"At all events he seemed pleased and was so dear. We had such a nice talk, Aunt Cam. I had the blues frightfully, and now I feel as if a fresh west wind had blown away all the fog."
"There are fog banks along the horizon now," returned Miss Elliott. "I think we shall soon see it coming in."
CHAPTER XII
A BUNDLE OF LETTERS
Miss Elliott was right. The next morning a soft gray mist enveloped the island, pearling each separate blade of grass and gemming each twig and leaf with tiny brilliants. The cottages appeared great confused shapes shrouded in gray. Voices coming from a distance had a queer smothered quality. The sea was shut out by a curtain of fog. "A veil before our ways," quoted Gwen, as, cloaked and booted, she stood ready to issue forth. On her way to Almira Green's she met Cap'n Ben in his sou'wester.
"Pretty thick fawg!" he remarked as the girl came up. "I couldn't quite make out whether you was coming or going, or whether you was male or female. I was hopesing for a handsome day to take Ora up to Portland."
"Has she gone?"
"Hm, hm," Cap'n Ben nodded. "Couldn't hold her back once she got the notion in her head. Went on the first boat, though when she'll get there's another thing. It'll be everlasting slow travel. Guess you'll find most folks to hum to-day. Boat she blowed and blowed this morning before she could make her wharf. Going up along? Drop in when you're passing." He gave his characteristic jerky nod, and passed on while Gwen pursued the way "up along" which brought her to Almira Green's house, a white cottage, set in amidst trees, with a little garden in front. Now the bright hues of zinnias, nasturtiums and sweet peas were clouded by fog, and the rigid lines of the house itself melted into the background of slim birches and poplars.
In answer to Gwen's knock, Almira herself came to the door, an angular woman with melancholy eyes. "Well, the land's sakes!" she exclaimed. "You don't mind fawg, do you? I cal'lated 'twas Zerviah Hackett. Nawthin' keeps her to hum. Step right in. You must be wet through. We haven't had such a thick fawg this summer. Give me your cloak and I'll dry it by the kitchen fire."