Marjorie awoke with a start. My, how cold it was! The porthole glass was covered with a network of frosty lace, and the little Dove, who slept in Marjorie's cabin, pulled her head out from under her wing and shivered.
"What has happened?" asked Marjorie, sitting up in bed and looking about her.
Perhaps she expected to see Jack Frost sitting in the rocking chair!
Quickly pulling on her slippers she ran to the porthole to ask her good friend the Weathercock the reason for this sudden drop in the temperature.
She found him, as usual, perched on the flagpole. His comb was very red, as if Jack Frost had given it a nip, and now and then he raised one leg to his breast to warm his toes in the fluffy feathers.
"Good morning," said Marjorie. "Isn't it freezing?"
"Do you wonder?" answered the Weathercock, pointing to a large iceberg close at hand.
She turned to look and, sure enough, just a few feet away was a great mountain of ice.
"We're aground on an iceberg," went on the Weathercock. "We ran into an ice floe last night and the Ark slipped upon the ledge of the iceberg and grounded."
"Goodness gracious!" cried Marjorie. "What are we ever going to do?"