Having passed both his physical examination and the one to discover how far he had progressed in “book learning,” Mark Merrill felt happy at the thought that there was no other barrier between him and his cadetship. He had been asked by one of the committee where he had attended school, for he was well up in all questions asked, wrote an excellent hand, and answered with a knowledge evidently not acquired for the occasion. His reply had been a simple one, and truthful: “My mother taught me all I know of books, sir, for I never went to school.” Reporting to the quartermaster of the post, Mark found there the kit which Commodore Lucien had gotten for him, and he discovered that it left no needs to be filled. His room was a pleasant one, and by a rare stroke of good fortune he was given a first-rate fellow to be his companion to share it. He had dreaded that, as Scott Clemmons was also from Maine and known to be an acquaintance, the two might be roomed together. In such a case he hoped Clemmons would object, but if he did not then he certainly should, for he could not bring himself to like the youth who had shown such an ugly humor toward him in the past. The moment that he could get away Mark started to go aboard his little schooner and bid farewell to Captain Crane and his two sons, and also bring ashore the few things he had brought with him from home. As an act of duty he had sought Scott Clemmons and said: “Mr. Clemmons, my little schooner returns home under Captain Jasper Crane, whom you must know, and I will be glad to give him a letter for your people, if you wish.” Scott Clemmons was in his room, getting his things to rights, and at the remark of Mark Merrill he laughed rudely. He was no longer under the piercing eye of the commandant, and need not act for effect, as he had done when at headquarters. He had stood the ordeal put upon him, but little less acceptably than had Mark Merrill. He was a well-formed fellow, bright in his lessons and all that, but did not take into consideration that, with all his advantages, he had not done as well as the “fisher lad” he had sneered at. “Send a letter by a sailing ship, Merrill? Not I, and you must live away back in the Dark Ages to think of such a thing in these days of telegraphs and railroads; but I forget that you know nothing of the world, living as secluded as you have. No, thank you, I have already telegraphed my father that I went through with flying colors, and I congratulate you upon having passed, even if it was by the skin of your teeth, for, of course, they would not refuse you, Merrill. Wait until the first year’s examination, which you cannot hope to get through.” Mark Merrill’s eyes flashed, but he controlled his temper, and responded: