"I hope you don't think me presumptuous or impudent," replied Rob, "but
you asked my opinion, and you know, sir, we Boy Scouts must always tell
the truth. Perhaps it seems a poor return after you saved our lives,
to----"

But Mr. Grant cut the boy short with a wave of the hand.

"Nonsense, all I did was to stand by and watch. If Donald had not
understood those smoke signals, you might not be on earth now. But in
return, I want to ask you to do something for him."

Rob nodded respectfully but said nothing. He wondered greatly what could
be coming next.

"I want you to take Donald with you on this duty for Uncle Sam. The
ensign here has agreed. Are you willing to make my son one of your
party?"

"Are we willing?" stammered out Rob. "Why, sir, we've just been
discussing what a shame it was that he had to go on a stupid old
cruise--I beg your pardon, on a cruise--when real work lay ahead,
and----"

But Donald had danced up to his father cheering and throwing his hat in
the air. Then he rushed up to his newly-found comrades and a
hand-shaking and "bear hugging" match ensued, such as is rarely seen
except among lads who are real companions, bound together by a common
bond.

Suddenly above the tumult Rob's voice sounded.

"Boys, let's give the cry of the Wolf Patrol!"

Instantly savage growls resounded, and after that the Eagles joined
hands, formed a circle about Donald, and danced a sort of war dance of
joy, concluding with the screaming cry of their Patrol.

Mr. Grant and Ensign Hargreaves smilingly watched this scene.

When something like order had been restored, the latter announced the
closeness of the _Seneca_.

This, too, was greeted with a cheer, which was cut short by the
reappearance of Collins.

"I've been talking with the _Seneca_, sir, and he says that they are
proceeding here at full speed."

"Good. That will do, unless you have any communications to make," said
Mr. Grant, turning to the ensign.

"No, sir, none whatever," was the reply.

It was ten minutes later when Rob's sharp eye descried a trail of smoke
on the horizon. A short time after, by the aid of glasses, the craft was
made out to be the _Seneca_, bound at full speed for the yacht. On the
latter's signal-halliards up went a gaudy string of signal flags
announcing her identity. The signal was answered from the Derelict
Destroyer, which also fired a gun in honor of the recovery of the
castaways.

By midafternoon good-byes, war