“Then it must be safe your way, Cob. I’ll try and crawl to you, lad, but I’m so unnerved I can hardly make up my mind to stir.”
“Let me come to you,” I cried.
“No, no! I’ll try and get to you. Where are you?”
“Here,” I cried.
“All right!” came back in answer; but matters did not seem all right, for Uncle Bob’s voice suddenly seemed to grow more distant, and when I shouted to him my cry came back as if I had put my face against a wall and spoken within an inch or two thereof.
“I think we’d better give it up, Cob,” he shouted now from somewhere quite different. “It is not safe to stir.”
I did not think so, and determined to make an attempt to get to him.
For, now that I had grown a little used to the fog, it did not seem so appalling, though it had grown thicker and darker till I seemed quite shut-in.
“I’ll stop where I am, Cob,” came now as if from above me; “and I daresay in a short time the wind will rise.”
I answered, but I felt as if I could not keep still. I had been scared by the sudden separation from my companions, but the startled feeling having passed away I did not realise the extent of our danger. In fact it seemed absurd for three strong men and a lad like me to be upset in this way by a mist.