of THY WILL.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ, Thy Son. _Amen._

OUR FATHER.

A PRAYER THAT WE MAY BE FORGIVEN ANY WANDERING
THOUGHTS WE HAVE HAD WHILE RECITING THESE PRAYERS.

Breakfast over, and orderly jobs finished, the Pack went down to the
shore and had a splendid bathe. Several of the Cubs had really begun to
swim; while Bill, Dick, and Mac, who could swim already, were getting
good practice. Mac meant to get his Swimmer's Badge as soon as he got
back to London, so he practised floating and duck's diving and the other
things you have to do.

After dinner and rest Father took some cricket practice, because
to-morrow there was to be a match.

"No one must talk to me," said Akela, settling down in a sunny corner
with some papers; "I'm doing something very important." Cubs always want
to know everything, so of course they said, _What was the important
thing?_

"Reading proof," said Akela.

"What's 'proof'?" said the Cubs.

"This is proof," said Akela, holding out a long narrow strip of printed
paper. "It's the way they print stories at first, and it has mistakes in
it. I have to read it through and correct the mistakes. Now, if you
don't shut up and go away, the next instalment in the _Wolf Cub_ will
have mistakes in it--see?"

"Is it the next bit of the 'Mysterious Tramp'?" cried the Cubs.

"Yes."

That did it. A Cub sat down each side of Akela and read over her
shoulder, and one jumped up and down in front, saying: "Miss, is it
good?"

Every now and then Akela made strange little squiggles in the
margin--secret signs only the printer-man could understand.

"_Coo!_ what silly mistakes he makes!" said one of the Cubs in derision.
"I wouldn't have done that in dictation even when I was in Standard I.!"

"_I_ think he makes very few mistakes," said Akela; "other printer-men
make lots more. You see, this one is printing the _Wolf Cub_, so he has
to _do his best_."

The cricket people had been "doing _their_ best" at cricket to such good
purpose that they had succeeded in splitting one of the bats.

So after tea Akela and some of them went down to the man who sells bats
and golf-balls, down by the tennis-courts. The road where his shop is
runs between the seashore and a big stretch of grassy land, called the
Dover.

"That," said Akela, "is the very place where Billy got carried up by the
giant kite."

It was a favourite story of the Cubs, so they were pleased to se