“We must be moving,” said Uncle Dick, “or we shall be lost in the fog. North-west must be our way, but let’s push down here where the slope’s easy, and get beyond the mist, and then we can see what we had better do.”
He led the way, and before we could realise it the dense white steamy fog was all around us, and we could hardly see each other.
“All right!” said Uncle Dick; “keep together.”
“Can you see where you are going, Dick?” said Uncle Jack.
“No, I’m as if I was blindfolded with a white crape handkerchief.”
“No precipices here, are there?” I cried nervously, for it seemed so strange to be walking through this dense mist.
“No, I hope not,” cried Uncle Dick out of the mist ahead. “You keep talking, and follow me, I’ll answer you, or else we shall be separated, and that won’t do now. All right!”
“All right!” we chorused back.
“All right!” cried Uncle Dick; “nice easy slope here, but slippery.”
“All right!” we chorused.