"Du it, an right welcome, young gen'lmen," said the farmer. "Us be tur'ble short-handed, what with three o' my chaps 'aving gone to 'Merica, and two more down wi' mumps. Sure, I'd be main glad to see the hay safe under cover afore the rain comes on." And Trebarwith glanced anxiously towards the western sky. "A chance to do a good turn, lads," exclaimed Atherton. "Tell us what to do, sir, and we'll tackle the job." For the rest of the morning the Scouts toiled in the sultry air like young Trojans, tossing and carting the hay to one corner of the meadow where the farmer's men were at liberty to commence the construction of the rick. By noon, when the labourers ceased work to enjoy their mid-day meal of bread and cheese washed down with cyder, Farmer Trebarwith expressed his opinion that Scouts were main handy lads, and that, by their aid, he did not expect any difficulty in getting the crop safely under cover before the evening. After a bounteous dinner provided by the grateful farmer, the Scouts formed up and started on their march to the lighthouse on Beware Head. Their route lay on the same road as far as Polkerwyck, and thence by a narrow cliff-path, skirting Seal Island bay to the promontory where the lighthouse is situated. As the patrols were passing the Polkerwyck post-office--a small cottage converted into a general shop, draper's, grocer's, chandler's combined,--a smart dogcart was drawn up outside. From the shop came a tall, ungainly and not prepossessing man dressed in black. His face was pale; his eyes deep-set, shifty and heavily lined underneath; his closely trimmed side-whiskers gave the appearance of a superior manservant. Furtively looking up and down the narrow street and giving a supercilious glance at the passing Scouts, the man jumped into the dogcart and urged the horse at a rapid and unnecessary pace up the steep road leading towards Wadebridge. Atherton asked and obtained permission to fall out, and giving the tip to his chum Simpson, induced that worthy to accompany him into the post-office. "Two picture postcards and two halfpenny stamps, please," he asked of the old lady who was the local representative of His Majesty's Postmaster-General. "It be middlin' warm, sir," remarked the postmistress, as she laboriously counted out the change. "It is," agreed the Leader of the "Otters." "By the by, I didn't know that Mr Jones lived anywhere about here." "Mr Jones, sir?" asked the old lady in a puzzled tone. "Yes, the gentleman who was in here a minute ago: the one who drove up in a dogcart." "You must be making a mistake, sir," replied the old dame. "That bain't Mr Jones. No one of that name bides hereabouts--leastways I can't call the name to mind, an I've lived here maid and wife these sixty-seven years come Michaelmas. Sure, now, that wur Mr Tassh--Paul Tassh commonly socalled--as is butler up at the big house." "Polkerwyck House?" "Yes, Sir Silas' place."