The day was warm and sultry, but the ride in the powerful car as it rushed at high speed along the tree-bordered roads was simply exhilarating. Old Tom Boldrigg, rigged out in his shore-going kit, was tightly grasping the bundle done up in the blue handkerchief that he had brought on board at Keyhaven. Except on the occasion when the kit was transferred from the _Olivette_ to Tourville-la-Rivière, no one had set eyes on the bundle until now. It rather puzzled his companions, and certainly aroused their curiosity; but Tom offered no solution to the mystery, and the lads refrained from questioning him about it. At Senlis traces of the Hunnish invaders were apparent, although much had been done by the industrious inhabitants to rebuild their shattered dwellings and efface the devastating traces of war. From that town right on to Château-Thierry the countryside was fast recovering from the effects of four and a half years' desolation. Those of the shell-torn trees which had not been uprooted were hiding their scars under new foliage. The gaunt expanse of crater-pitted land was covered with ripening corn. Only in places was it possible to follow the sinuous course of the trenches, while here and there a system of dug-outs had been left practically intact as a reminder of the period when that part of France was under the heel of the Prussian invader. It was a soul-stirring episode for the Sea Scouts. They were shown the spot where the British engineers built bridges, under a terrific fire, to enable the remnants of the Old Contemptibles to cross the Marne and deal von Kluck's army corps a staggering blow. The line of advance of General Gallieni's army, rushed up from Paris in a motley collection of taxi-cabs in the nick of time to stem the Prussian advance upon the capital, was pointed out to them. Then to the huge cemetery, where thousands of British lads are laid to rest, in French soil that is British by sentiment. Here the _Olivette's_ party was met by a courteous official, who, in answer to old Boldrigg's inquiry, led the way to a remote portion of the vast burial-ground. "Perhaps, Mr. Boldrigg," suggested the Scoutmaster, "you would like us to leave you for a few minutes." "No, no, sir," replied the old man. "What I'm going to do isn't anything to be ashamed of." He was visibly affected, although he tried to conceal his emotion. He had completed a pilgrimage that had been the wish of his declining years, and which might never have been accomplished but for the assistance of the Sea Scouts. Standing bareheaded, the lads saw their old friend slowly untie the blue handkerchief from the bundle. Then he produced a small plant, its roots carefully protected with damp moss and straw. "Straight from the garden at home," he said. "An' my boy was that fond of flowers." "It will be watered carefully," promised the cemetery official. "Thank you, sir," replied old Boldrigg gratefully, and, his mission accomplished, he turned slowly away.