“Do you mean that you were on your way to see Mr. Spence at the time your boat struck a snag?” asked Jack, surprised and perplexed at the same time.

“That’s just what we were, my boy,” replied the other, looking curiously at Jack, as though naturally wondering what sort of mission could be taking this flotilla of Northern motor boats to visit the party in question.

Jack would have liked to ask questions, but realized that such a course would be bordering on the impudent. There might be numerous people interested in Van Arsdale Spence besides the young aviator whom they had agreed to assist by carrying the packet to the coast town.

“In that case you have only to remain aboard here, and we will land you. I have a pilot with me, to lead us right,” he remarked.

“So I see, old Pete Smalling, eh? Hello! Pete, struck a job at last, after looking for ten years?” remarked the man, winking at the hungry passenger, who was disposing of his food at a prodigious rate of speed.

“I reckon as I hev, Mistah Marshal,” answered the other, with considerable of respect in his voice and manner.

So Jack knew his surmise was correct, and that the heavy-set individual was an officer of the law, after all. But what he could be going to see Spence for, was of course beyond his power to guess. The planter who had owned that fine place now seemed to be living in what might be called seclusion. Had he done anything for which he could be taken to task by the law? Jack hoped not, for the sake of that fine young aviator, Malcolm Spence, who must surely be some relative, and was deeply interested in his welfare.

The boats moved on in company, so that it was possible to converse back and forth if any of them so desired.

“I suppose this Mr. Spence must have lived around here quite some time?” Jack remarked a little later, as the man smiled encouragingly toward him.

“All his life, suh, all his life. He was born on that spot north of Beaufort; yes, and his father before him, I reckon. It never has gone out of the hands of the Spences up to now,” came the ready reply.

“Oh! by the way, did this gentleman ever have any family?” asked Jack.

“I should reckon he did that, suh three fine gals, an’ just one son. The gals they stick by him through it all; but the boy, he left the old man goin’ on two yeahs now. It’s nigh about broke his heart, I heah.”

“I don’t suppose that this son’s name could have been Malcolm?” suggested Jack, pretty sure of his ground now.

“That’s just what it was, suh, Malcolm Gregory Spence. They was a time when we all ’spected he was going to make something out of himself, because you see the boy was mighty clever; but he quarreled with his old man and went off. P’raps he’s dead by now. The old man thinks so, leastways; though one of the gals don’t seem to believe that way.”

Jack could see it all. In some way, Malcolm, estranged from his family, had managed to learn about their recent financial troubles, and that they had left the old home, to go, he knew not where.

And Jack, as he pressed his hand over the pocket where he had again secreted that mysterious missive, only hoped that it would bring joy and happiness into the home of the Spences. How pleasant it would seem to be the bearer of good news.

He said nothing more, though having discovered this much he could easily guess that the errand of the marshal must have some connection with the breaking of the last tie that would hold the Spence family to the old home up the Sound. Perhaps the marshal and the lawyer were on their way to inform the owner that foreclosure proceedings had been instituted, and to get his signature to documents that were necessary to the proper carrying out of the sad business.

Pete, having stowed away an incredible amount of stuff, so that he could hardly draw a full breath, began to manifest more or less interest in their progress. He suggested little changes in the course they were taking, and presently broke out with:

“Thar, if so be yuh jest look yondah, suh, p’raps ye kin see a boat tied up tuh a stake. Thet’s whar old Van Arsdale lives now, a fishin’ shack on a patch o’ ground he happens tuh own. But I done heard as how them slick gals o’ his’n gone an’ made even sech a tough place look kinder homelike. An’ see, thar’s the olé man right now, alookin’ toward us, wonderin’ who we be.”

Jack could easily see all that the other described. It was a lonely place for a man to bring his three sweet daughters; but doubtless necessity compelled such a thing.

The man with the white mustache and goatee, who looked like a real Kentucky colonel, Jack thought, walked down to the rude little dock to meet them. Of course, he recognized the marshal, who must have been an old acquaintance of his; and had little difficulty in guessing the errand that was probably bringing him there.

