The fog had now apparently changed its mind about lifting, for the yellow tinge had gone and the world was once more grey and chill.

They donned their coats again and, carrying their precious burdens, trudged on.

Occasionally a puff of air came off the sound and the fog blew in trailing wreaths before them.
When they had walked what they considered to be the proper distance they began to watch for that lane.

And after they had watched for it for a full quarter of an hour and had walked a deal farther than they should have they reached the entirely justifiable conclusion that they were lost! Perry set down the battered milk can on which they had paid a deposit of twenty-five cents, took a long breath and, viewing the encompassing fog, exclaimed melodramatically: "Lost on Martha's Vineyard, or The Mystery of the Four Dozen Eggs!" "Well, we won't starve for awhile," laughed Han.

"Say, where _is_ that lane we came up, anyway?
Think we've passed it ?" "About ten miles back," sighed Perry.