"I'll wake Green and ask him all about this," said Atherton to himself; but a comprehensive examination of the blanket-enshrouded fellows in the "Otters'" tent revealed the fact that Green was not one of them.
The Leader made his way to the ridge tent that had been appropriated to the Scoutmaster's use. It was closed: the knot securing the flap was on the outside, and since it was quite evident that it was a matter of impossibility for the occupant of a tent to lace the flap on the outside, Atherton rightly concluded that Mr Buckley had not arrived.
He gave a sigh of relief; then, seized by an inspiration, he set off at a run towards the landing-place.
There, muffled in his greatcoat, and leaning heavily on his staff, was Phil Green. Hearing the approaching footfalls the Scout turned.
"What's the meaning of this, Green?" demanded Atherton.
"You told me to wait till Mr Buckley arrived," replied the Scout, without the faintest sign of reproach. "I am a bit tired, but really I've enjoyed myself. It was a beautiful sunrise. You missed something by not seeing it, Atherton."
Leader Atherton looked at the Scout to see if he could detect any signs of "pulling his leg" on Green's part.
"I'm sorry," he said at length. "It was my fault. I ought to have given more definite orders. Cut off now, and get something to eat and then turn in."
"Nothing to be sorry for, Atherton. It was like a bit of the real thing. But how about Everest and Baker?"
"Goodness only knows why they haven't turned up. I'll rout out the rest of the 'Otters,' and we'll tramp into Wadebridge directly after breakfast."