The men rose and looked out over the bay. There below them lay their sea homes, serene, invulnerable, and about them stretched the dull, dour, treeless landscape of their northern fastness. Their minds were as peaceful as the scene. As they looked a bright light from the compass platform of one of the battleships began to flicker through the sunshine—dash, dot, dot, dash. ‘There goes a signal,’ said the Commander. ‘You are great at Morse, Pongo. Read what it says, my son.’ The Lieutenant of Marines watched the flashes, and as he read grinned capaciously. ‘It is some wag with a signal lantern.’ said he. ‘It reads: Question—Daddy,—what—did—you—do—in—the—Great—War?’ ‘I wonder,’ observed the Sub-Lieutenant, ‘what new answer the lower deck has found to that question. Before the battle their reply was: “I was kept doubling round the decks, sonny.”’ ‘There goes the signal again,’ said the Pongo; ‘and here comes the answer.’ He read it out slowly as it flashed word after word: ‘“I LAID THE GUNS TRUE, SONNY.”’ ‘And a dashed good answer, too,’ cried the Commander heartily. ‘That would make a grand fleet signal before a general action,’ remarked the Gunnery Lieutenant. ‘I don’t care much for Nelson’s Trafalgar signal. It was too high-flown and sentimental for the lower deck. It was aimed at the history books, rather than at old tarry-breeks of the fleet a hundred years ago. No—there could not be a better signal than just “Lay the Guns True”—carry out your orders precisely, intelligently, faultlessly. What do you say, my Hun of a classical volunteer?’ ‘It could not be bettered,’ said Caesar. ‘I will make a note of it,’ said the Gunnery Lieutenant, ‘against the day when, as a future Jellicoe, I myself shall lead a new Grand Fleet into action.’ _L’ILE NANCE._ BY ROWLAND CRAGG. Nance was a tomboy, or whatever may be the equivalent of this type in the doggy world, and she looked it. An ungainly body, clad in a rough coat of silver and grey on a foundation of brown, carried a head that appeared ill-shaped because of the unusual width of skull. Over her forehead continually straggled a tangle of hairs that mixed with others growing stiffly above her snout, and through this cover were to be seen two pearly eyes that were wondrously bright and intelligent. She had a trick, too, of tossing her head in a manner suggestive of nothing so much as a girl throwing back the curls from face and shoulders, and it seemed to emphasise the tomboy in Nance. But she had sterling qualities, of which her broad skull and quick eyes gave more than a hint. If ungainly, her little body was untiring and as supple as a whiplash, and her legs were as finely tempered steel springs. She had, too, a rare turn of speed, and it was the combination of these gifts with her remarkable intelligence that in later days made her the most noted dog in Craven.