Mr. Grant levelled his glasses. A double-sculler manned by three lads in Sea Scouts’ rig was coming out of Wootton Creek. She had just drawn clear of the outer beacon and was pointing towards Ryde. “Surely those chaps aren’t going to the Jamboree,” remarked Peter. “Not in that cockleshell.” “They’ve a lot of gear in the boat,” declared Mr. Grant. “I shouldn’t be at all surprised if they are making for Chichester Harbour.” “It’s a long way to row,” added Brandon tentatively. “Down helm a bit,” ordered Mr. Grant. “We’ll see if they are bound there. If so, we’ll offer them a tow.” Rapidly the _Kestrel_ overhauled the boat. The crew of the latter continued to pull steadily. “Where are you bound?” hailed the Patrol Leader, as the ketch drew near. “Chichester.” “Want a tow?” “Yes, rather.” The oarsmen boated their oars, the bowman coiling up the painter ready to make a cast. Brandon was too experienced to attempt to pick up the boat with the _Kestrel_ going at such a speed. Making a wide sweep, he brought the ketch head to wind within an oar’s length of the frail double-sculler. “Hadn’t we better get them all on board, sir?” enquired the Patrol Leader. “The skiff will tow lighter and easier if we do.” In double quick time the three Sea Scouts boarded the _Kestrel_. Their boat, with a double painter rove as a matter of precaution, was dropped astern of the _Kestrel’s_ dinghy and the ketch was again put on her former course. By this time the Weymouth and Pool cutters had drawn ahead to a distance of nearly a quarter of a mile; but, sportsman-like, they had backed their head-sails to enable the _Kestrel_ to recover her lead. “You fellows looked like having a long pull,” remarked Craddock to the three youths whose jerseys bore the inscription, “Third Wootton Bridge Sea Scouts.” “Bit risky, isn’t it?” “We weren’t going to be out of it,” explained the Second. “Our Troop left yesterday in the _Pixie_. We couldn’t get away. I work at a garage. Jim, here, is at a baker’s; and Tim has a job at the yacht-yard. At the last lap, so to speak, we got the time off, and Tim’s boss lent us this double-sculler.” “You might have found yourselves in difficulties off Chichester Bar,” observed Mr. Grant. “There’s often a nasty sea running there, I believe.” “Yes, sir,” admitted the Second. “But we weren’t going to risk that in that sort of boat. We were going to row as far as Ryde, where the skipper of a motor tug promised to tow us across to Portsmouth.” “I don’t see how that would help you very much,” commented the Scoutmaster. “You would still have to get into Chichester Harbour.” “Inland water all the way, sir,” declared the lad. “There’s a channel between Portsmouth and Langston Harbour, and another between Langston and Chichester. It’s all right for small boats, but you couldn’t do it because of the bridges, unless you unship your masts.”