Supper went very well, in spite of the mid-afternoon luncheon, and after that the riding light was set for the night, the hatches drawn shut and all hands settled down to pass the evening in whatever way seemed best.  But bedtime came early tonight and, by half-past nine, with the sound of a distant siren coming to them at intervals and the yacht’s bells chiming the hours and half-hours, all lights were out below and the Adventurer was wrapped in fog and silence.

The fog still held in the morning, although at times it took on a yellowish tinge and made them hopeful that it would burn off.  Steve said it was not quite so thick, but no one else was able to see much difference in it.  Han managed to subsist on one egg, in spite of gloomy predictions, but after breakfast he and Perry decided to paddle ashore and find a place where they could purchase more.  They tried to add to the party, but no one else wanted to go, and so they disappeared into the mist about nine o’clock, agreeing to be back at ten-thirty, at which time, unless the fog should have lifted, those aboard the boat were to sound the whistle.

They landed on a narrow beach after a short row, and, stumbling through a fringe of coarse sand, discovered a lane leading inland.  They stopped and strove to remember the location of the boat, and then followed the lane.  The fog was amber-hued now and the morning was fast losing its chill.  Perry broke into song and Han into a tuneless whistle that seemed to give him a deal of satisfaction.  They soon found a main-travelled road and, after fixing the turn-off in their minds, wheeled to the left.

“It would be a fine joke if we couldn’t find the dingey again,” chuckled Han.

“I think you’ve got a punk idea of humour,” responded Perry.  “Anyway, all we’d have to do is find the beach and keep along until we barked our skins on the boat.  Bet you, though, this pesky fog will be gone in an hour.”

The road left the shore presently and the travellers found that the fog was thinner and sometimes lifted entirely over small spaces, and it wasn’t long before they stopped to take off their jackets and swing them across their arms.  Possibly they passed houses, but they saw none, and the only incident occurred when the sound of wheels came to them from the highway ahead and, presently, a queer, old-fashioned two-wheeled chaise drawn by a piebald, drooping-eared horse passed slowly from the mist ahead to the mist behind.  The boys gazed at it in wonderment, too interested in the equipage itself to heed the occupants.  When it was out of sight again Han ejaculated:  “Well, I’ll be switched, Perry!  I didn’t suppose there was one of those things left in the world!”

“Neither did I. And there won’t be pretty quick, I guess, for it looked and sounded as if it would fall to pieces before it got to—­to wherever it’s going.  Bet you anything that was the deacon’s one-horse chaise in the poem!”