"Perhaps, Mr. Boldrigg," suggested the Scoutmaster, "you would like us to leave you for a few minutes."
"No, no, sir," replied the old man. "What I'm going to do isn't anything to be ashamed of."
He was visibly affected, although he tried to conceal his emotion. He had completed a pilgrimage that had been the wish of his declining years, and which might never have been accomplished but for the assistance of the Sea Scouts.
Standing bareheaded, the lads saw their old friend slowly untie the blue handkerchief from the bundle. Then he produced a small plant, its roots carefully protected with damp moss and straw.
"Straight from the garden at home," he said. "An' my boy was that fond of flowers."
"It will be watered carefully," promised the cemetery official.
"Thank you, sir," replied old Boldrigg gratefully, and, his mission accomplished, he turned slowly away.
* * * * *
On the ninth day of her compulsory detention at Rouen the Olivette renewed her acquaintance with her natural element.
The work of repair had been performed smartly and well, and the bows were as sound as ever. She had been given a complete coat of paint that glistened in the bright sunshine.