The following morning the wind had died, but had been succeeded by a
heavy pall of fog. After we had felt our way beyond the mouth of the
river we were forced to paddle north-west by north, in blind reliance
on our compass. Sounds there were none. Involuntarily we lowered our
voices. The inadvertent click of the paddle against the gunwale seemed
to desecrate a foreordained stillness.

Occasionally to the right hand or the left we made out faint
shadow-pictures of wooded islands that endured but a moment and then
deliberately faded into whiteness. They formed on the view exactly as
an image develops on a photographic plate. Sometimes a faint
_lisp-lisp-lisp_ of tiny waves against a shore nearer than it
seemed cautioned us anew not to break the silence. Otherwise we were
alone, intruders, suffered in the presence of a brooding nature only as
long as we refrained from disturbances.

Then at noon the vapours began to eddy, to open momentarily in
revelation of vivid green glimpses, to stream down the rising wind.
Pale sunlight dashed fitfully across us like a shower. Somewhere in the
invisibility a duck quacked. Deuce awoke, looked about him, and
_yow-yow-yowed_ in doggish relief. Animals understand thoroughly
these subtleties of nature.

In half an hour the sun was strong, the air clear and sparkling, and a
freshening wind was certifying our prognostications of a lively
afternoon.

A light canoe will stand almost anything in the way of a sea, although
you may find it impossible sometimes to force it in the direction you
wish to go. A loaded canoe will weather a great deal more than you