It was the forty-fathom slumber that clears the soul and eye and heart, and sends you to breakfast ravening.

They emptied a big tin dish of juicy fragments of fish--the blood-ends the cook had collected overnight.

They cleaned up the plates and pans of the elder mess, who were out fishing, sliced pork for the midday meal, swabbed down the foc'sle, filled the lamps, drew coal and water for the cook, and investigated the fore-hold, where the boat's stores were stacked.

It was another perfect day--soft, mild, and clear; and Harvey breathed to the very bottom of his lungs.
More schooners had crept up in the night, and the long blue seas were full of sails and dories.

Far away on the horizon, the smoke of some liner, her hull invisible, smudged the blue, and to eastward a big ship's top-gallant sails, just lifting, made a square nick in it.