I was warned at noon. "You surely do not intend to go
out to-night?" remarked a lawyer-acquaintance to me at
the dinner table in the hotel; for by telephone from
lake-points reports of the fog had already reached the
town. "I intend to leave word at the stable right now,"
I replied, "to have team and buggy in front of the school
at four o'clock." "Well," said the lawyer in getting up,
"I would not; you'll run into fog."

And into fog I did run. At this time of the year I had
at best only a little over an hour's start in my race
against darkness. I always drove my horses hard now while
daylight lasted; I demanded from them their very best
strength at the start. Then, till we reached the last
clear road over the dam, I spared them as much as I could.
I had met up with a few things in the dark by now, and
I had learned, if a difficulty arose, how much easier it
is to cope with it even in failing twilight than by the
gleam of lantern or headlight; for the latter never
illumine more than a limited spot.

So I had turned Bell's corner by the time I hit the fog.
I saw it in front and to the right. It drew a slanting
line across the road. There it stood like a wall. Not a
breath seemed to be stirring. The fog, from a distance,
appeared to rise like a cliff, quite smoothly, and it
blotted out the world beyond. When I approached it, I
saw that its face was not so smooth as it had appeared
from half a mile back; nor was it motionless. In fact,