amber hue and now was unmistakably thinning out.  But it was still thick enough to hide objects thirty feet away and Perry couldn’t for the life of him be certain that he was sending his craft toward the beach.  To be sure he had started out in the general direction of the shore, as indicated by Cas, but there was always the possibility that he was rowing stronger with one oar than the other.  He strove to curb that tendency and fancied he was succeeding, but when, after being afloat a good quarter of an hour, he still failed to see land or hear the break of waves on the beach he was both puzzled and annoyed.  The sun pierced the mist hotly and he was soon panting and perspiring.  He heartily wished that he had never agreed to accompany Han on the search for eggs.  Presently he rested on his oars, and as he did so he heard voices quite close.  He called.

“Hello, there!  Where’s the beach?”

“Here,” was the answer.

He rowed on and in another minute land came abruptly out of the fog.  Two blurred forms resolved themselves into men as Perry beached the dingey and tiredly dropped the oars.  The men came toward him and proved, on nearer acquaintance, to be middle-aged and apparently natives.  “Quite a fog,” drawled one of them.  “What boat you from, sir?”

“The Adventurer.”  Perry viewed the immediate foreground with misgiving.  The beach looked more abrupt than he recalled it.  “What beach is this?” he inquired.

“Well, I don’t know as it’s got any name exactly.  What beach was you lookin’ for?”

“The beach between Vineyard Haven and—­and some other place.”

“Oh, West Chop?  Why, that’s across the harbour, son.  This is Eastville, this side.”

Perry groaned.  He had rowed in a half-circle then.  Unless Cas had directed him wrong.  Presently the true explanation came to him.  The tide had turned between the time the Follow Me’s crowd had gone ashore and the time that Perry had reached that boat, and Cas had not allowed for the fact that the cruiser had swung around!  “Well,” he said wearily, “I guess I’ve got to row across again.”

“Too bad,” sympathised one of the men.  “It’s most a mile.  Guess, though, you’ll be able to see your way pretty soon.  This fog’s burning off fast.”

Out of sight of the men Perry again laid his oars down and reached behind him for the can of milk.  It was rather warm, but it tasted good for all of that.  Then, putting the wooden stopper back in place, he once more took up his task.  Perhaps he might have been rowing around that harbour yet had not the fog suddenly disappeared as if by magic.  Wisps of it remained here and there, but even as he watched them, they curled up and were burned into nothingness like feathers in a fire.  He found himself near the head of a two-mile-long harbour.  The calm blue water was rippling under the brushing of a light southerly breeze and here and there lay boats anchored or moored.  While the fog had hidden