clear white
outlines upon the greys of the horizon. In this dead calm, fishing off
Iceland seemed so easy and tranquil a trade that ladies' yachting was no
name for it.

"Jean Francois de Nantes; Jean Francois, Jean Francois!"

So they sang, like a couple of children.

Yann little troubled whether or no he was handsome and good-looking. He
was boyish only with Sylvestre, it is true, and sang and joked with no
other; on the contrary, he was rather distant with the others and proud
and disdainful--very willing though, when his help was required, and
always kind and obliging when not irritated.

So the twain went on singing their song, with two others, a few steps
off, singing another, a dirge--a clashing of sleepiness, health, and
vague melancholy. But they did not feel dull, and the hours flew by.

Down in the cabin a fire still smouldered in the iron range, and the
hatch was kept shut, so as to give the appearance of night there for
those who needed sleep. They required but little air to sleep; indeed,
less robust fellows, brought up in towns, would have wanted more. They
used to go to bed after the watch at irregular times, just when they
felt inclined, hours counting for little in this never-fading light.
And they always slept soundly and peacefully without restlessness or bad
dreams.

"Jean Francois de Nantes; Jean Francois, Jean Francois!"

They looked attentively at some almost imperceptible object, far off on
the horizon, some faint smoke rising from the waters like a tiny jot of
another gray tint slightly darker than the sky's. Their eyes were used
to plumbing depths, and they had seen it.

"A sail, a sail, thereaway!"

"I have an idea," said the skipper, staring attentively, "that it's a
government cruiser coming on her inspection-round."

This faint smoke brought news of home to the sailors, and among others,
a letter we wrote of, from an old grandam, written by the hand of a
beautiful girl. Slowly the steamer approached till they perceived her
black hull. Yes, it was the cruiser, making the inspection in these
western fjords.

At the same time, a slight breeze sprang up, fresher yet to inhale, and
began to tarnish the surface of the still waters in patches; it traced
designs in a bluish green tint over the shining mirror, and scattering
in trails, these fanned out or branched off like a coral tree; all very
rapidly with a low murmur; it was like a signal of awakening foretelling
the end of this i