* * * * *
They began to climb again. But there was a change somewhere. The wind had died down. They were surrounded by a dense silence. And when they looked at one another, faintly uneasy, they saw that a thin veil hung over them. Prissy saw it first. She didn't like it. But just when she made up her mind that one of the mountain mists was creeping up on them and that they'd better turn back, she put her foot on a hidden root and went down as though she'd been shot. The pain was so bad that she cried out. Only once. Then she set her teeth. But she couldn't get up.
"It's my ankle," she said quietly. "I guess I've broken it."
The Penguins knew all about splints and first aid. Prissy sat very white with the sweat running down her cold face. She'd seen Pip-Emma watching her intently, and not for a king's ransom would she have so much as groaned. In a sort of way she was glad this had happened. She'd show Pip-Emma something.
"One of you had better go back to the Camp for help," she said.
And even as she said it she knew that no one must go. The mist was like a besieging enemy whose scouts having found them defenseless now bore down on them in full force. They could hardly see one another. They'd have to stay together till the fog lifted. Sometimes, if the wind didn't come up, a fog lasted for two days. And their provisions had been sent ahead to their night's camping place.
"Better build a fire," Prissy said calmly.
She was worried and in bad pain. But she mustn't show it. The fire was hard to start. The wood was damp, and they'd used all their kindling. They sat as close as they could get to the sullen, smoky warmth.
Pip-Emma put her arm over Janet's shoulders. Clara sat on her other side. Clara was shivering a little. Almost unconsciously she and Pip-Emma edged closer to each other.
They took turns finding wood. Night added black shadows to the muffling fog. It was getting colder. Pip-Emma had saved one of her sausages, wrapped greasily in a paper napkin. She'd been hungry before—that time Pop and Ma had both lost their jobs. There'd been days and days when Pip-Emma had had this gnawing pain. So it didn't worry her. But fat old Clara must be feeling real bad. She was always hungry anyway.