sounded almost atop
of us, and the whistling was followed by a swashing of water as though
her propeller had been reversed.

"Why don't you call Henry?" asked Nautica.

"No time now," said the Commodore. "I must find something to pound this
bell with."

Of course there seemed nothing available. The Commodore seized a whisk
broom, but dropped that in favour of a hair-brush; and then in the
excitement some harder object was thrust into his hand and he started
for the door.

Nautica hurried to a window, and now saw a blur of light through the
fog, showing that the steamer had safely passed us; but, though she
called joyously, she was not in time to stay the Commodore, who had
already dashed into the cockpit beating the tongueless bell with her
curling-irons.

When he was at last caught and silenced, we could hear voices on the
steamer, orders being given, and then the rattle of running chain. She
had given up trying to make headway in the fog, and was coming to
anchor just above us.

We heartened up the hickory fire and dressed after a fashion; and sat
down to talk things over. The steamer did not ring her bell, so we did
not summon the sailor to apply dressing-table accessories to ours.

Going to a window now and then, we noticed that the fog was thinning;
and at one place there seemed a luminous blur, indicating perhaps where
the steamer lay. We wondered whether running so close upon Gadabout was
what had determined the captain to cast anchor. And then we wondered
other things about fogs and mists and bewildered ships.

Nautica sat studying the firelight (not exactly in a dreamy old
fireplace, but through a damper-hole in the stove), and at length
voiced the inspiration that she got.

"If only one could see things in a fog, it wouldn't be so bad," she
said conclusively.

"No," came the answer dryly, "a fog that one could see in would be
quite an improvement."

"Wait a moment," laughed Nautica. "I mean it isn't merely the dangers
lurking in a fog, but the way you go into them that is so terrible. The
dangers of a storm you can meet, looking them straight in the face; but
those of a fog you have to meet blindfold."

"I thought of that when I got up to-night and stood by the window,"
said the Commodore. "As the steamer's whistle kept sounding nearer, I
could imagine the great, blinded creature slowly groping its way up the
river. I think I quite agree that it would be nicer to have fogs that
people could se