mr. graham was surprised to find that it was just past midnight when he returned on board the guard-ship. taught by experience, he had left his wristlet watch on board, knowing that he was in for a soaking before the then unknown task was but half completed.

"we've been nearly two hours, lads!" he exclaimed; "and we haven't finished yet. you two fellows"—indicating frank bedford and pat hayes—"can take the dinghy and row up to wootton bridge and find a doctor. bring him back with you. it's an urgent surgical case—compound fracture. and, since the post office is bound to be shut, the doctor will probably have a telephone. ask him to let you use it. ring up the number on the paper and give the message i've written down. got that?"

"yes, sir," replied both sea scouts, and without a moment's delay they brought the dinghy alongside the yacht, clambered into her, and rowed vigorously in the direction of wootton bridge.

"now, lads," continued the scoutmaster briskly, addressing the remaining three youths, "we've got to get the patient aboard here. i don't suppose our friends the wootton sea scouts have left a stretcher on board, so we'll have to rig one up. get busy. if we can do this part of the business before mr. collinson recovers consciousness so much the better. he won't feel the jolting."

the sea scouts had often constructed impromptu stretchers, and, in spite of being comparatively strange to the guardship and her gear, they soon got to work. a couple of short boat-hook staves, some light lashing, and a few blankets were all that were necessary.

while these preparations were in progress mr. graham had not been idle. in one of the large sleeping cabins on the upper deck he had prepared a comfortable bed in the centre of the room, so as to allow easy access to the patient from all sides. his next step was to light a couple of hurricane lanterns and hang them in the rigging of the yacht, so that the stretcher-bearers could see what they were doing when it came to transhipping the injured man.

with the aid of the stretcher it was not a very difficult task. the awkward part of the business was moving the patient from the sofa bunk on to the stretcher, without allowing his arm to come in contact with anything. compared with this the work of lifting him up through the companion-way was fairly simple.

at length the still-unconscious mr. collinson was put to bed on board the guardship. the sea scouts made no attempt to revive him, since the scoutmaster thought it best for the patient to remain insensible until after the doctor had made his examination.

the three sea scouts left on board the guardship while the rescue work was in progress had not been idle. there was a piping hot meal awaiting mr. graham, desmond, and findlay on their return, to which, after having changed their saturated clothes, they did full justice.

"now, you fellows," said the scoutmaster, "you had better turn in. there's nothing more to be done that i cannot do single-handed. if you don't get decent rest you'll be fit for nothing to-morrow."

the trio were reluctant to go, but they gave no sign of their feelings. it was discipline, and discipline was a subject upon which mr. graham laid particular stress. when he gave an order he gave an order, and it had to be carried out promptly. yet he had the happy knack of serving out pills with a sugared coating. there was nothing harsh or unnecessary in his orders. the sea scouts knew this and admired him for it, while he on his part realized that unless discipline were maintained, without destroying a sense of self-reliance in the lads, it would be a risky, nay, positively dangerous business to be responsible for the lives of his youthful charges afloat.

the three sea scouts had not turned in more than five minutes before the dinghy returned bringing the doctor.

"sorry to turn you out at this time of night," said mr. graham apologetically.

"not at all," protested dr. baker, after they had mutually introduced themselves. "part of my job, you know."

"the hardest-worked profession in the world," added the scoutmaster, as he led the way to the cabin where mr. collinson was lying, after telling bedford and hayes to follow their comrades' example and turn in.

"h'm!" ejaculated dr. baker, when he examined the patient's arm. "bit of a nasty mess. how did it occur?"

"i don't know," replied mr. graham, and proceeded to give a brief version of how he had found the owner of the yacht injured in his cabin.

with the scoutmaster's assistance the doctor unbound the broken arm.

"your youngsters know their work," said the medical man as he replaced the splints. "i've seen very little better work in some of the crack london hospitals. oh, yes, when he comes to give him one of these pellets, and another in four hours' time if he's in much pain. i'll call in during the morning if you can send a boat for me at eleven sharp."

the scoutmaster rowed the doctor to the quay. during the trip back to the guardship, mr. graham found himself wondering whether he had been wise in packing off his youngsters. certain things had to be done, and if, while he was busy, the patient recovered consciousness it might be bad for the latter if there were no one on the spot.

arriving alongside, mr. graham found that his surmises were correct. mr. collinson had regained consciousness, but fortunately desmond had heard a noise and had gone to see what was the matter.

"how are you feeling now?" inquired mr. graham. "rotten," declared mr. collinson pointedly. "this arm of mine is giving me what is commonly termed 'what for'."

"take this," said the scoutmaster, proffering the violet-coloured pellet. "doctor's orders. he's been and gone."

"morphine, eh? all right."

ten minutes later the patient was sleeping soundly. mr. graham told desmond to go to his bunk again; and, having seen that the dinghy was properly secured and that the yacht was lying comfortably alongside the guardship, the scoutmaster "turned in all standing", ready at the first occasion to attend to his involuntary guest.

nothing more of an unusual nature occurred during the night. at six in the morning the sea scouts turned out, to find that the summer gale had blown itself out and that the sky was cloudless and the wind a gentle breeze from the west'ard.

"not so much noise, you fellows," cautioned desmond. "there's an injured man on board, remember."

