ying away of our head-gear?" I demanded.

"There's lots of things can't be explained, sir," was Tom Spink's answer.
"Who can explain the way the Finns plays tom-fool tricks with the
weather? Yet everybody knows it. Why are we havin' a hard passage
around the Horn, sir? I ask you that. Why, sir?"

I shook my head.

"Because of the carpenter, sir. We've found out he's a Finn. Why did he
keep it quiet all the way down from Baltimore?"

"Why did he tell it?" Margaret challenged.

"He didn't tell it, Miss--leastways, not until after them three others
boarded us. I got my suspicions he knows more about 'm than he's lettin'
on. An' look at the weather an' the delay we're gettin'. An' don't
everybody know the Finns is regular warlocks an' weather-breeders?"

My ears pricked up.

"Where did you get that word _warlock_?" I questioned.

Tom Spink looked puzzled.

"What's wrong with it, sir?" he asked.

"Nothing. It's all right. But where did you get it?"

"I never got it, sir. I always had it. That's what Finns is--warlocks."

"And these three new-comers--they aren't Finns?" asked Margaret.

The old Englishman shook his head solemnly.

"No, Miss. They're drownded sailors a long time drownded. All you have
to do is look at 'm. An' the carpenter could tell us a few if he was
minded."

* * * * *

Nevertheless, our mysterious visitors are a welcome addition to our
weakened crew. I watch them at work. They are strong and willing. Mr.
Pike says they are real sailormen, even if he doesn't understand their
lingo. His theory is that they are from some small old-country or
outlander ship, which, hove to on the opposite tack to the _Elsinore_,
was run down and sunk.

I have forgotten to say that we found the barnacled cask nearly filled
with a most delicious wine which none of us can name. As soon as the
gale moderated Mr. Pike had the cask brought aft and broached, and now
the steward and Wada have it all in bottles and spare demijohns. It is
beautifully aged, and Mr. Pike is certain that it is some sort of a mild
and unheard-of brandy. Mr. Mellaire merely smacks his lips over it,
while Captain West, Margaret, and I steadfastly maintain that it is wine.

The condition of the men grows deplorable. They were always poor at
pulling on ropes, but now it takes two or three to pull as much as one
used to pull. One thing in their favour is that they are well, though
grossly, fed. They have all they w