The weather is considerably better to-day. The meteorologists tell us that the weather in the polar regions appears to be good, and there is no ground for us to be worried about the fate of the flyers. It is now over three days since they left. Even the most phlegmatic on board the two ships are waiting every moment to see them return. We discuss every possibility; we think of every difficulty, and still come to no conclusion as to what is keeping them. We are no longer excited, the thrill of the first days has changed to a numb resignation. As each hour passes we seem to see more clearly what a dangerous task our six comrades have undertaken. Several of us begin to think of all the dreadful things which might or might not have occurred, but we do not put our thoughts into words. _Virgo-havn. Monday, May 25th_ The fourth day passes like the rest. On board “Hobby” they have had their first false alarm. Amundsen’s old friend, sailmaker Rönne from Horten, insisted yesterday evening that he saw two flying machines appear from the north in full flight. He declared with certainty that he had followed them with his eyes the whole way as they came from behind Danskeöen through the fjord, until they were lost behind Amsterdamöen’s west point. The others on board thought this seemed unlikely and almost impossible. Why in all the world should they fly in that direction? Had it been southwards one might have understood it, but Rönne stuck to his point: and so certain was he that the others on board heard of nothing else, and consequently came across to “Fram” to tell us about it, relating how they had shown Rönne a flock of gray geese flying in the same direction which he insisted the aeroplanes had taken, making him admit that he had been mistaken. We have had a similar occurrence on board the “Fram.” It was five o’clock. The watchman stood on the bridge, keeping a sharp lookout towards Vest Pynt, when suddenly he stood still as though nailed to the deck. He shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed over the sea directly into the stream of silver which the sun was casting over the water. He picked up his binoculars.... What is it?