But where was the fog-bell?  Not where it ought to be, we well knew.  Some changes in the cockpit had crowded it from its place, and for some time it had been stowed away—­but where?  The Commodore scurried from locker to locker.

“Couldn’t we just as well whistle?” asked Nautica.

“No, no.  A boat under way whistles in a fog, but one at anchor must ring a bell.”

One more locker, and, “I’ve found it!” triumphantly cried the Commodore; but then, in dismay, “There goes the tongue out of the thing.”

Suddenly came another blast from the steamer.  She sounded almost atop of us, and the whistling was followed by a swashing of water as though her propeller had been reversed.

“Why don’t you call Henry?” asked Nautica.

“No time now,” said the Commodore.  “I must find something to pound this bell with.”

Of course there seemed nothing available.  The Commodore seized a whisk broom, but dropped that in favour of a hair-brush; and then in the excitement some harder object was thrust into his hand and he started for the door.

Nautica hurried to a window, and now saw a blur of light through the fog, showing that the steamer had safely passed us; but, though she called joyously, she was not in time to stay the Commodore, who had already dashed into the cockpit beating the tongueless bell with her curling-irons.

When he was at last caught and silenced, we could hear voices on the steamer, orders being given, and then the rattle of running chain.  She had given up trying to make headway in the fog, and was coming to anchor just above us.

We heartened up the hickory fire and dressed after a fashion; and sat down to talk things over.  The steamer did not ring her bell, so we did not summon the sailor to apply dressing-table accessories to ours.

Going to a window now and then, we noticed that the fog was thinning; and at one place there seemed a luminous blur, indicating perhaps where the steamer lay.  We wondered whether running so close upon Gadabout was what had determined the captain to cast anchor.  And then we wondered other things about fogs and mists and bewildered ships.

Nautica sat studying the firelight (not exactly in a dreamy old fireplace, but through a damper-hole in the stove), and at length voiced the inspiration that she got.

“If only one could see things in a fog, it wouldn’t be so bad,” she said conclusively.

“No,” came the answer dryly, “a fog that one could see in would be quite an improvement.”

“Wait a moment,” laughed Nautica.  “I mean it isn’t merely the dangers lurking in a fog, but the way you go into them that is so terrible.  The dangers of a storm you can meet, looking them straight in the face; but those of a fog you have to meet blindfold.”

“I thought of that when I got up to-night and stood by the window,” said the Commodore.  “As the steamer’s whistle kept sounding nearer, I could imagine the great, blinded creature slowly groping its way up the river.  I think I quite agree that it would be nicer to have fogs that people could see in.”