There was little satisfaction to be gained by the discussion of these things; but the baby was a reality, and a novelty such as none of them had ever before seen on board a fishing schooner. Of him they talked incessantly during the three days’ homeward run. What they should call him perplexed them sadly for a time. The names suggested and rejected would have added several pages to a city directory. Finally this most important question was decided by the skipper, who said, “He brought a fair breeze with him that’s held by us ever since, and is giving us one of the quickest runs home ever made from the Banks. He’s as bright and cheery and refreshing as a breeze himself, and I propose that we call him ‘Breeze.’ It’s a name that might belong to almost any nationality, and yet give offence to none. As to a second name, for want of a better, and if he don’t discover the one he’s rightly entitled to, why, I’ll give him mine. What’s more, I’ll adopt him if his own folks don’t turn up; that is, if my old woman is agreeable, and I ain’t much afraid but what she will be.” So the little waif of the sea became, and was known from that day forth as, Breeze McCloud--a name that was destined to become connected with as many exciting adventures and hair-breadth escapes as any ever signed to the shipping papers of a Gloucester fishing schooner. The breeze that hurried the _Sea Robin_ along was none too fair nor too strong; for the supply of milk furnished by the “doctor’s” tin cow was completely exhausted before they reached home. If they had not got in just as they did, the baby would have suffered from hunger, and the whole crew would have suffered with him. As it was, they passed Thatcher’s Island while he was drinking the last of the milk. Before he was again hungry, with everything set and drawing, and decorated with every flag and bit of bunting that could be found on board, the saucy _Sea Robin_ had rounded Eastern Point and was sailing merrily up Gloucester harbor. A crowd of people had assembled on the wharf to witness her arrival, and learn the cause of her decorations. As she neared it one of them called out, “What is it, skipper? You’ve got your flags up as if you thought you was High-line[A] of the fleet; but the old _Robin_ don’t look to be very deep. What have you got?” ----- Footnote A: High-line. The man who catches the most fish on a trip, or the vessel that brings in the heaviest fare of the season. ----- “We do claim to be High-line,” shouted back the skipper. “And here’s what we’ve got to prove it.” With this he held the baby high above his head so that all might see it, and added, “If any Grand Banker has brought in a better fare than that this season, I want to see it; that’s all.”