ed over. The _Olaf_ was anchored at
the head of a submarine bay. She had shoal water all round her, and no
vessel could get at her unless it came as she had come. The sun went
down, and the red-gray clouds in the stormy west slowly faded into
night. There was no land in sight. Even the whirligig windmill was below
the horizon now. Only the three-legged beacon stood near, turning its
winking, wondering eye round the waste of waters.

Here the _Olaf_ rode out the gale that raged all through the night, and
in the morning there was no peace, for it still rained and the northwest
wind still blew hard. There was no depth of water, however, to make a
sea big enough to affect large vessels. The _Olaf_ rode easily enough,
and only pitched her nose into the yellow sea from time to time,
throwing a cloud of spray over the length of her decks, like a bird at
its bath.

Soon after daylight the Prince Martin Bukaty came on deck, gay and
lively in his borrowed oilskins. His blue eyes laughed in the shadow of
the black sou'wester tied down over his eyes, his slight form was lost
in the ample folds of Captain Petersen's best oilskin coat.

"It remains to be seen," he said, peering out into the rain and spray,
"whether that little man will come to us in this."

"He will come," said Captain Petersen.

Prince Martin Bukaty laughed. He laughed at most things--at the timidity
and caution of this Norse captain, at good weather, at bad weather, at
life as he found it. He was one of those few and happy people who find
life a joy and his fellow-being a huge joke. Some will say that it is
easy enough to be gay at the threshold of life; but experience tells
that gayety is an inward sun which shines through all the changes and
chances of a journey which has assuredly more bad weather than good. The
gayest are not those who can be pointed out as the happiest. Indeed, the
happiest are those who appear to have nothing to make them happy. Martin
Bukaty might, for instance, have chosen a better abode than the stuffy
cabin of a Scandinavian cargo-boat and cheerier companions than a grim
pair of Norse seamen. He might have sought a bluer sky and a bluer sea,
and yet he stood on the dripping deck and laughed. He clapped Captain
Petersen on the back.

"Well, we have got here and we have ridden out the worst of it, and we
haven't dragged our anchors and nobody has seen us, and that exceedingly
amusing little captain will be here in a few hours. Why loo