noon
In the morning the sails hung motionless and shrivelled along the masts . Although not a breath reached us , and the surface of the ocean was unruffled , the schooner was rocked from side to side by the long oscillations of the swell coming from the west . `` The sea feels something , '' said Captain Len Guy to me , `` and there must be rough weather on that side , '' he added , pointing westward . `` The horizon is misty , '' I replied ; `` but perhaps the sun towards noon -- '' `` The sun has no strength in this latitude , Mr. Jeorling , not even in summer . Jem ! '' West came up to us . `` What do you think of the sky ? ''