After much fumbling in the thick mat of wool that served him for hair, Nimbus drew from it a pin. With this he began to trace out, carefully and very slowly, the lines of the quaint pattern engraved on the surface of the ball. He followed one of them around and around, in and out, for several minutes, often stopping, going back, and beginning all over again. He did not speak, and Breeze, eagerly watching his movements, was also silent. At last the movement of the pin was stopped, and on the spot that it indicated the pressure of a thumb-nail released a spring. The upper half of the ball swung on its pivot, and once more its interior was displayed to view. “Well, if that don’t beat everything!” exclaimed Breeze. “How on earth did you ever learn that trick, Nimbus?” “Him a labyrim ball,” answered the black man. “A what?” “A labyrim. Same like you might get los’ in.” “Oh, a labyrinth.” “Yes, sah, a labyrim, an’ if you fin’ de p’int ob de startin’, an foller to de end, den you open um.” This was indeed the whole secret of the ball, and after it had been explained to Breeze he too could trace the delicate line from its beginning, which was plainly to be seen, to its end above the hidden spring. There was no distinguishing mark to indicate this point, and it was almost impossible to locate it, even after one had found it many times, without first tracing out the labyrinth. The accident by which Breeze had hit upon it and opened the ball while asleep was so unlikely to occur that, knowing the secret, he now wondered more than ever that it had happened. Nimbus had learned the secret of similar puzzles upon one of his many voyages to East Indian ports, and was made proud and happy by this opportunity of displaying his skill. “Now,” he said, with a smile that exhibited two glistening rows of ivory, “we got a compass, we go fur Saple Islan’. Ole Nim row like steam-ingin’.” And he did row like a steam-driven machine, with long, powerful strokes, hour after hour, all through the day--never faltering, never stopping, and never seeming to tire. To Breeze, who watched him with ever-increasing astonishment, he was a marvel of endurance. Breeze also rowed with the second pair of oars the greater part of the day; but he was several times obliged to stop and rest. With such unflagging energy was the dory urged forward that when night came he did not doubt they had made fifty miles since morning. He really began to hope that they might possibly reach Sable Island, though he still admitted that the chances were largely against their doing so.