"Good-night, boys!" said Peter's voice from under the covers.
"Good-night," called back everybody but Jacob, who already lay snoring beside the captain.
"I say," shouted Carl, after a moment, "don't sneeze, anybody. Ludwig's in a fright!"
"No such thing," retorted Ludwig in a smothered voice. Then there was a little whispered dispute, which was ended by Carl saying:
"For my part, I don't know what fear is. But you really are a timid fellow, Ludwig."
Ludwig grunted sleepily, but made no further reply.
It was the middle of the night. The fire had shivered itself to death, and, in place of its gleams, little squares of moonlight lay upon the floor, slowly, slowly shifting their way across the room. Something else was moving also, but they did not see it. Sleeping boys keep but a poor lookout. During the early hours of the night, Jacob Poot had been gradually but surely winding himself with all the bed covers. He now lay like a monster chrysalis beside the half-frozen Peter, who, accordingly, was skating with all his might over the coldest, bleakest of dreamland icebergs.
Something else, I say, besides the moonlight, was moving across the bare, polished floor—moving not quite so slowly, but quite as stealthily.
Wake up, Ludwig! The voetspoelen pirate is growing real!