was his first voyage, stood up well under the strain.
The yacht pitched and tossed, now on top of a big green wave, and again sliding down into the trough, as though she was going to the bottom. But she was a staunch craft, and when they had passed the point, with its conflicting currents, the storm had blown itself out, and a period of calm and fog succeeded.
Through the gray, damp mist the Albatross was creeping one afternoon, with her whistle sounding mournfully at regular intervals, and Widdy, and another sailor, stationed in the bow to peer through the blanket of whiteness, to give warning when anything should loom up in front of them.
"Wouldn't it be better to anchor, or run in to shore?" suggested Paul, as he and Dick were standing forward, trying in vain to pierce the mist.
"It's just as well to keep on going," explained Widdy, with the freedom engendered by the young millionaire's treatment of him. "It's better to run into some other ship than to be run down yourself, if it's goin' to be done. An' we're safer out here than in nearer shore. We'll be all right, if"
Widdy suddenly paused, and leaned forward in a listening attitude. Dick and Paul rubbed the drops of fog from their eyes, in a vain attempt to see something. What would loom up in front of
