“Where is the shore?” asked Phil, quietly.
“Why, there’s a shore on each side of us.”
“Certainly. But in what direction? Which way is across the river, which way up the river, which way down the river?”
“Why, the current will tell that,” said Constant.
“How are we going to find out which way the current runs?” asked Phil, with a quizzical smile.
“Easy enough; by looking at the driftwood floating by,” said the boy, going to the side of the boat to peer at the surface of the river through the fog. Presently he called out in amazement:—
“Why, the whole thing has stopped—the drift, the river, and the flatboat! We’re lying here just as still as if we were on solid ground.”
“On the contrary,” said Phil, “we’re floating down stream at the rate of several miles an hour.”
“But—”