If I wrote volumes and volumes I couldn't begin to tell how long
that night seemed. It was longer than years and years in prison; it
was as long as a century. I think Jerry slept a little, and perhaps
I did, too, for when I peered out at the cave entrance again there
were two or three bluish, wet stars in the piece of sky I could see,
and the rain-sound had stopped. Jerry was huddled up at my feet with
his dear old head propped uncomfortably against me. He was snoring a
little, and somehow it was the nicest sound I'd ever heard. Greg's
hand was still in mine, and it was not very hot.

Dawn always disappoints me a little. You think it's going to be
perfectly gorgeous, and then it's usually nothing but one cold,
pinkish streak, and the shadows all going the wrong way. But when I
saw a faint wet grayness beginning to creep along the horizon beyond
the Headland, I thought it was the most wonderful thing I'd ever
seen in my life. The gray spread till the whole sky was the color of
zinc, with the sea a little darker, and then one spikey yellow strip
began to show on the sky-line. I could see Greg at last, with the
jersey under his head, and the white brocade waistcoat all dark and
stained at the shoulder, and his poor dear face ghastly white. And
Jerry asleep, with the ruffle still pinned to his wet shirt and a
big hole torn in the knee of his knickerbockers. And I saw the slimy
pools that the tide had left beside us--it was on the ebb again--and
the pieces of the root-beer bottle that Jerry had broken off, and
the horrible, high, black head of the Sea Monster above us.

There was no boat of any sort to be seen, near or far away, but I
woke Jerry so that we could both keep watch in case one came. Just
as Jerry crawled out of the cave and stretched himself stiffly, Greg
took his hand away from mine and blinked out at the sky, and said in