"What do you do in a fog?" asked Ralph eagerly.
"Do? why, we make the best of it, boy. What do you suppose?"
"I thought, perhaps, you went ashore, or anchored somewhere," said Ralph hesitatingly.
"Oh, you did? The fog lasts two or three weeks sometimes. No; we go ahead, and catch every fish we can."
"Aren't you afraid some other vessel will run you down?"
"It would be about as bad for her as it would for us," answered the captain, puffing the smoke from his pipe contentedly. "I'd rather have it pleasant; but we don't have the ordering of the weather, and I've fallen into the way of making the best of things--weather and everything else. If it's good weather, I'm glad; if it isn't, I don't fret. If the fish bite, I'm glad; if they don't, I just stay out the longer; and sooner or later I get a good load. It don't do no good to be frettin' and fussin'."
The captain's words did not cheer the boys. They felt far from contented at the prospect of a fog at sea; and when it came rolling in and closing down around them, hiding not only the strip of shore in the distance, but also the island and the other vessels that were near them, they wished themselves on shore more earnestly than ever.
"We didn't bargain for this," said Ben, making a wry face at his companion.
"No, nor for anything else we have had. I'd rather be in the Rocky Mountains," grumbled Ralph.
"So had I, or on the top of the North Pole, provided it is planted in solid ground instead of water," was Ben's laughing reply.