Arm in arm they made the circle of the deck. The mist, lying like a bank upon the sea, shifted the horizon to within a thousand yards of the ship.

"I wish I knew just what lies behind that bank there," said Captain Hopeton, pointing over the bow.

For some moments they stood, peering idly into the mist.

"By Jove, there IS something there," said Barry, who had a hawk's eye.

"You've got 'em too, eh," laughed Hopeton. "I've had 'em for the last forty-eight hours. I've been 'seein' things' all night."

"But there is," insisted Barry, pointing over the port bow.

"What is it like?" asked Captain Neil, while Hopeton ran for his glass.

"I'll tell you what it's like--exactly like the eye of an oyster in its pulp. And, by Jove, there's another!" added Barry excitedly.

"I can't see anything," said Captain Neil.

"But I can," insisted Barry. "Look there, Hopeton!"

Hopeton fixed his glass upon the mist, where Barry pointed.

"You're right! There is something, and there are two of them."

"Give the Pilot the glass, Hopeton," said Neil. "He's got a good eye."

"There are two ships, boys, as I'm a sinner, but what they are, I don't know," cried Barry in a voice tense with excitement. "Here, Neil, take the glass. You know about ships."

Long and earnestly, Captain Neil held the glass in the direction indicated.

"Boys, by all that's holy, they're destroyers," he said at length in a low voice.

Even as they gazed, the two black dots rapidly took shape, growing out of the mist into two sea monsters, all head and shoulders, boring through the seas, each flinging high a huge comb of white spray, and with an indescribable suggestion of arrogant, resistless power, bearing down upon the ship at furious speed.

"Destroyers!" shouted Captain Neil, in a voice that rang through the ship. "By gad, destroyers!"

There was no question of friend or foe; only Great Britain's navy rode over those seas immune.

Upon every hand the word was caught up and passed along. In a marvellously short space of time, the rails, the boats, the rigging, all the points of vantage were thronged with men, roaring, waving, cheering, like mad.

With undiminished speed, each enveloped in its cloud of spray, the destroyers came, one on each side, rushed foaming past, swept in a circle around the ship and took their stations alongside, riding quietly at half speed like bulldogs tugging at a leash.

"Great heavens, what a sight!" At the croak in Hopeton's voice, the others turned and looked at him.

"You've got it too, eh!" said Captain Neil, clearing his own throat.

"I've got something, God knows!" answered Hopeton, wiping his eyes.

"I, too," said Barry, swallowing the proverbial lump. "Those little--little--"

"Bulldogs," suggested Hopeton.

"Bulldog pups," said Captain Neil.

"That's it," said Barry. "That's what they are, little bulldog pups, got me by the throat all right."

"Me, too, by gad!" said Captain Neil. "I should have howled out loud in another minute."

"Listen to the boys!" cried Barry.

From end to end of the ship rose one continuous roar, "Good old Navy!

Good old John Bull!" while Hopeton, openly abandoning the traditional reserve and self-control supposed to be a characteristic of the English public school boy, climbed upon the rail and, hanging by a stanchion with one hand, and with the other frantically waving his cap over his head, continued to shout:

"England! England! England forever!"

Then above the cheering cries was heard the battalion band, and from a thousand throats in solemn chant there rose the Empire's national anthem, "God Save the King."

That night they steamed into old Plymouth town, and the following morning were anchored safe at Devonport dock. Strict orders held the officers and men on board ship until arrangements for debarkation should be completed, but to Barry and the doctor, the Commanding Officer gave shore leave for an hour.

"And I would suggest," he said, "that you go and have a talk with that old boy walking up and down the dock there. Yarn to him about Canada, he's wild to know about it."

The old naval officer was indeed "wild to know about Canada," so that the greater part of their shore leave was spent in answering his questions, and eager though he was to explore the old historic town, before Barry knew it, he was in the full tide of a glowing description of his own Province of Alberta, extolling its great ranches, its sweeping valleys, its immense resources.

"And to think you are all British out there," exclaimed the old salt.

"We're all British, of course," replied Barry, "but not all from Britain."

"I know, I know," said the officer, "but that only makes it more wonderful."

"Wonderful! Why, why should it be wonderful?"

"Yes, wonderful. Oh, you Canadians," cried the old salt, impulsively stretching out his hand to Barry. "You Canadians!"

Surprised, Barry glanced at his face. Those hard blue eyes were brimming with tears; the leatherlike skin was working curiously about the mouth.

"Why, sir, I don't quite understand what you mean," said Barry.

"No, and you never will. Think of it, rushing three thousand miles--"

"Five thousand for some of us," interrupted Barry.

"Fancy that! Rushing five thousand miles in this way, to help old mother England, and all of your own free will. We didn't ask it of you. Though, by heaven, we're grateful for it. I find it difficult, sir, to speak quietly of this."

Not until that moment had Barry caught the British point of view. To him, as to all Canadians, it had only been a perfectly reasonable and natural thing that when the Empire was threatened, they should spring into the fight. They saw nothing heroic in that. They were doing their simple duty.

"But think of the wonder of it," said the naval officer again, "that Canada should feel in that way its response to the call of the blood."

The old man's lips were still quivering.