“Not a bit. You needn’t look at me as if it was my fault, Arn. I didn’t swipe the breeze, you know.”
“Of course you didn’t, but say, seven miles—we couldn’t do it!”
“Oh, yes, we could if we took it easy. We’ll have the tide with us. Maybe we can find a tow. If a motorboat comes around we’ll try to get them to pull us a bit. Of course, the breeze may come back. It often does about sunset. But with this haze, I don’t think——” Toby paused and stared across the water toward the south shore. “That’s nice,” he muttered softly.
“What is it?” asked Phebe.
Toby pointed. “Fog,” he said.
The south shore of the bay was fading from sight as a fog bank crept in from the ocean. Even as they looked the last glimpse of land disappeared and, although westward the sun was shining warmly through the haze in the southeast, the world was cut off from vision by a gray pall.
“Get those oars out,” said Toby briskly. “We’d better start along home, I guess. We were idiots to come so far, anyway.”
“A little fog won’t hurt us,” said Arnold cheerfully, as he pulled the two long sweeps from under the seat. “Besides, there’s a breeze, isn’t there?”
Toby glanced at the mainsail and nodded. “A little one, but it won’t amount to much. Put your boom over, Arn, and we’ll try to get what there is of it. You take that side and I’ll take this. Slow and easy, now. Don’t try to do it all at first or you’ll get tired for fair.”
“I’ll take a turn, too,” Phebe volunteered.