"Not yet," said Cap'n Bill. "I've kep' my face turned straight ahead
ever since we climbed inter this bank o' wetness. If we don't get
twisted any, we'll go straight through to the other side."

It was no darker in the Fog Bank than it had been in the Blue
Country. They could see dimly the mass of fog, which seemed to cling
to them, and when they looked down, they discovered that they were
walking upon white pebbles that were slightly tinged with the blue
color of the sky. Gradually this blue became fainter until, as they
progressed, everything became a dull gray.

"I wonder how far it is to the other side," remarked Trot wearily.

"We can't say till we get there, mate," answered the sailor in a
cheerful voice. Cap'n Bill had a way of growing more and more
cheerful when danger threatened.

"Never mind," said the girl. "I'm as wet as a dishrag now, and I'll
never get any wetter."

"Wet, wet, wet!
It's awful wet, you bet!"

moaned the parrot on her shoulder.

"I'm a fish-pond, I'm a well;
I'm a clam without a shell!"

"Can't you dry up?" asked Cap'n Bill.