It was midnight before the crew of the Spindrift turned in, but for once the regulation for "lights out" at ten was waived. Findlay and Hayes had to be told a detailed account of Desmond\'s adventure; while Desmond had to hear the story of the fruitless search for the missing Patrol Leader. The belated supper was a protracted affair, and yarning seemed to be going on indefinitely, until the Scoutmaster reminded his youthful crew that, all being well, the homeward voyage was to be commenced within the next twelve hours.

All hands were up and about by eight the next morning. There was still much to be done, overhauling gear, taking in provisions, and making all snug. After breakfast they paid a visit to the Spanker. Truscott and Wilde had both received medical attention, and the doctor had inquired who had dressed their injuries.

"He said it was a splendid job," declared Truscott. "They call sailors \'handy men\', but, by Jove! I think Sea Scouts run them pretty close."

"When are you putting to sea again?" asked Mr. Graham.

"We don\'t know exactly," was the reply. "We\'ve got to get fit, and we\'ve sent for some chums of ours to give us a hand with the yacht. Fortunately, we are not tied to time."

"Let\'s hope you\'ll have better luck for your next venture," observed the Scoutmaster.

"We might have had a jolly sight worse luck than we did," rejoined Wilde, "if it hadn\'t been for Desmond. The average lad would have been scared stiff if he\'d found himself on a strange yacht in the Bristol Channel with a couple of crocked-up blighters like us."

"Hurry up, if you want to pass through the lock!" shouted a peremptory voice.

The Sea Scouts brought their visit to a hasty termination. Scoutmaster and Scouts ran back to the Spindrift, the ropes were cast off, and the ketch tracked along the bank and through the wide open gates.

"Good luck!" shouted the crew of the Spanker as the Spindrift glided past.

"Jump aboard, lads!" ordered Mr. Graham.

Findlay and Hayes, who had been tracking the ketch to the gates, leapt upon her deck. Desmond was at the helm, while the Scoutmaster directed the setting of the canvas.

"Up staysail and mizzen first, lads!" he ordered. Slowly the Spindrift forged ahead, aided by the light south-easterly breeze. Not until mainsail and jib were set did she heel slightly to the wind, and the water began to ripple and gurgle as her stem cut its way seaward.

"Isn\'t this fine, sir!" exclaimed the Patrol Leader. "She\'s carrying just a little weather-helm. She\'s as stiff as a house."

"Let\'s hope she\'ll prove so in a hard blow," rejoined Mr. Graham, as he unfolded a chart and spread it upon the cabin top.

"Where are we making for to-day, sir?" asked Desmond.

"Only to Padstow," was the reply. "I want to test the Spindrift\'s capabilities before we undertake a long run. This coast isn\'t like the Essex shore. There aren\'t harbours every few miles. Keep her on Carnbeak, Desmond. That\'s the point right ahead—but I suppose you know that already."

"Do I not, sir!" said the Patrol Leader with a laugh. "I thought yesterday that we\'d never pass it. The tides do run hot on this coast."

It was a pleasant, almost uneventful sail. Mr. Graham exercised the crew, getting them to go-about, gybe, heave-to, and shoot the yacht up into the wind in order to pick up the lifebuoy, which he threw overboard without warning—to practice "man overboard!" evolutions.

People ashore must have speculated on the cause of the Spindrift\'s antics; but there was method in the Scoutmaster\'s madness. It was all very well to put to sea under ideal conditions and to be unprepared for eventualities. Mr. Graham meant to make his crew capable of "knocking down a couple of reefs ", and, until they could do this smartly and without unnecessary fuss, he kept them at it.

By the time the Spindrift was abreast of Carnbeak the Scoutmaster announced his satisfaction at the way the crew had carried out their task. Already they had "got the hang of things ". They knew where each sheet and halliard was belayed, so that there would be no confusion when it came to shortening or stowing sail. Each lad took his trick at the helm, so as to get accustomed to the pull of the tiller and the amount of helm necessary to put the yacht about without causing her to miss stays and get in irons, for the Spindrift\'s long keel and pronounced forefoot made her rather slow in going about.

There was no need to hasten. The day was long, the run short. So the Spindrift hugged the shore as closely as possible without danger of hitting any of the numerous outlying rocks. She edged inside Meachard in order to give her crew a peep at the miniature Boscastle Harbour; Tintagel Head and Castle were viewed from seaward, the legendary fortress of King Arthur affording the crew a source of deep interest. Then, skirting Trebarwith sands, the yacht brought up in Port Isaac while the crew had a meal on deck, satisfying the inner man while their eyes feasted upon the picturesque aspect of the little Cornish fishing village.

Six o\'clock found the Spindrift off Pentire Point with the whole of Padstow Bay opened out.

"We\'ll be anchored by half-past six," observed Hayes the optimist.

But alas for that conjecture! He had reckoned without the baffling entrance to Padstow, where, if the wind be light outside, it is necessary to depend upon either power or oars to make the intricate channel; while, if there is a strong, commanding breeze, the breakers on the dreaded Doombar render the approach to Padstow unsafe.

All went well with the ketch Spindrift and her crew until she was abreast of Stepper Point on the starboard hand. Then the sails began to shake. Gradually she lost way until the coast no longer appeared to glide by.

"Timber topsails, lads!" exclaimed Mr. Graham cheerfully. "A little work with the sweeps won\'t do us any harm."

Bidding Desmond keep his weather eye lifting for puffs that might sweep down over the cliff, the Scoutmaster took one oar while Findlay manned the other. It was hot, tiring work. Progress was slow, and although, after half an hour\'s unremitting toil, the Spindrift was a mile inside Stepper Point, the anchorage off Padstow seemed as far off as ever.

"I wish we had a motor," said Findlay, breathlessly, as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

"Well, we haven\'t," rejoined Hayes, "and we aren\'t likely to have one yet awhile. We\'re jolly lucky to get the yacht as she is."

"Then come and do a bit with the sweeps," was Findlay\'s pointed invitation.

Before Hayes could "take on", Desmond exclaimed:

"Stand by! There\'s a breeze ahead!"

The next instant the Spindrift heeled to a free puff. Gathering way she quickly glided up the channel, rounding to and dropping anchor within half a cable\'s length of Padstow Quay.

After everything was made snug, the dinghy was manned and the three Sea Scouts set out for the shore, Mr. Graham volunteering to keep anchor-watch in their absence.

Close to the Spindrift was a "sixteen-footer", in the stern sheets of which knelt a very red-faced man, struggling with a refractory outboard engine. Through sheer exhaustion he desisted as the Sea Scout\'s dinghy passed.

"Say, you lads," he exclaimed breathlessly. "Do y............