"I suppose," said the captain, "that bein Pilgrims, it air our dooty to jump; but as it looks a leetle rocky down thar, I think we'd best defer that to another opportoonity." Returning to the schooner, they weighed anchor, set sail, and left the harbor. On leaving it, they did not go back the way they had come, but passed through a narrow and very picturesque channel, which led them by a much shorter route into the bay. On their left were wooded hills, and on their right a little village on the slope of a hill, upon whose crest stood a church. Outside the fog lay as thick as ever, and into this they plunged. Soon the monotonous gray veil of mist closed all around them. But now their progress was more satisfactory, for they were crossing the bay, and the wind was abeam. "Are you going straight across to Nova Scotia now?" asked Bart. "Wal, yes; kine o' straight across," was the reply; "ony on our way we've got to call at a certain place, an contenoo our investergations." "What place is that?" "It's the Island of Grand Manan--a place that I allers feel the greatest respect for. On that thar island is that celebrated fog mill that I told you of, whar they keep grindin night an day, in southerly weather, so as to keep up the supply of fog for old Fundy. Whatever we'd do without Grand Manan is more'n I can say." "Is the island inhabited?" asked Bruce. "Inhabited? O, dear, yas. Thar's a heap o' people thar. It's jest possible that a driftin boat might git ashore thar, an ef so we'll know pooty soon." "How far is it?" "O, ony about seven or eight mile." "We'll be there in an hour or so, then?" "Wal, not so soon. You see, we've got to go round it." "Around it?" "Yes" "Why?" "Cos thar ain't any poppylation on this side, an we've got to land on t'other." "Why are there no people on this side?" "Cos thar ain't no harbures. The cliffs air six hundred feet high, and the hull shore runs straight on for ever so fur without a break, except two triflin coves." "How is it on the other side?" "Wal, the east side ain't a bad place. The shore is easier, an thar's harbures an anchorages. Thar's a place they call Whale Cove, whar I'm goin to land, an see if I can hear anythin. The people air ony fishers, an they ain't got much cultivation; but it's mor'en likely that a driftin boat might touch thar somewhar." The Antelope pursued her course, but it was as much as three hours before she reached her destination. They dropped anchor then, and landed. The boys had already learned not to indulge too readily in hope; but when they made their inquiries, and found the same answer meeting them here which they had received in other places, they could not avoid feeling a fresh pang of disappointment and discouragement.