"It's going to cloud over," he said. "There may be some deviltry
before we make shore."
He moistened his fingers, moving them to and fro in the air.
"It isn't a storm," he said; "it is fog."
"Fog!" The girl was trembling. "What does that mean?"
"It means that for a while old ocean is going to destroy all our pretty
scenery, and that it is going to be cold and nasty and disagreeable."
Already, in fact, the ocean had lost its color. Heavy blue-white
clouds with shredded, filmy foundations, which seemed almost to sweep
the waters, moved swiftly to the westward, while in the background the
wall of mist advanced silently to encompass them. They could feel its
breath, heavy, clammy, chilling.
Presently a mass of vapor, like a detached squadron of cavalry, swept
about the derelict and then moved on, leaving little shredded patches
hanging about the foremast.
Quite unknown to the girl, Dan, the preceding day, had constructed a
raft, which he regarded as being quite as safe for ocean travelling, if
not quite so comfortable, as the derelict. He had lashed supplies, a
small cask of water, and the like thereon, and now, with the fog-pall
gathering about, he went amidships, examined it carefully, and made
sure that nothing would prevent a hasty launching in event of disaster.
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