Maintaining a steady pace, the Scouts made light work of their march to Wadebridge. Arriving there they were greeted by Everest and Baker, who, looking as "chirpy as crickets," were patrolling the station platform. "No luck yet," said the former, nonchalantly. "The Scoutmaster hasn't turned up yet." "Why didn't you return last night, then?" asked Atherton. "Return? You said we were to wait for Mr Buckley. We've had a ripping time. One of the porters made us a jolly bed in the waiting-room, and the stationmaster gave us supper and breakfast. And we know an awful lot how railways are run now, Atherton. You've missed something." After being told this on two occasions that morning, Atherton began to think he really had missed a novel experience. "We've had a wire," he remarked. "Mr Buckley is arriving by the 11.15. Only another ten minutes to wait." "Here she comes," announced Atherton, when at length the train was observed in the distance. "Form up, lads, and let's give our new Scoutmaster a proper Scouts' welcome." So intent was Atherton upon looking out for the familiar Scoutmaster's uniform that he was startled to hear a hearty voice exclaim: "Bless my soul, Atherton! You here to meet me! And these are your chums, eh?" Turning, Atherton saw that the speaker was Sir Silas Gwinnear. "No, sir, we are not here to meet you. We did not know you were coming by this train," explained Atherton. "All the same we are awfully pleased to see you. It is our new Scoutmaster we are waiting for. Mr Trematon had to go home on important business." "Oh," exclaimed the Baronet with a slight tinge of disappointment. "No matter; we'll all run down to Polkerwyck House in my motor. Squeeze you all in at a pinch. Ha there is your Scoutmaster, I see." Mr Buckley, having seized the opportunity of doing a good turn by assisting out of the carriage a very timid and fussy old lady with a heap of small parcels, had not been able to make a prompt appearance. He was a heavily built man of about thirty-five, slightly above middle height, clean shaven; his full face and fairly heavy jaw denoting firmness and good temper. He had been a lieutenant in the Royal Navy, but owing to a gunnery accident that greatly impaired the use of his right arm, he was invalided on a modest pension. It was galling to him to be compelled to give up his prospects in the service, but he made the best of a bad job. In spite of his disability he took up a Scoutmastership, and soon worked his troop into a state of efficiency. Always ready to oblige his friends, Mr Buckley had willingly agreed to take over temporary charge of the Scouts of Seal Island, and now he was in touch with one of his future patrols. Returning the Scouts' salute, Mr Buckley looked enquiringly at the gentleman who was waxing so enthusiastic over the lads. "This is Sir Silas Gwinnear who is letting us have the use of Seal Island, sir," explained Atherton.