Mr Trematon, being in his native county, was as enthusiastic and light-hearted as his youthful companions.

The shadows were lengthening as the "Otters" and the "Wolves" breasted the last hill. The lads had relapsed into comparative silence. The strangeness of their surroundings so filled them with keen joy that they could only march in subdued quietness and feast their eyes on the natural beauties of the country.

Suddenly Fred Simpson, who headed the march, stopped, and, raising his stetson on the end of his staff, gave a mighty shout. His example was followed by the others as they gained the summit of the hilly road. Almost beneath his feet, and extending as far as the eye could see, was the sea, bathed in all the reflected glory of the setting sun. Not one of the Scouts had previously seen the sun set in the sea: their knowledge of the seaside was confined to the Kentish and Essex coast towns where the orb of day appears to sink to rest behind the inland hills.

On either hand dark red cliffs cut the skyline, forming the extremities of Polkerwyck Bay. The headlands, fantastic in shape, reared themselves boldly to a height of nearly three hundred feet. On the easternmost point, appropriately named Beware Head, stood a tall granite lighthouse, the stonework painted in red and black bands. On the western headland—Refuge Point—stood the white-washed houses of the coastguard station. Between the headlands was Polkerwyck Bay, the village giving it its name nestling on either side of a small tidal estuary, and enclosed by a gorge so narrow and so deep that the Scouts imagined that they could throw a pebble from the road upon the stone roofs of the picturesque cottages.

Of the estuary, and separated from the land by a stretch of deep blue water, lay what appeared to be a small rock.

"Where's Seal Island, sir?" asked Atherton, who was the first to find his tongue.

"There," replied the Scoutmaster, pointing to the rock.

"Why, it's ever so small," cried several of the Scouts in a chorus.

"Large enough for us, lads," replied Mr Trematon with a hearty laugh. "Objects look deceptive when viewed from a height. Now, then, fall in! Sayers, Scott, Pat Coventry and Armstrong, follow the trek-cart with the drag ropes. You will want to keep it well in check going down the hill. Patrols—quick march!"

Down the zig-zag hill the Scouts made their way; at every step Seal Island seemed to get larger and larger, till at length the lads halted in the main and only street of Polkerwyck, where they were surrounded by all the available population: men, women and children to the number of about eighty.

"Welcome back to Polkerwyck, Mr Trematon, zur," exclaimed a hale, grey-headed fisherman, picturesquely attired in sou'wester (although the day was hot), blue jersey, tanned canvas trousers, and heavy sea-boots.

"Thanks, Peter Varco," replied the Scoutmaster, heartily shaking the old man's hand. "I am glad to see you again. You look just the same."

"Sure us old 'uns keep powerful hearty in these parts, Mr Trematon. Thanks be, I be middlin'. These be the Scouts, eh? Likely lads they be, although I reckon as they bain't up to our Cornish lads, eh, Mr Trematon? Squire's man, Roger Penwith, he comed down to see I yesterday. Says 'e, 'Squire has written to say Mr Trematon's Scouts are a' comin' to Seal Island, and Squire wants 'em looked after prop'ly-like.' 'Trust I to do my part,' says I, and sure enow I have a-done. The Pride of Polkerwyck—you'll remember 'er, Mr Trematon—is at your sarvice, an' the three small craft as well; so when you'm ready to go over along, them boats is ready."

"Thank you, Varco," said the Scoutmaster. "The sooner we get to the Island the better, for it is past sunset."

"And Roger Penwith 'e 'as placed a load or two o' firewood close alongside the landin' place, Mr Trematon. Thought as 'ow you'd be wantin' it."

"Good man, Mr Penwith!" ejaculated Mr Trematon. "We can find a place to store this cart, I suppose?"

"Sure there'll be a sight of room in yon hut," replied the fisherman.

"Unload the trek-cart, lads," ordered the Scoutmaster. "Keep each patrol's belongings apart. Atherton, will you take charge of one boat; Simpson, another; load the heavy gear into the third boat, and Phillips and Green will assist me in taking her across."

Hither and thither the Scouts ran, each with a set purpose, while the on-lookers watched with admiration as the baggage was unloaded and the trek-cart bundled at the double into the hut.

"Have you a key to the door, Mr Varco?" asked Everest, with characteristic caution, after the cart had been housed.

"Key, young man? What do 'e want wi' a key for, might I make so bold as to ax? Sure, us be all honest men in these parts," said Varco, in a tone of mingled reproof and pride.

At length the three boats were manned, and the Scoutmaster gave the word to push off and give way. Thanks to his early training Mr Trematon was thoroughly at home both on and in the water, and he had developed particular pains to instruct his lads in the art of managing a boat, till the style of the Collingwood College Scouts on the Highgate Pond became a subject of envy to most of the other troops in the district.

It