"tell us what happened," asked bedford.

"there's nothing much to tell," replied the patrol leader. "we just went out, found mr. collinson with his arm broken, and brought the yacht in."

"how did he get his arm broken?" inquired the tenderfoot.

"none of us knows," was the reply.

"i'd like to find out," continued coles, scenting a mystery.

"you will soon, i expect," rejoined the patrol leader. "now then; who's cook?"

"bedford," replied three voices in chorus.

"right-o! get to work, old son," said desmond, turning to the "cook of the day"; "and don't give us salt-water cocoa for breakfast."

the meal over, all hands "squared off ", airing clothes and bedding, and stowing everything away in a ship-shape fashion. this last had only just been completed when a boatman came alongside with a passenger, mrs. collinson.

"your husband is sleeping well," replied mr. graham. "the doctor will be here at eleven."

"how did the accident happen?" inquired mrs. collinson.

the scoutmaster had to admit his ignorance. for the third time, at least, during the last eight or nine hours that question had been put without anyone being able to give a satisfactory reply.

"i was very anxious until i had your telephone message," continued mrs. collinson. "my husband and i are yachting—or i ought to say, were yachting. yesterday morning we brought up off ryde and i went ashore for the day, my husband having arranged to come ashore for me at nine. i was on the pier before that time, but the ocean bride had disappeared. as the wind had increased i thought that he might have had to clear out of the exposed anchorage and make for either portsmouth harbour or cowes. so i went to the solent hotel—where i had previously arranged to go should anything occur to prevent my returning on board—and rang up the customs at both places. when i had a reply that the ocean bride had not put into either harbour, i did begin to feel anxious, because it was blowing hard and my husband was single-handed. of course, there was the motor——"

"was there a motor on board?" broke in the scoutmaster. "we didn't notice it in the dark, and no one has been on board this morning. it might have saved us a fair amount of hard work."

just then ted coles appeared.

"mr. collinson is awake, sir," he repeated, with a smart salute.

the scoutmaster escorted mrs. collinson to the cabin, and left her with her husband. a few minutes later the dinghy returned with dr. baker.

the doctor's report was most satisfactory. the patient was going on well. his temperature was only one degree above normal, and there was very little pain in the injured limb.

"he will probably be able to be moved to-morrow," added the medical man. "where is your home, mrs. collinson?"

"at derby," was the reply. "we are on our annual holiday. we always go sailing on the south coast every summer."

"'fraid you won't do any more this summer," declared dr. baker. "derby's a long journey for a man with a compound fracture. why not take rooms in the village until your husband is really able to stand the fatigue of a railway journey?"

"that is precisely what i thought of doing," said mrs. collinson, "until we can make arrangements to get the yacht back to her home port, poole."

"there is no immediate hurry for you to get rooms," remarked mr. graham. "if you don't mind the company of a few rather high-spirited boys, we can fix you up with a cabin on board."

"that will be nice," exclaimed mrs. collinson, with genuine gratitude. "i am sure i'd quite enjoy it. but i hope it would not be putting you out?"

dr. baker took his leave, promising to look in again next morning unless something occurred to warrant an earlier visit.

findlay rowed him ashore. the dinghy was away quite twice as long as the trip required, and when jock returned he had a large basket in the stern-sheets.

without saying a word to his companions on deck findlay secured the dinghy and went below to the galley. there, in an atmosphere of steam, was bedford in his robe of office—a white apron tied under his armpits.

"what's for dinner to-day, frank?" inquired the second.

"irish stew," was the reply.

"how about a cup of tea for mrs. collinson?" continued the thoughtful findlay.

"just getting it," declared bedford, indicating a metal tray on which were a couple of enamelled iron mugs and a plate of the same material, all showing signs of hard usage, while a battered tea-pot of huge proportions and a half-consumed tin of condensed milk completed the picture.

"hardly what a lady would fancy, old son," remarked findlay cheerfully. "this outfit ought to suit."

so saying, he opened his basket and produced two china cups and saucers, plates, a small brown earthenware tea-pot, and a jug. from another compartment he took a bottle of fresh milk, a roll of bread, butter, and lump sugar; while, rolled up in a clean tablecloth were some knives.

bedford regarded his chum with ill-disguised astonishment.

"where did you get that lot from?" he asked. "who paid for them? did mr. graham give you the money?"

jock shook his head.

"it's just my good turn for the day," he replied. "the people at the shop where i bought the grub lent me the crockery. they wouldn't charge for the loan of it, though i don't know why they didn't."

in a few minutes the transformation of the tea-tray was complete, and findlay, cautiously negotiating the steep ladder to the upper deck saloon, brought his offering in safety to the person for whom it was intended. "how delicious!" exclaimed mrs. collinson. "do you always have china cups on board? i don't. on our yacht we have to be content with plain enamelled ones."

for the rest of the day the sea scouts "carried on" as if the guardship was not sheltering an invalid. this was at the express wish of mr. collinson. but the lads took care not to disturb the invalid. for the most part they were away in the dinghy, exploring the creek, indulging in glorious bathes on the sandy beach to the west'ard of the entrance, practising semaphore, and half a dozen other pleasurable tasks so dear to the heart of a sea scout.

all too soon came what patrol leader desmond described as "the end of a perfect day ".