passed her
and were on the open, rolling sea again, with the big ship threshing
her way toward New York, rapidly widening the gap between herself and
the venturesome little craft. For the moment that they had been
blanketed by the steamer their sails had flattened and they had lost
headway, but now the wind picked them up, the sails bellied and the
little sloop continued on her way.

"We must turn now," said the skipper, consulting the skies, which he
swept with a comprehensive glance. He gave Harriet the return course.
"I fear we are going to lose the wind. It will pick up later, however.
No need to be anxious." He stepped inside the cabin and, leaning
forward, consulted the barometer. Harriet noted that his face wore a
look of anxiety for the moment. But it had entirely disappeared when
he returned to the deck. Once more he swept the horizon.

"How is the glass?" she asked, but in a voice too low for her
companions to hear. Harriet referred to the barometer.

"It has fallen over an inch in two hours," answered Captain Billy.

"That is a big drop, isn't it?"

"I should say so. But don't say anything to the others," he added,
with a quick glance at the girls to see if any had overheard either
his or Harriet Burrell's remarks.

"It means a blow, does it not?"

"Yes. But it may be a long way off, possibly a hundred miles or more."

"Then, again, we may be right in the center of it?" she questioned.

The skipper nodded again.

"Is there anything to be done?"

"Nothing except to make all the time we can and keep a weather eye
aloft and abroad. Watch your sails and trim them for every breath of
air. Jockey her. Now is your time to see what can be done when there
is little wind to be had."

Harriet was getting practical experience in sailing a boat such as
falls to few novices, but she took to the work like one who had long
been used to the sea and its varying moods. Under her skilful
manipulation the "Sister Sue" was making fairly good headway, though
nothing like what she had done on the outward voyage, for the wind was
dying out, becoming more fitful, shifting from one point of the
compass to another.

"When the wind moves opposite to the direction of the hands of a
clock--what seamen call 'against the clock'--look out for foul
weather," the captain informed her.

"That is the way it is going now, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"I hope we shall have enough to take us home."

"We may have too much." Once more t