on his oars.

"It is my fear that we are all wrong," said Aunt Stanshy. "I know
something about this river, and about fogs, and about people rowing round
like fools and getting nowhere."

The members of the club now looked serious, and Will was provoked at Aunt
Stanshy's remark.

"Halloo there!"

This was an unexpected shout from the heart of the fog, and after the
shout came a black boat, and in it was a man dressed like a fisherman. He
wore a "sou'wester" and a striped woolen shirt, also big cow-hide boots
that came above the knees of his pants.

"Where are we?" asked Will. "Anywhere near Wherren's wharf?"

"Where are you? Wal, it is safe to say in a gin'ral way that you are in
the river."

"I know that, friend," said Will, "but are we headed for the shore?"

"That depends on the shore you want to find. It's my opinion that if you
young folks keep on just as your boat is headed, you'll strike Europe if
you have good luck."

"Pshaw!" exclaimed the apothecary, "we can't be that much out of the way."

"Try it and see."

"Well, just where are we and which way ought we to go to reach Wherren's
wharf?"

"We are now down near Forbes's Island, and--"

"Forbes's Island!" screamed Aunt Stanshy. "Did you ever!"

"And my compass says if one wants to get up river, he must go in a
direction directly opposite to that which you are now taking!"

The apothecary's face fell several inches, Charlie thought.

"When you are out on the river, you are always safer to have a compass,
for fogs may come up and you don't know where you are. I'm goin' up the
river and I should be happy to show you where Wherren's wharf is, for you
might as well hunt for a clam inside of an iceberg as to hunt for the
wharf down here."

"Thank you," said Aunt Stanshy.

"Haven't I seen you before, marm?"

"I dare say."

"I was at your place and you gave me a job, sawing wood, this summer."

"O, is it you, mister? I see now."

"The same one. One good turn deserves another; so let's go along
together."

All in the club were glad to see the man, excepting Wort.

Up the river they slowly but safely went, the fisherman guiding his party
through the fog to the place of landing. A part of the way he had towed
them along, throwing them the painter of his boat.

"Whenever John Fisher can do you a favor, marm, let me know it," said the
man.

"Three cheers for John Fisher!" shouted the club. Wort joined in this, and
he also said to himself,