This was the substance of Raed's plan of study.
...

By eleven o'clock we had grown a little sea-sick,--just the slightest feeling of nausea.

Kit shuts his book, rests his arm on the table, and leans his head on it.
"You sick ?" demands Raed.
"Oh, no! not much; just a little squeamish." Presently Wade lies down on his mattress, and I immediately ask,-- "Much sick, Wade ?" To which he promptly replies,-- "Oh, no! squeamish a little; that's all." By and by the skipper looks down to inquire, "Sick here, anybody ?" To which we all answer at once,-- "Oh, no! only a bit squeamish."' _Squeamish_ was the word for it till near night, when we seemed suddenly to rally from it, though the motion continued the same; but the wind had veered to the south, and almost wholly lulled.

We slept pretty well that night; but the next forenoon the nausea returned, and stuck by us all day.

Every one who has been to sea knows how such a day passes.