“And it’s closing in on us. There’s nothing to do but make the best of it here,” answered the easy-going Prim. “But we may freeze to death. This fog is like an icy wind, it goes clear through you.”
Terry walked up and down to get warm, as the fog pierced her thick coat.
“How long will it last, Terry?” asked Prim. “This is terrible!”
“There’s no telling. This Newfoundland fog often hangs around for days,” replied her sister.
“That’s a cheerful prospect,” said Prim dolefully. “In that case we’d better make our way to that little fishing village. It’s near this rock. At least it looked that way from the plane.”
But Terry interrupted. “No, let’s stick it out as long as we can by ourselves. I don’t like to mix with people.”
“You’d better get over that idea, Terry Mapes. What’s the matter with you anyway, why don’t you like everybody the way I do? And let me tell you one thing right now. We may have to go down there to find out about Allan and Syd—or we may find Bud Hyslop there. There’s no telling. So don’t you put on that superior air.”
“I won’t Prim, truly, I won’t. I guess it’s more bashfulness than anything else. I really like people but I never know what to say to them,” responded Terry.
“Then think up a good line of talk right now, and make it nice and friendly. We don’t want any more enemies. Bud’s plenty!”
The practical Prim was already looking about the plateau for a suitable place to build a fire.