shore for every
little fog-mull, we wouldn't catch many hake the next six weeks. This
isn't a circumstance to what it is sometimes. I've known it to hang on
for two weeks at a stretch. Ever hear the story of the Penobscot Bay
captain who started out on a voyage round the world? Just as he got
outside of Matinicus Rock he shaved the edge of a fog-bank, straight up
and down as a wall. He pulled out his jack-knife and pushed it into the
fog, clean to the handle. When he came back, two and a half years later,
there was his knife, sticking in the same spot. He tried to pull it out,
but the blade was so badly rusted that it broke, and he had to leave
half of it stuck in the hole."

"Must have had some fog in those days!" was Lane's comment. "Did you say
this all comes from the Bay of Fundy?"

"Not all of it. Fog both blows and makes up on the spot. Sometimes it
rises out of the water like steam. I've heard my uncle say that Georges
Bank makes it as a mill makes meal. It's worst in August. Then the smoke
from shore fires mingles with it; and the wind from the land blowing
off, and that from the sea blowing in, keep it hazy along the coast all
summer."

Jim's predictions proved correct, as they generally did. While there
were occasional stretches of fine weather during the next few weeks, the
fog either hovered on the horizon or lurked not far below it, ready to
bury the island at the slightest provocation in the way of an east or
southeast wind. Despite its presence, the routine of trawling and
lobstering went on as usual. Every Friday came the regular trip to
Matinicus to dispose of the salted fish and procure groceries, gasolene,
and salt, as well as newspapers and mail.

On each of these visits Percy always weighed himself on the scales at
the general store. Beginning at one hundred and thirty-five, he climbed
steadily, pound by pound, toward one hundred and fifty. An active,
out-of-door life, combined with regular hours and a simple, wholesome
diet, together with the exclusion of cigarettes, resulted inevitably in
increasing weight and strength. At the close of each afternoon he
climbed the bluff with his sweater stuffed with rockweed. The others
joked him considerably about these mysterious trips, but failed to
extract any information from him regarding them. When he chose, Percy
could be as close-mouthed as his father.

At about this time a letter from the millionaire reached his son through
the Matinicus office. I