stealthily.

Wake up, Ludwig! The voetspoelen is growing real!

No. Ludwig does not waken, but he moans in his sleep.

Does not Carl hear it--Carl the brave, the fearless?

No. Carl is dreaming of the race.

And Jacob? Van Mounen? Ben?

Not they. They, too, are dreaming of the race, and Katrinka is singing
through their dreams--laughing, flitting past them; now and then a wave
from the great organ surges through their midst.

Still the thing moves, slowly, slowly.

Peter! Captain Peter, there is danger!

Peter heard no call, but in his dream, he slid a few thousand feet from
one iceberg to another, and the shock awoke him.

Whew! How cold he was! He gave a hopeless, desperate tug at the
chrysalis in vain. Sheet, blanket, and spread were firmly wound around
Jacob's inanimate form.

Clear moonlight, he thought. We shall have pleasant weather tomorrow.
Halloo! What's that?

He saw the moving thing, or rather something black crouching upon the
floor, for it had halted as Peter stirred.

He watched in silence.

Soon it moved again, nearer and nearer. It was a man crawling upon hands
and feet!

The captain's first impulse was to call out, but he took an instant to
consider matters.

The creeper had a shining knife in one hand. This was ugly, but Peter
was naturally self-possessed. When the head turned, Peter's eyes were
closed as if in sleep, but at other times, nothing could be keener,
sharper than the captain's gaze.

Closer, closer crept the robber. His back was very near Peter now. The
knife was laid softly upon the floor. One careful arm reached forth
stealthily to drag the clothes from the chair by the captain's bed--the
robbery was commenced.

Now was Peter's time! Holding his breath, he sprang up and leaped with
all his strength upon the robber's back, stunning the rascal with the
force of the blow. To seize the knife was but a second's work. The
robber began to struggle, but Peter sat like a giant astride the
prostrate form.

"If you stir," said the brave boy in as terrible a voice as he could
command, "stir but one inch, I will plunge this knife into your neck.
Boys! Boys! Wake up!" he shouted, still pressing down the black head and
holding the knife at pricking distance. "Give us a hand! I've got him!"

The chrysalis rolled over, but made no other sign.

"Up, boys!" cried Peter, never budging. "Ludwig! Lambert! Donder! Are
you all dead?"

Dead? Not they! Van Mounen and Ben were on