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That was why he was the first to see the three clouds.
    They came flapping towards us in a small, frightened huddle - and after them came a black cloud looking very sharp and evil.
    'It's a wolf chasing three little lambs,' said the Joxter lazily.
    'How terrible! Can't we save them?' cried the Muddler. (He was only a child and believed all that was said to him.)
    But Hodgkins wanted to amuse his nephew. He made a running noose on a light rope, and when the first of the clouds came sailing over us he threw the rope like a lariat after it. (Which shows once again that Hodgkins wasn't always his usual self.)
    We were a bit surprised when the rope caught the cloud round the middle and held it!
    'Well, I say,' said Hodgkins.
    'Pull!' cried the Muddler. 'Save the lamb from the wolf! Save all three of them!'
    And Hodgkins pulled the cloud aboard, and then he caught the other two also.
    The black wolf continued his course, so near that he brushed against the gilded knob on the boat-house.
    There lay our three clouds in safety. They nearly

    covered all the free space on deck. And at close quarters they weren't very unlike whipped cream.
    The Nibling chewed at one of them a little and said it tasted like his pencil eraser at home.
    The clouds completely covered the Muddler's tin, and this worried him. Hodgkins was worried, too. No captain likes unnecessary things on his deck, and he found it difficult even to walk astern to the helm. He sank up to his ears at every step.
    Only the Joxter was pleased.
    'Fomenting compresses,' he said, and crept into one of the clouds to sleep.
    We tried to push the things into the hold, but as soon as we had stowed down one corner another popped out again. So we had to give it up.
    (Afterwards we wondered why we hadn't thought of heaving them overboard. Thank goodness we didn't do that!)
    In the afternoon, just before sunset, the sky changed to a curious yellow. It wasn't a friendly colour but a dirty and uncanny yellow. Over the horizon appeared a row of narrow, black and frowning clouds.
    'The whole pack's out a-hunting,' said the Joxter.
    We were sitting together under the sun-tent. The Muddler and the Nibling had succeeded in excavating their tin and had carried it astern where the deck was still cloudless.
    The rolling sea had turned black and grey, and the sun grew hazy. The wind whistled anxiously in the stays. All the sea spooks and mermaids had disappeared. We felt slightly worried by it all.
    'Moomin,' said Hodgkins. 'What does the glass say?'
    I crept ahead over the clouds and climbed the stairs to the steering cabin. I stared at the aneroid barometer. The needle pointed at twenty-five; obviously it had tried to go still lower but had stuck.
    I felt my face become stiff with suspense, and thought: 'I'm turning pale - exactly like you read in books.' I looked in the mirror. Quite right. I was white as cottonwoosd,

    or chalk, or newly washed Moomin feet. It was exciting.
    I hurried back and said: 'Do you see that I'm deathly pale?'
    'No,' said the Joxter. 'You're rather red in the face.'
    'Well, what did it say?' Hodgkins asked.
    'It's gone again, then,' I said a little crossly. 'Twenty-five.'
    Hodgkins didn't turn pale. He said at once in a steady voice:
    'Joxter! Furl the sail. Moomin! Make fast all stays, sheets, hawsers, hatches, handles, bundles and everything you can lay your hands on! The Muddler and the Nibling are to keep in their tin and put the lid on. We're in for a gale.'
    'Aye, aye, sir!' we all shouted, and with a calm and manly glance at the now pale-purple sea under the yellow sky, we went to our important duties.
    The gale was over us in an instant, so suddenly that The Oshun Oxtra dived on her nose and nearly stood on her head for a while.
    I hadn't had time to take down the sun-tent, and it was torn away like a leaf and flapped out to sea. (It was a nice sun-tent. I hope somebody found it and enjoyed it.)
    'Start the engine!' Hodgkins shouted through the gale. But the hatch