They reckoned they had sufficient food to last the twelve earth months, and they could exist in comfort for three hundred and sixty-five days. And with the minutest care, perhaps even longer. “We can’t live in space for more than twelve months, surely,” said Mavis, but Sir John did not answer her. They had consumed perhaps an eighth of their water supply, and had the supply of concentrated water essence untouched. Still, they were afraid to waste any for washing purposes, and considered it a treat to be allowed to dip their fingers in any fluid that was left over from cooking; even a drop of cold tea proved a boon to them, and they gratefully damped cloths in it and wiped their hot and dry faces. Alan fixed a piece of paper on the wall of the front cabin, and every night before they retired, he would tick off the number of the day from the time they had reset their clocks and begin to count again. Thirty, forty, fifty, so the “days” passed, and little John Alan grew enormously. The few garments that had been packed in their hurried flight were now too small for him, and Mavis was forced to use some of her own dresses, and cut them up for the growing child. He alone was unconscious of the danger of their peculiar position, and he crowed and gurgled and bit his toes, in complete babyish happiness and delight. If anything, Mavis had grown more beautiful after the arrival of her child. Her eyes glowed with maternal pride, and her cheeks were flushed with joy as she watched her baby, born into such a strange life, grow day by day fairer and more loving. The library aboard, which Sir John had had the foresight to install in his giant Argenta, proved a godsend to the weary travellers. Every day they read aloud some old literary favourite, and renewed their acquaintance with Sam Weller, Pip, the Aged P, and Little Nell; laughed over the experiences of the “Innocents Abroad” enjoyed again the story of “Three Men in a Boat.” But even with these diversions, with chess, dominoes, and draughts; with singing and playing, they grew tired of their enforced inactivity, and chafed at their surroundings. Their air supply was excellent; the mechanism never failed in its work; certainly the air grew hot and fetid at times but by the aid of electric fans it was freshened and purified. Every day they looked out of the little glass window, and drank in the glories of the heavens. One day, it was the ninety-eighth according to Alan’s chart, Mavis startled them all by a sudden exclamation. “What is it, my dear?” asked Sir John, looking up from an interesting game of chess he was enjoying with Alan. “Look at Jupiter! Isn’t he large to-night?” said she. “Why, yesterday he looked like a big star, to-day he is like the moon at harvest time.” They all crowded round the little window. “By Jove, you’re right,” said Alan. “We must be sailing in a direct line toward him.”