It did stop finally; after what Martin judged to be ten or twelve hours. It melted from the sea, then thinned above, and the sky shone through. Not a broad sweep at first, but patches here and there. It was later before the clear dome and the familiar stars shone out. “There’s the Great Dipper, boy--see it? It must be three o’clock in the mornin’ by the placin’ of it.” “Three in the morning--and we rowing since three o’clock yesterday afternoon!” “Aye, boy. And there’s the North Star and those other little stars I don’t know the names of. We’ll keep the North Star one good point off the starb’d bow, boy, and on that course till mornin’, and then we’ll go by the sun.” The morning came, and the boy noted that six inches of snow covered the inside of the dory everywhere--gunnels, strakes, and thwarts, except where they had been sitting, and the bottom of the dory, except where their champing boots and the heat from within them had beaten it into a slush; and that the snow was dazzling white under the morning sun. But above all he felt the cold. “The wind must have shifted, Martin, it’s so much colder.” “Aye, boy. ’Tis no’west now.” “A cold wind--the coldest of all, isn’t it, Martin?” “Aye, boy, but one great comfort with it--’tis mostly a clear wind, a no’wester. Should any vessel be about now they’ll soon see us. But rest a while, boy. Go aft and lie in the stern--you’ll be trimmin’ ship better there--every little tells in a long haul; or stamp up and down and slap your arms, or take the bailer and shovel out the snow.” Having cleared the dory of snow, the boy strove vainly to overcome his inclination to lie down. But he did lie down at last. His legs were so numb that he hadn’t the strength to go aft, he said, and so Martin took him in his arms and set him in the stern. “And don’t rest too long there, boy. There’s such a thing as freezing to death in a no’wester. A cold wind, lad, is a no’wester.” The boy lay there till Martin bade him rise and stamp about. But he could not keep up the stamping for long. “I’m so tired, Martin, and hungry--oh, so hungry!” He sucked at a bit of snow-crust. “Aye, boy. One older and tougher than you might say it. And don’t eat too much of that stuff, and try, boy, try a while again to keep movin’ your arms and legs.” He tried, but could not. So Martin bade him lie down again. And the boy lay down and began to drowse, at which Martin shook his head. But what could he do? He had to keep rowing himself. Oh, yes--he took off his own cardigan jacket and forced the boy into it. The boy, only half awake, protested--a feeble protest--as Martin, with a soft “Hush, lad, hush--weren’t me and your father dory-mates for many the long year together?” buttoned it about him. “My, Martin, but that’s warming!” “Aye, boy, that it is. Many a cold winter’s day it’s helped to warm me.”