determination. In his earlier days he knew Mr Trematon's father intimately, and the young Scoutmaster took decorous advantage of this friendship to ask a boon for his Scouts.

Seal Island, which formed but a small portion of Sir Silas' estates, is situated off the north Cornish coast, being separated from the shore by a stretch of deep water barely a quarter of a mile in width. It is a little more than half a mile in length, and half that distance across its widest part. Roughly, the island resembles the shape of the body of a pig, the back being seawards. It is uninhabited, save for numerous rabbits and countless sea-birds. Its north-western side is honeycombed with caves; a romantic ruin, that tradition ascribes to the work of a saintly hermit, occupies the highest position, which is two hundred and fifty feet above the sea.

Needless to say the Scouts voted that Seal Island was an ideal place to spend a holiday, and one and all looked for the expected reply.

And now Sir Silas Gwinnear had replied, and their hopes were dashed to the ground.

"I may as well let you hear what Sir Silas says," continued Mr Trematon. "You will then be able to know what some people think of us Scouts:—

"DEAR MR TREMATON,

"I must apologise for the slight delay that has arisen in replying to your letter of the 2nd.

"It is an unpleasant thing to have to refuse the request of the son of an old friend of mine, but in so doing I merely adhere to the principles I am about to explain.

"I give you my reasons. They may not meet with your approval, but they are certainly what I believe to be correct. In the first place, I strongly disapprove of the Boy Scout movement. To me, a man of strong commercial instincts, the whole scheme suggests militancy and is merely the thin end of the wedge of 'National Conscription,' which to a man of peace is utterly abhorrent.

"Nor can I see that any useful purpose can be served by grotesquely garbed youths running about the country with broomsticks in their hands and wild cat-calls on their lips. The very privacy of a country ramble is menaced by the apparition of an inquisitive youth in a Scout's hat peering through a gap in the hedge.

"To-day, too much time is wasted in outdoor amusements—in fact, in amusements of all sorts. The commercial vitality of the nation is seriously threatened. I can assure you that I've had the greatest difficulty in obtaining a suitable junior clerk. There were scores of applicants for the post, but in almost every case the lads wanted to know what holidays were given, and what the hours were on Saturdays—in order, I suppose, that they can go to football.

"By granting you permission to take your Scouts to Seal Island I realise that I should be tacitly violating my principles. It is not because of the damage the boys might do: there is very little to harm on the Island. I trust, therefore, that you will understand the reason of my refusal, and accept my assurance of regret at not being able to accede to your request.—Yours faithfully,

"Jolly hard lines, sir," exclaimed Jack Phillips, the Second of the "Otters." "Can't you write and explain that his ideas are wrong."

"Hardly," replied the Scoutmaster, with a smile. "Sir Silas does not ask for my opinion. All the same it is up to us to show him that he is in error. All great organisations are misunderstood by some, especially during the initial stages. Time alone will wear down opposition, and in due course I sincerely hope that Sir Silas may have cause to change his opinions. Meanwhile, lads, we must not be downhearted. I must say you appear to take the bad news in a true Scout-like spirit. Perhaps, after all, we will have almost as jolly a camp at Southend, although I am sorry we are not going to sample the glorious Cornish climate. But now let's to work: its bridge building to-night, and there's quite a lot to be done in the time."

Five minutes later the old gym., which the Rev. Septimus Kane had, as a token of appreciation, handed over to the sole use of the Scouts, was a scene of orderly bustle. For the time being the lads had put Seal Island from their minds.

CHAPTER II

DICK ATHERTON'S GOOD TURN

On the following Wednesday afternoon Leader Dick Atherton, of the "Otters," was invited to his chum Gregson's to tea. Gregson was a day boarder whose people lived at Brixton. He wished very much to join the Scouts, but his parents strongly objected. This was a source of keen disappointment both to Gregson and Atherton, for instinctively they realised that there was bound to be an ever-widening gap in their friendship.

Dick Atherton was a good specimen of a British school-boy. He was sixteen years of age, fairly tall, and with long supple limbs and a frame that showed promise of filling out. At present he was, like a good many other lads of his age, growing rapidly. Plenty of outdoor exercise and an abundance of plain wholesome food had turned the scale, for instead of becoming a lank, over-studious youth he showed every promise of developing into a strong, muscular man.

One of the first to avail themselves of Mr Trematon's offer to become Scouts, Dick Atherton was by the unanimous vote of the patrol appointed Leader of the "Otters." He took particular pains to prove himself worthy of the honour his comrades had paid him, with the result that he soon gained his Ambulance, Cycling, Pathfinder, Swimming and Signalling badges.

Scoutmaster Trematon was strongly opposed to the idea of any lad hastily qualifying for badges merely for the sake of having the right sleeve decorated by a number of fanciful symbols; he preferred to find a Scout making himself thoroughly proficient, and keeping himself up to a state of efficiency in a comparatively few number of subjects, rather than a slipshod scramble for badges that could only be regarded in a similar light to the trophies of a "pothunter."

Dick Atherton, as did most of his comrades, saw the good sense of his Scoutmaster's wishes. Therein he laid the foundations of his success in after life: he specialised. It would be hard to find another Scout in the whole of the London Troops who could excel Atherton in any of the branches he had taken up. To the Scouts' motto "Be prepared" he instinctively added another, "Be thorough."

Shortly after six o'clock Atherton bade his friends farewell and started on his return journey to Collingwood College. It was imperative that he should be back before a quarter to eight in time for evening "prep."

A heavy mist, almost a fog, had settled down earlier in the afternoon, driving most people to the Tubes. Atherton, however, preferred to take a motor-bus.

As the vehicle was passing under the railway viaduct in the Waterloo Road it skidded on the greasy surface and dashing into the kerb smashed the nearside fore-wheel. The Scout promptly alighted, thinking that perhaps he might be of assistance. To his request the motorman curtly told him to "Chuck it and clear out," advice that Atherton deemed it expedient to carry out.

Just then he remembered that to-morrow was Fred Simpson's birthday. Simpson was the Leader of the "Wolves," and a jolly good sort, and Atherton resolved to spend the remainder of his weekly allowance in some small present for his chum. Stamp-collecting was one of Simpson's hobbies, and Atherton knew that it was his ambition to get a set of Servian "Death Masks."

"I saw a set in a shop in the Strand only last week," thought Atherton. "I'll take a short cut across Hungerford Bridge, buy the stamps if they are still to be had, and pick up the Tube at Charing Cross. There will be ample time if I make haste."

The approach to the bridge consists of a fairly steep wooden gangway with an abrupt turning at its upper end. The worn planks were slippery with mud, while, being