"Good night!" exclaimed a lad of about eighteen peering from the window in a railway coach. "This train's running on a regular lake!" "What's that, Jimmie?" asked a companion approaching the first speaker. "Are we on a ferry? I still feel the wheels hit the rail joints." "Oh, yes, now and again we crawl along a rail's length or two," admitted the boy, "but it's mighty slow work! I'm getting tired!" "What place is this, anyway?" inquired a third boy coming to the window. "It looks as if we're going out into the ocean!" "We can't be headed for Holland at this rate!" "We surely are!" assured the one addressed as Jimmie. "I'll bet I can tell you what that is! The Belgians cut their dikes and flooded the country to drive out the Germans. My dream book says that's it!" A general laugh greeted this assertion. Moving about in the limits of the none too commodious compartment of a European railway carriage four boys dressed in the well-known khaki uniforms of the Boy Scouts of America endeavored to observe the scenery through the windows.