some time before for this
proposal, and both of them at once agreed to assist him in "chasing the
sun!"

That night Frederick Temple dreamed that the sun smiled on him in a
peculiarly sweet manner; he dreamed, still further, that it beckoned him
to follow it to the far north, whereupon Fred was suddenly transformed
into a gigantic locomotive engine; the sun all at once became a green
dragon with pink eyes and a blue tail; and he set off in chase of it
into the Arctic regions with a noise like a long roar of the loudest
thunder!

CHAPTER TWO.

THE STORM AND THE FIRST ADVENTURE.

A storm raged on the bosom of the North Sea. The wind whistled as if
all the spirits of Ocean were warring with each other furiously. The
waves writhed and tossed on the surface as if in agony. White foam,
greenish-grey water, and leaden-coloured sky were all that met the eyes
of the men who stood on the deck of a little schooner that rose and sank
and staggered helplessly before the tempest.

Truly, it was a grand sight--a terrible sight--to behold that little
craft battling with the storm. It suggested the idea of God's might and
forbearance,--of man's daring and helplessness.

The schooner was named the _Snowflake_. It seemed, indeed, little
heavier than a flake of snow, or a scrap of foam, in the grasp of that
angry sea. On her deck stood five men. Four were holding on to the
weather-shrouds; the fifth stood at the helm. There was only a narrow
rag of the top-sail and the jib shown to the wind, and even this small
amount of canvas caused the schooner to lie over so much that it seemed
a wonder she did not upset.

Fred Temple was one of the men who held on to the weather-rigging; two
of the others were his friends Grant and Sam Sorrel. The fourth was one
of the crew, and the man at the helm was the Captain; for, although Fred
understood a good deal of seamanship, he did not choose to take on his
own shoulders the responsibility of navigating the yacht. He employed
for that purpose a regular seaman whom he styled Captain, and never
interfered with him, except to tell him where he wished to go.

Captain McNab was a big, tough, raw-boned man of the Orkney Islands. He
was born at sea, had lived all his life at sea, and meant (so he said)
to die at sea. He was a grim, hard-featured old fellow, with a face
that had been so long battered by storms that it looked more like the
figure-head of a South-Sea whaler than the counte