It is clear and cold to-night, but it was much warmer through the day than yesterday. We are almost too warm, in fact, when we are pushing the boat. Gale never loses heart. He keeps up the deception with Edith, though this is not so easy as it would seem. He told her to-day that we were “laying up,” because of adverse winds. Her voice in the telephone seems weaker than it was, perhaps because of our reaching a lower level, and the increasing distance. Like the Marconi system, this may require that one end of the circuit should be much higher than the other in order to get the best results. Ferratoni thinks the jar of our fall may have affected the instrument, too. I hope and pray that it will not fail us altogether, for the voices from the ship are our greatest comfort. Last night, just as I was dozing off I heard my name called gently. “Nicholas!” It was Edith’s voice, and close to my ear. I answered softly, for the others were already sleeping. Then she said: “Nicholas, Zar is going to sing to me, don’t you want to hear, too?” “Oh, yes, I should love to.” There came a mumble of protest in the receiver. Evidently Zar did not altogether approve of singing us both to sleep at once, even though so many frozen miles lay between. Then this ceased, and a moment later, vibrating across the wastes in a rich, crooning chant, came her song of the “Old Brown Cows.”[2] Footnote 2: [Illustration] Words and Music, Copyright, 1901, by the Author. “Dark come down an’ dey ain’ come home— Dark come down an’ dey ain’ come home— Dark come down an’ dey ain’ come home- Ole brown cows. Ole brown cows— Straying away from de mastah’s gate, Ole brown cows. “Look way down to to de pastur’ lot— Call way down th’ough the clovah fiel’— Hunt way down by de cattle pon’ Foh ole brown cows. Ole brown cows— Call ’em home to de mastah’s gate, Ole brown cows. “What dat tinkle-in’ th’ough de wood? What dat browserin’ ’long de haidge? What dat shuffle-in’ down de lane? Ole brown cows. Ole brown cows— All come home to de mastah’s gate— Ole brown cows.” Sept. 23. The wind keeps with us, and whenever we find a decently smooth place we can sail. Otherwise, we should make little progress, for we are too weak from weariness and lack of food to do much at pushing the boat. We kept up to-day on coffee and tea. We can’t eat any more tablets, and Mr. Sturritt, who forced down a number of them, had something like nervous spasms afterwards. To-night, when he stopped for camp, he sat down and cried. Gale comforted him.