It was about fifteen feet long, of a ghastly grayish white color, and from its snout stood straight out a sharp, twisted horn perhaps six feet in length.

It was only a stupid narwhal, with no desire in the world to offend his gigantic neighbor: but she was nervous at the sight of his horn, which made her think of her dreaded enemy the swordfish.

Tucking her baby well under her fin, she made an hysterical rush at the unoffending stranger.

His little pig-like eyes blinked anxiously, and, darting off at his best pace, he was speedily lost to view in the cloudy myriads of the capelin.
"Having now been under water for some twelve or fifteen minutes, the mother whale knew that it was time for her baby to breathe again--though she herself could have held on without fresh air for another five or even ten minutes without much trouble." The Babe gasped.

It was like a bad dream to him, the idea of going along without a breath.
"Oh, how it must hurt!" he burst forth.