ry on the rocks, dashing themselves to
pieces and churning the water into foam, so that the whole sea resembled
milk.

To those who were unaccustomed to the coast, it seemed as if the
schooner were leaping forward to certain destruction; but they knew that
a sure hand was at the helm, and thought not of the danger but the
sublimity of the scene.

"Stand by the weather-braces," cried McNab.

The schooner leaped as he spoke into the turmoil of roaring spray. In
ten seconds she was through the passage, and there was a sudden and
almost total cessation of heaving motion. The line of islands formed a
perfect breakwater, and not a wave was formed, even by the roaring gale,
bigger than those we find on such occasions in an ordinary harbour. As
isle after isle was passed the sea became more and more smooth, and,
although the surface was torn up and covered with foam, no great rollers
heaved the vessel about. The tight little craft still bent over to the
blast, but she cut through perfectly flat water now.

A delightful feeling of having come to the end of a rough voyage filled
the hearts of all on board. Sam Sorrel raised his head, and began to
look less yellow and more cheerful. Tittles began to wag the stump of
his miserable tail, and, in short, every one began to look and to feel
happy.

Thus did the _Snowflake_ approach the coast of Norway.

Now, it is by no means an uncommon occurrence in this world that a calm
should follow close on the heels of a storm. Soon after the _Snowflake_
had entered the islands the storm began to abate, as if it felt that
there was no chance of overwhelming the little yacht now. That night,
and the greater part of the following day, a dead calm prevailed, and
the schooner lay among the islands with her sails flapping idly from the
yards.

A little after midnight all on board were asleep, save the man at the
helm and Captain McNab, who seemed to be capable of existing without
sleep for any length of time when occasion required. The schooner now
lay in a latitude so far north that the light of the sun never quite
left the sky in clear weather. A sweet soft twilight rested on the
rocky islands and on the sea, and no sound disturbed the stillness
except the creaking of the yards or the cries of seamews.

Yes, by the way, there was another sound. It proceeded from the cabin
where our three friends lay sleeping on the sofas. The sound was that
of snoring, and it issued from the w