CHAPTER XX.
LOOKING FOR THE SUN.—THE OPEN SEA.—BIRDS.
While the days were thus running on, the sun was
crawling up toward the horizon, and each returning
noon brought an increase of light. I carried in my
pocket at all times a little book, and early in February
I began to experiment with it. When I could
read the title-page at noon I was much rejoiced. By
and by the smaller letters could be puzzled out; then
I could decipher with ease the finest print, and the
youngsters were in great glee at being able to read
the thermometers at eleven and twelve and one
o'clock without the lantern. On the 10th of February
I made the following memorandum on the margin
of my book: "Almost broad daylight at noon,
and I read this page at 3 o'clock P. M." My calculations
placed the sun at the horizon on the 18th.
The appearance of the sun became now the one absorbing event. About it everybody thought and everybody talked continually. No set of men ever looked more eagerly for a coming joy than did we for the promised morn,—we, half-bloodless beings, coming from the night, bleached in the long-continued lamp-light, and almost as colorless as potato-sprouts growing in a dark cellar. We all noted how to-day compared with yesterday, and contrasted it with this day a week ago. Even the old cook caught the con-
