direction
of Denboro. Then my growl changed to an exclamation of disgust. The
compass was not there. I knew where it was. It was on my work bench in
the boat house, where I had put it myself, having carried it there to
replace the cracked glass in its top with a new one. I had forgotten it
and there it was.

I could get along without it, of course, but its absence meant delay and
more trouble. In a general way I knew my whereabouts, but the channel
was winding and the tide was ebbing rapidly. I should be obliged to run
slowly--to feel my way, so to speak--and I might not reach home until
late. However, there was nothing else to do, so I put the helm over
and swung the launch about. I sat in the stern sheets, listening to
the dreary "chock-chock" of the propeller, and peering forward into the
mist. The prospect was as cheerless as my future.

Suddenly, from the wet, gray blanket ahead came a call. It was a good
way off when I first heard it, a call in a clear voice, a feminine voice
it seemed to me.

"Hello!"

I did not answer. I took it for granted that the call was not addressed
to me. It came probably, from the beach at the Point, and might be
Mrs. Small hailing her husband, though it did not sound like her voice.
Several minutes went by before it was repeated. Then I heard it again
and nearer.

"Hello! Hello-o-o! Where are you?"

That was not Mrs. Small, certainly. Unless I was away off in my
reckoning the Point was at my right, and the voice sounded to the left.
It must come from some craft afloat in the bay, though before the fog
set in I had seen none.

"Hello-o! Hello, the motor boat!"

"Hello!" I answered. "Boat ahoy! Where are you?"

"Here I am." The voice was nearer still. "Where are you? Don't run into
me."

I shifted my helm just a bit and peered ahead. I could see nothing. The
fog was thicker than ever; if that were possible.

"Where are you?" repeated the unseen voyager, and to my dismay, the hail
came from the right this time.

"Don't move!" I shouted. "Stay where you are. I will keep shouting . . .
LOOK OUT!"

Out of the fog to starboard a long dark shadow shot, silent and swift.
It was moving directly across the Comfort's bow. I jammed the wheel over
and the launch swung off, but not enough. It struck the canoe, for it
was a canoe, a glancing blow and heeled it down to the water's edge.
There was a scrape, a little scream, and two hands clutched at the
Comfort's rail. I let go the whe