something about this river, and about fogs, and about people rowing round
like fools and getting nowhere."

The members of the club now looked serious, and Will was provoked at Aunt
Stanshy's remark.

"Halloo there!"

This was an unexpected shout from the heart of the fog, and after the
shout came a black boat, and in it was a man dressed like a fisherman. He
wore a "sou'wester" and a striped woolen shirt, also big cow-hide boots
that came above the knees of his pants.

"Where are we?" asked Will. "Anywhere near Wherren's wharf?"

"Where are you? Wal, it is safe to say in a gin'ral way that you are in
the river."

"I know that, friend," said Will, "but are we headed for the shore?"

"That depends on the shore you want to find. It's my opinion that if you
young folks keep on just as your boat is headed, you'll strike Europe if
you have good luck."

"Pshaw!" exclaimed the apothecary, "we can't be that much out of the way."

"Try it and see."

"Well, just where are we and which way ought we to go to reach Wherren's
wharf?"