“Permit me also to say, sir, that my schooner will put to sea to-night, so that she will remain here but a couple of hours at the farthest.” The midshipman bowed, then did the manly thing, for he extended his hand and said: “Allow me to welcome you to the academy, Mr. Merrill, and hope that you will pass the ordeal of entrance with flying colors. My name is Ernest Rich.” The name recalled the sweet face of Virgene Rich to Mark, and he grasped the extended hand with real warmth, while he said: “I thank you for your kind wishes, Mr. Rich.” Then he escorted the midshipman to his boat, told him he was just going ashore to report, and soon after the gig of the vessel of war pulled away he went over the side into his surf-skiff. “Don’t yer think we’d better go ashore with yer, Master Mark?” asked Captain Crane dubiously. “No, indeed, thank you.” “These young fellers all seems practicing to scare ordinary folks; but, Lord love ’em, they is a clever lot o’ young sea cubs arter all, and in war times they can outfight a shark.” Leaving good skipper Crane moralizing upon cadet midshipmen in general, Mark let fall his oars and sent his skiff shoreward. It was an off-duty time at the academy, and the cadets were there whom he had left, with more who had been summoned to swell the procession. It had leaked out just who Mark Merrill was, for Commodore Lucien had been on a visit to the commandant, and had told of the pluck of the boy pilot of Hopeless Haven. Then, too, the Secretary of the Navy had written a personal letter to the commandant, so of course it went the rounds that the “new man from Maine was a hero.” Having made the discovery, Cadet Captain Byrd Bascomb and his clique meant to give the sailor lad a welcome, especially as they had found in him one who was a square good fellow. When Mark landed he was somewhat nonplussed at the intention of the cadets to honor him. They welcomed him with a hurrah, and Winslow Dillingham was on hand, as he expressed it: “As dry as a ship on the ways.” He offered his hand cordially, and said: “We are quits now, aren’t we?” “Do not speak of it,” was the ready reply, and as he could not help himself Mark’s arm was locked in that of Cadet Captain Byrd Bascomb, who gave the command as he took the head of the column: “Column forward! march!” Up to the commandant’s quarters they marched, a line was formed, and the “great mogul,” as the lads facetiously called their chief, supposed when he saw them that they had some grievance to complain of. When the commandant appeared the cadets saluted, and waited for him to speak, Mark meanwhile, his face flushed with embarrassment, standing by the side of Byrd Bascomb and inwardly regretting that he had ever decided to come to the Naval Academy. “Don’t skedaddle at the first sight of the enemy,” whispered Cadet Captain Byrd Bascomb, realizing how Mark Merrill felt at such an introduction to the commandant of the academy.