SUNDAY ASHORE Before the sun had much more than climbed to a position where it could peer over the low yellow ridge of Fire Island and see what the Adventure Club was up to, the two cruisers were chug-chugging out of the harbour with all flags flying.

First went the _Adventurer_, as flag-ship of the fleet, to use Neil's metaphor, and, a little way behind came the _Follow Me_, her black hull and battleship-grey deck reminding the occupants of the other boat of one of the "puffing pigs" of yesterday.

The bay was almost as smooth as the proverbial mill-pond this morning, and the slanting shafts of sunlight cast strange and beautiful shades of gold and copper on the tiny wavelets.

It was still cool, and in the shadow of the bridge deck one felt a bit shivery.

But the sun promised a warm day.
The crew was polishing bright-work rather awkwardly but most industriously and with a fine willingness, explaining that if he polished brass some other poor Indian would have to swab decks, a remark which inspired Neil to state with much emphasis that cleaning decks was not, at all events, within the province of the ship's boy, and that, anyway, he had helped with the dishes and that right now he was going to lie in the sun on the galley roof and that if anyone disturbed him there'd be trouble.
Joe had been having a fine time with his engine.