"It's full of eatables, mostly," Darby answered. "Mother has the idea that mine-sweepers go out with no provisions aboard."
"Here comes our old man," Mark intimated, seeing Harry Snowling approaching from the direction of the naval base, where he had been to receive his sailing orders.
"He's got some new charts under his arm; so I suppose we're bound to some place where we've never been before. I hope it's not up north to the Orkneys or Shetlands. We had our share of storms and snow when we went through the Pentland Firth."
The two Sea Scouts saluted their skipper as he came swinging along with an empty pipe in his mouth.
"Right you are, bors," he said cheerily. "Lay aboard and cast off."
When they had cleared the harbour and were out in the blue water, Mark took his trick at the steering-wheel. The course given him was E.S.E., but after a while it was changed to south-east, the change being indicated to the three trawlers that were following by signals from the syren.
"Dessay you're a-wonderin' where we're goin', bor?" said the skipper, glancing into Mark's face, which was lighted by the dim glow from the binnacle. "And so am I. But we're a-sailin' under sealed orders this trip, and shan't know till the stroke of midnight."
At midnight Mark and Darby were both in their bunks, and they saw the skipper come below, seat himself under the hanging lamp, break open a sealed envelope, and take out a slip of typewritten paper.
"Um!" murmured the skipper, "dunno as how they need have kep' it a secret. Seems to me they keeps things secret just for the fun of it, sometimes—same as our Sally. You c'n goo to sleep, bors," he added, glancing towards the bunks.
He stood up, and, quitting the cabin, went on deck, leaving the slip of paper on the flap-table, knowing that neither of the boys would look at it. He had implicit trust in them.