This much and more Brandon and Craddock learnt from their new-found chums, and apparently there was much forthcoming about which the lads were as yet metaphorically “at sea.” In about half an hour, Mr. Grant appeared on deck and was rowed back to the _Kestrel_. “The _Merlin_ hasn’t reported, lads,” he announced. “Perhaps she’s had to put in somewhere. It’s no use expecting her this evening. There’s not enough water on the Bar until to-morrow morning. Now, Eric, my lad, I suppose the next thing to be done is to hand you over to your relations.” “Surely, sir, there is no immediate hurry,” protested the stowaway. “If you have no objection, perhaps I might be permitted to remain for part of the impending entertainment? It occurred to me, sir, that I should like very much to become a Sea Scout.” Mr. Grant turned to his crew. “What shall we say, lads?” he asked. There was a unanimous response in favour of Eric being allowed to stop on board. In spite of his old-fashioned ways, the boy had made himself well liked. “Very well, then,” agreed the Scoutmaster. “I’ll run into Chichester to-morrow morning and see your uncle. But I’m afraid we can’t make you a Sea Scout. You’re not old enough, Eric; but there’s no reason why you shouldn’t become a Cub, and then when you are old enough you can become a Scout. Now, lads, who’s for the shore? A good sharp tramp is the thing. One of you must remain on board. Who’ll volunteer?” Talbot said he would. “Good man!” exclaimed Mr. Grant. “Keep a smart look-out for signals from the Chief Sea Scout’s yacht. That’s about all, I think. By the by, we’ll have to patch up the dinghy’s gunwale to-morrow. It looks a bit of a wreck.” With the exception of the volunteer ship-keeper, all hands went ashore, leaving the dinghy on the hard. Proceeding between the avenue of tents where swarms of Sea Scouts were in various stages of “getting all ship-shape,” they gained the open country—a flat but rather pleasing bit of Sussex lying between the harbour and the open sea. “How firm the sand is!” exclaimed Carline when the lads gained the seashore. “Look! There are fellows riding bicycles on it.” “And isn’t the tide out?” added Wilson. “When we came in there weren’t any shoals showing.” “That’s why we had to choose high-water,” remarked Mr. Grant. “Those shoals, although consisting of sand, are quite as dangerous as rocks. A vessel might be pounded to bits in a few minutes if she chanced to get ashore in heavy weather. There’s hardly any wind this evening—it’s almost a flat calm—but you can see the rollers breaking on the exposed edge of the shoals. This harbour happens to be the worst beaconed on the south coast, and in some respects one of the most dangerous ones. If it comes on to blow for any length of time, we might be kept here for a month.” “How jolly that would be!” exclaimed Wilson.