"There doesn't seem to be any wind." "Not much." "Shall we get into St. John to-day?" "Wal, I kine o' think we'll manage it." "How soon?" "Wal, not much afore midday. You see we're driftin away jest now." "Don't you intend to anchor till the next rise of tide?" "O, yes; in about ten minutes we'd ought to be about whar I want to anchor." At this disheartening condition of affairs the boys sank once more into a state of gloom. In about ten minutes, as Captain Corbet said, the schooner was at anchor, and there was nothing to do but to wait. "We'll run in at turn o' tide," said he. Breakfast came, and passed. The meal was eaten in silence. Then they went on deck again, fretting and chafing at the long delay. Not much was said, but the boys stood in silence, trying to see through the thick fog. "It was so fine when we left," said Bart, "that I thought we'd have it all the way." "Wal, so we did--pooty much all; but then, you see, about four this mornin we run straight into a fog bank." "Has the wind changed?" "Wal, thar don't seem jest now to be any wind to speak of, but it kine o' strikes me that it's somethin like southerly weather. Hence this here fog." After a few hours the vessel began to get under way again; and now, too, there arose a light breeze, which favored them. As they went on they heard the long, regular blast of a steam whistle, which howled out a mournful note from time to time. Together with this, they heard, occasionally, the blasts of fog horns from unseen schooners in their neighborhood, and several times they could distinguish the rush of some steamer past them, whose whistle sounded sharply in their ears. As they drew nearer, these varied sounds became louder, and at length the yell of one giant whistle sounded close beside them. "We're a enterin o' the harbure," said Captain Corbet. Hours passed away from the time the Antelope raised anchor until she reached the wharf. In passing up the harbor, the shadowy forms of vessels at anchor became distinguishable amid the gloom, and in front of them, as they neared the wharf, there arose a forest of masts belonging to schooners. It was now midday. Suddenly there arose a fearful din all around. It was the shriek of a large number of steam whistles, and seemed to come up from every side. "Is that for the fog?" asked Bruce. "O, no," said Bart; "those are the saw-mills whistling for twelve o'clock." The boys had already completed their preparations for landing, and had changed their eccentric clothing for apparel which was more suited to making their appearance in society. Bart had insisted that they should go to his house, and wait until they might decide what to do; and the boys had accepted his hospitable invitation.