n off Mad Mull. Two miles
of flat sea and windless space lay between the punt and the harbour.

"Goin' t' be thick as mud," Jimmie grumbled.

"Wisht we was more inshore," said Bagg, anxiously.

At dusk the fog was so thick that every landmark had been blotted from
sight.

"Is _you_ able t' see Mad Mull?" Jimmie demanded.

"I is _not_," said Bagg.

Mad Mull was lost in the fog. It was the last landmark. The tickle
rocks, through which a passage leads to the harbour, had long ago
vanished.

"Wisht we was home," said Bagg.

"Don't you go an' get scared, Bagg," Jimmie laughed. "Never you fear.
_I'll_ take _you_ home."

It was hot, dark and damp--a breathless evening. There was a menace in
the still air and heat. A roll of thunder sounded from the northeast.

"I 'low 'twill blow afore long," said Jimmie.

"'Urry up," said Bagg.

Jimmie put a little more strength into the rowing. The punt moved
faster, but not fast enough to please Bagg, who was terrified by the
fog, the thunder and the still, black water.

"Never you fear," Jimmie grumbled; "you'll get home afore the wind
comes."

Bagg wasn't so sure of that.

"An' it _will_ come," Jimmie reflected. "I can fair feel it on the
way."

Jimmie pulled doggedly. Occasionally a rumble of thunder came out
of the northeast to enliven his strokes. There was no wind, however,
as yet, except, perhaps, an adverse stirring of the air--the first
hint of a gale. On and on crept the punt. There was no lessening of
the heat. Jimmie and Bagg fairly gasped. They fancied it had never
been so hot before. But Jimmie did not weaken at the oars; he was
stout-hearted and used to labour, and the punt did not lag. On they
went through the mist without a mark to guide them. Roundabout was a
wall of darkening fog. It hid the whole world.

"Must be gettin' close inshore," said Jimmie, at last, while he rested
on his oars, quite bewildered.

"What you stoppin' for?" Bagg demanded.

"Seems t' me," said Jimmie, scratching his head in a puzzled way,
"that we ought t' be in the tickle by this time."

It was evident, however, that they were not in the tickle.[4] There
was no sign of the rocks on either hand. Jimmie gazed about him in
every direction for a moment. He saw nothing except a circle of black
water about the boat. Beyond was the black wall of fog.

"Wonderful queer," thought he, as he dipped his oars in the water
again; "but I 'low we ought t' be in the harbour."

There