through a little block high up just below the truck, drew upon it, and sent the end of the line down rapidly to the deck.

“Then this crow’s-nest is for a look-out place?” said Steve.

“That’s it, sir. Makes a nice snug cover for a man to stand in when we’re among the walrus or seals, or seeking a way through the ice.”

“And this ladder is for a man to creep up and get in through the bottom?”

“Right again, sir; you don’t want no telling. He creeps up the ladder, in through the bottom, shuts the door down, and there he is, able to look out eight or nine miles any way.”

Steve looked down, and could see that the men on deck were making the great cask fast to the end of the line. Then, turning to the man again:

“You said something about looking out for ice.”

“Ay, sir, I did.”

“How long will it be before we come in sight of any?”

The sailors both looked at him and smiled.

“’Bout as long as it takes to cast your eyes to the nor’ard, sir.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look yonder,” said the first Norseman, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “You can see ice, can’t you?”

Steve looked in the direction indicated, and shook his head.

“Nonsense, sir!” said the other. “There’s ice—one, two, three good-sized bits floating this way.”

“I can’t see them,” said Steve sadly. “Your eyes are better than mine.”

“Maybe, sir. We’ve been at sea longer than you. Try again.”

The boy looked, holding on by passing his arm round one of the shrouds, while the mast gave from the pressure of the wind, and produced a peculiar effect, as of swinging, now that his attention was not directed to the work going on.

“Feel all right?” said the first Norseman.

“Yes.”

“Not giddy, sir?”

“No, I think not. I’m all right, but I can’t see any ice.”

“Try again. There, straight away where the sea shines in the sunlight.”

“N–no,” said Steve; “I can see the waves breaking and sparkling miles away.”

“No, sir; you couldn’t see the waves breaking and sparkling miles away on a day like this. What you see is ice.”

“What, an iceberg? I thought that would be like an island.”

“No, sir; a bit or two of floe ice going to the south’ard.”

“Yes, I see now; but how big are these pieces?”

“Ten or a dozen feet out of the water, and perhaps a hundred feet long.”

“But what do you mean by floe ice?”

“The ice of the sea frozen.”

“Well, of course!” cried Steve; “so are icebergs.”

“Are they, sir?” said the man, smiling. “Have you ever seen one?”

“No; but I’ve often read of them.”

“Wait till you see one, then, sir, and you won’t say they’re part of the frozen sea; they’re bits of the great ice rivers that run down into the sea, and then break off. Icebergs are fresh water when they’re melted—land ice. Me and my mate have heard them split off with a noise like thunder, and then they float away.”

“Ahoy, there aloft! Up she comes.”

The little wheel in the block overhead began to chirrup and squeak as the men hauled upon the line, and the tub with its iron ring and rail began to ascend rapidly higher and higher, till it reached where the three clung, and was then guided to where it was to be secured, with its bottom resting on the place where the tops of the shrouds passed round the mast.

“Hold on!” was shouted. “Make fast!” and the cask became stationary. Then the second of the two sailors stood on the newly-made ladder, and held the cask while the first passed a rope round it and secured it to the slight mast; after which there was a little lashing above to steady it, and the crow’s-nest hung there high above the deck, ready for use.

“There you are, sir,” said Johannes. “As you’ve been helping you ought to have first try. Up with you.”

“Think it’s safe?” said Steve, hesitating; and a curious sensation of shrinking came over him.

“Shouldn’t ask you to try her if she warn’t fast, sir,” replied the man bluntly; and without further ado the lad loosened his grasp of the shrouds, and stepped on to the wooden ladder, looking up at the bottom of the cask.

“Now, sir, just one word of warning,” said the second Norseman. “That ladder’s to step on from the shrouds, not to go down on deck.”

“Of course not,” replied Steve; “I know that.”

“Yes, sir, and so do all of those who come up; but same time, a poor fellow don’t think, and when he lowers himself out of the tub, he goes on stepping down without going off on to the shrouds, and I’ve known men fall and be killed.”

“I say, don’t talk about falling,” said Steve, with a shiver; “it makes one feel creepy.”

“Only good advice, sir,” said Johannes. “Now, then, up you go.”

The lad mounted three of the steps, and his head touched the bottom of the tub.

“It isn’t opened!” he cried.

“Never mind, sir; go on, push up.”

Steve obeyed, thrust hard with his head, and the bottom gave way, turning upon its hinges till it was vertical, and he passed up inside the tub, stepped on to the narrow ledge at the side, and the bottom dropped down into its place, forming a firm flooring, with a ring at the edge ready for lifting it up.

The next moment Steve was standing upright, peering round in all directions, finding that he was in a wonderfully commanding position for sweeping the sea, and now, with his eyes already a little educated, making out the ice to the north plainly enough.

There was the seat ready for resting upon; the iron rail all round for a rest for a telescope, and attached to this rail the broad piece of board which could be run round in any direction to act as a screen from the wind when it blew hard and was perhaps cold enough to give frost-bite to the unfortunate watcher up aloft.

A hail from the deck put an end to Steve’s sea sweeping, just as he fancied he made out something dark to the south, which might have been a boat or some large fish. So, stooping down in his narrow cell, he raised the bottom, and began to lower himself down, till his feet, which sought for a resting-place, touched the second rail of the ladder they had made, and he thoroughly grasped now how necessary their work had been.

“Steady, sir!” cried Johannes, as he stepped lower. “Keep the door resting upon your head, so that it don’t come down with a bang; it might hurt you.”

“All right,” said the lad, obeying the instructions to the letter, while the two men who stood on the shrouds to starboard and port watched him carefully. “That’s it, isn’t it?” he continued, as he stepped lower, and the trap-door bottom closed with a gentle tap.

“Make anything out?” cried Captain Marsham from the deck.

“Yes, sir!” cried Steve eagerly. “Three pieces of ice to the north, and there’s something dark right away south that looks like a boat bottom upwards.”

“Eh? Look again. What do you make it to be, my lad?”

This to one of the Norwegian sailors, who placed a hand over his eyes, and took a long look to the south.

“Well, what do you make of it?”

“Small whale, I should say, sir. But if it be,” he said, after a short pause, “she’s lying asleep in the sunshine.”

“My glass,” said the captain; and it was quickly fetched from the cabin, adjusted, and he took a long look in the direction pointed out.

“Yes; a small whale or a great grampus basking. Well done, look-out in the crow’s-nest! Better come down now, my lad.”

These words sent the blood coursing to the lad’s cheeks, and he began to descend quickly, thinking now that after all it was a risky position for any one high up there above the deck, and that the sooner he was safely down the better he would like it. Then