The skipper of the Goldwing had an excellent appetite, and the other members of the club had regained theirs by this time. Fortunately they had plenty of provisions, for there was nothing for them to do but eat during the rest of the day. It continued to blow as fresh as it had since the middle of the forenoon till dark. Dory thought it would abate at night, but there were no signs of a change. The party were pretty thoroughly tired out after the labor and the excitement of the day. The boys gaped until they had nearly thrown their jaws out of joint. There was room enough in the cabin for four of the club,--two in the berths, and two on the floor between them. Dory decided to sleep in the standing-room, where he was most likely to be waked by any change in the position of the schooner. By eight o'clock all hands were fast asleep. Half of them had nothing better than "the soft side of a board" to sleep on, but they were too tired to need beds of down. The skipper was the most wakeful sleeper in the party, but he slept for several hours without waking. When he did wake, he sprang to his feet as if conscious that he had neglected his duty as a faithful skipper. He had no idea of what time it was when he sprang to his feet. All was still around him, and the Goldwing appeared to be in precisely the position he had left her when he turned in. He could no longer hear the roar of the big waves as they dashed against the south side of the island. The violent wind had subsided, and the lake seemed to be as calm as the dream of an infant. He looked all about him in the darkness, but there was nothing to demand his attention. His companions were all sleeping, and some of them were snoring, on their hard beds. Dory began to gape when there proved to be no grounds for excitement. He concluded that he could not do any better than finish his night's rest. Taking the most comfortable position he could find in the standing-room, he turned in again, and was soon fast asleep. When he woke in the morning, it was after sunrise. The rest of the club were still fast asleep. The skipper felt like a new man after his long rest. A gentle breeze was rippling the surface of the lake. It came from the westward, and the promise was that the day would be fine. Without calling his companions, he loosed the sails, and turned out the reefs from the fore and main sails. He laced on the bonnet of the jib, and shipped the short tiller, instead of the long one he had used the day before. So far he had not seen how the sails set when all spread, and he was interested in his present operation. He hoisted the mainsail. It was not so large but that he could handle the throat and peak halyards at the same time. He was entirely satisfied with the set of this sail. The set of the foresail pleased him equally well.