“I’m gratified to hear that,” said Bruce, gravely, “but at the same time puzzled.  For Mrs. Pratt says the exact opposite; and so here we have two great authorities in direct opposition.  So what are we to think?”

“O, there’s no difficulty,” said Arthur, “for the doctors are not of equal authority.  Mrs. Pratt is a quack, but Solomon is a professional—­a regular, natural, artistic, and scientific cook, which at sea is the same as doctor.”

The dinner was prolonged to an extent commensurate with its own inherent excellence and the capacity of the boys to appreciate it; but at length, like all things mortal, it came to a termination, and the company went up once more to the deck.  On looking round it was evident to all that a change had taken place.

Four miles away lay Ile Haute, and eight or ten miles beyond this lay the long line of Nova Scotia.  It was now about four o’clock, and the tide had been rising for three hours, and was flowing up rapidly, and in a full, strong current.  As yet there was no wind, and the broad surface of the bay was quite smooth and unruffled.  In the distance and far down the bay, where its waters joined the horizon, there was a kind of haze, that rendered the line of separation between sea and sky very indistinct.  The coast of Nova Scotia was at once enlarged and obscured.  It seemed now elevated to an unusual height above the sea line, as though it had been suddenly brought several miles nearer, and yet, instead of being more distinct, was actually more obscure.  Even Ile Haute, though so near, did not escape.  Four miles of distance were not sufficient to give it that grand indistinctness which was now flung over the Nova Scotia coast; yet much of the mysterious effect of the haze had gathered about the island; its lofty cliffs seemed to tower on high more majestically, and to lean over more frowningly; its fringe of black sea-weed below seemed blacker, while the general hue of the island had changed from a reddish color to one of a dull slaty blue.

“I don’t like this,” said Captain Corbet, looking down the bay and twisting up his face as he looked.

“Why not?”

Captain Corbet shook his head.

“What’s the matter?”

“Bad, bad, bad!” said the captain.

“Is there going to be a storm?”

“Wuss!”

“Worse?  What?”

“Fog.”

“Fog?”

“Yes, hot an heavy, thick as puddin, an no mistake.  I tell you what it is, boys:  judgin from what I see, they’ve got a bran-new steam injine into that thar fog mill at Grand Manan; an the way they’re goin to grind out the fog this here night is a caution to mariners.”

Saying this, he took off his hat, and holding it in one hand, he scratched his venerable head long and thoughtfully with the other.

“But I don’t see any fog as yet,” said Bart.

“Don’t see it?  Wal, what d’ye call all that?” said the captain, giving a grand comprehensive sweep with his arm, so as to take in the entire scene.