The first duty to be performed was the calling of the roll after “assembly” had been sounded—­somewhat quaveringly—­by little Andy Bowles, the company bugler.

Beside Rob Merritt, Tubby and Andy, there were Hiram Nelson, a tall, lanky youth, whose hands were stained with much fussing with chemicals, for he was a wireless experimenter; Ernest Thompson, a big-eyed, serious-looking lad, whose specialty in the little regiment was that of bicycle scout, as the spoked wheel on his arm denoted; Simon Jeffords, a second-class scout, but who, under Rob’s tutelage, was becoming the expert “wig-wagger” of the organization; Paul Perkins, another second-class boy, but a hard worker and a devotee of aeronautics; Martin Green, one of the smallest of the Eagle Patrol, a tenderfoot; Walter Lonsdale, also a recruit, and Joe Digby, who, as the last to join the Patrol, was the tenderest of the tenderfeet.

Rob’s announcement of the program for the eight days they were to spend on the island was greeted with cheers.  The news that turns were to be taken by two scouts daily at washing dishes and cooking did not awaken quite so much enthusiasm.  Everybody cheered up again, however, when Rob announced that the Flying Fish would be at the disposal of the boys of the patrol.

Corporal Merritt took Rob’s place as orator then, and announced that each boy would be assessed one dollar for the expenses of the camp, the remainder of the money necessary for the providing of tents and the provisioning of the camp having been donated by Rob’s father, Mr. Wingate, of the yacht club, and the other representative citizens of Hampton who composed the local scout council.

Further excitement was caused by the announcement that following the camp the local committee would pass upon the applications for promotions and honors for the lads of the Patrol, and that it was likely that another patrol would be formed in the village, as several boys had expressed themselves as anxious to form one.  The gentlemen having charge of the local scout movement, however, had decided that it would be wiser to wait and see the result of one patrol’s training before forming a second one.

“I’m going to try for an aviator’s badge,” announced Paul Perkins, as Rob declared the official business at an end.

“Say, Rob, what’s the matter with our fixing up a wireless in the camp?  I’m pretty sure I can make one that will catch anything in a hundred-mile radius.”

“That’s a good idea,” assented Rob; “if you can do it we can get a lot of good out of it, I don’t doubt.”

“What’s the good of wireless when we’ve got wig-wagging and the semaphore code,” spoke up Simon Jeffords, who was inclined to doubt the use of any other form of telegraphy but that in which he had perfected himself.

As for Martin Green, Walter Lonsdale and Joe Digby, they contented themselves with hoping that they might receive their badges as second-class scouts when the camp was over.