The pitch of the vessel became stronger. Then, too, it was not always regular. Sometimes it swung off a bit to one side, and just when I felt that it ought to lift us buoyantly and sustainingly it would disappoint me by sinking away beneath us—falling down-hill, as it were—or it would change its mind at the last minute and conclude to fall down some other hill, or perhaps give up the notion altogether. I grew discontented and wished it wouldn’t do these things. There was a bit of tarred lashing on the bow-sprit near us. In the harbor the smell of it had been fine and inspiring, but it did not attract me any more. It had become rather obnoxious, in fact, and I moved a little to one side to avoid it. Neither did I feel inclined to laugh at Edith Gale’s story. Somehow it did not seem altogether in good taste. Perhaps she was disappointed, for she referred to my own plans. “And to think that Papa should believe in you from the start. He said he had never seen any one so much in earnest about anything as you were in your determination to find the South Pole.” “Yes—oh, yes,” I admitted weakly, “I was in earnest, of course—but——” The ship gave a peculiar roll and the salt spray came flying up from below. Some of it got into my mouth. It took away any remaining interest I may have had in Miss Gale’s conversation. I did not care for the South Pole, either, and the rainbow of promise had become a mockery. I remembered a particularly steady bit of rock in one of my father’s meadows. As a child this rock had been the ship on which I had voyaged through billowing seas of grass. I would have been willing now to give all my interest in both poles, the ship, and even in Miss Gale herself, to cruise once more for five minutes on that rock. Edith Gale wiped the water from her own face, laughing merrily. “I love the sea spray,” she said gaily, “can you taste the gold in it?” I shook my head miserably. “A man came to Papa, once, with a scheme to extract the gold from it,” she ran on. “Papa told him that there was so much water that he guessed he’d wait till the patent on the process became public, or ran out. Do you suppose there really is gold in it?” I could not answer immediately. “Do you suppose there _is_?” she repeated, and I thought there was a note of injury in her voice. “Oh, I don’t know,” I groaned wretchedly, “but I know what _will_ be there, pretty soon, if this ship doesn’t stand still!” She turned a startled face toward me. She said afterwards that all the colors of the ocean were reflected in mine. She had been ready to laugh at first, but her expression became one of compassion. “Oh,” she said, “I never thought, I am such a good sailor—and the bow is the very worst place for that. You must go back amid-ships. You are seasick—I am sure of it!” “So am I,” I gasped, “and I am also sure, now, that I am not dreaming!”