Then three young girls came running down to gather about the old man, as if suspecting the coming of new trouble they wished to be near to help him bear his cross.

Jack found himself quivering with eagerness. And again did he hope that the message from the absent son and brother might soften the blow that seemed about to fall upon this devoted little family.

They reached the landing and hastened to get ashore; all but Pete, who had developed a second-stage appetite, and started in eating again, regardless of all other matters.

The old planter stood there like a lion at bay, with his three daughters clinging to him. It was a pretty picture, that would often come up in the memory of the boys when far away from the scene itself.

He seemed to be paying particular attention to the marshal, who stepped forward and gravely shook hands with him.

“I had your letter, Mr. Burrows, and looked to see you some time today,” was the way Mr. Spence opened the conversation.

“And as I wrote you, Spence,” the marshal replied, “I’m only here in my official capacity to carry out the execution of the law’s demands. As your friend, suh, I deeply sympathize with you in your troubles, but being sworn to do my duty, however painful it may be, there was no choice left to me.”

“I understand all that, Burrows. This is only a mere matter of routine, anyway. The blow fell months ago, when I had to leave my old home. I thought I might save it in some way by keeping myself secreted, in the hope that several friends in another part of the country would come to my assistance. But that hope no longer exists, sir, and I am now ready to do whatever is required.”

“There is no hurry, Spence,” the marshal went on, curiosity concerning the mission of the motor boat boys getting the better of him, “and as these gentlemen happened to rescue us from a very serious position, since our boat was wrecked, and they were even then on the way to visit you, perhaps you would like to talk with them, suh.”

It seemed as though Mr. Spence noticed the presence of the boys for the first time then. He looked at them with a puzzled brow, as though unable to guess what such a party of pleasure seekers could want with a broken-hearted Southern planter.

So Jack at once stepped forward, while his mates gathered in a clump, eagerly observing every little thing that transpired.

“While we were coming down the Delaware River, sir, starting on our long coast cruise, we happened to come in contact with a young aviator, who had alighted on the water close by us in a new hydro-aeroplane. When he mentioned his name we recognized it as belonging to a daring aviator who had suddenly jumped into national fame as one of the most skillful of his class. He heard of our plans, and that in all probability we would pass close to Beaufort. And he asked us to bear a packet to a Mr. Van Arsdale Spence, whose present place of residence he did not seem to know, but believed we would be able to learn it after we arrived here. So I am pleased, sir, to hand you the sealed message that was given to us by your son, now famous in the world of aviation, Mr. Malcolm Spence!”

The old planter started, and turned pale as his trembling hand was outstretched to take the packet. Indeed, he was utterly unable to open it, so that one of his daughters proceeded to do this for him.

Jack held his breath. Oh! how he did hope that it would be good news, for if ever any one had need of cheering intelligence this old, broken-down man did.

He saw him adjust his glasses and commence to read. Already had the three girls gleaned all that was contained in that missive, and from their happy faces Jack understood that it was all right.

If he had any doubt he had only to look at the face of the planter. First it was eager, then yearning, and finally he turned to the marshal with possibly the first laugh that had burst from his lips these many moons.

“Aha! you’re having your journey for your pains, Burrows!” he cried. “The old place isn’t going to leave the Spence family after all. Look! this is from my boy, and directs me to go to the bank in Beaufort, to which he has transmitted funds to make the first payment that will save our home! More will follow as soon as he hears from us. Money is flowing in on him, money and honors as thick as they can come. And his heart has gone out to the father and sisters he left years ago. It’s all right, Burrows, thanks to these kind boys who have borne his message to me.”

He went around, shaking the hand of every one with vehemence. And no one looked happier than the marshal, upon learning that stern duty after all would not compel him to take from his old friend the home of his ancestors.

“But it was a close shave, let me say,” was his remark later on to Jack, as they all started to gather under the humble roof of the fisherman’s shack which the devotion of those three brave daughters had almost beautified, so that the old man might not be too much broken down; “another day would have been too late.”

“Then I’m glad that storms and breakdowns did not keep us from getting here on time,” said the commodore of the Motor Boat Club.