“The launch has swung around, probably,” said Gerald. “Well, we’ll have to make a try, anyway. There’s no use staying here and drifting around the Sound.” He started the launch slowly ahead and turned her nose toward where, in his belief, the Connecticut shore lay some mile and a half away. Harry went back to the fog-horn and Kendall resumed his position as lookout in the bow. Now and then a whistle sounded at a distance in one direction or another, and once they heard the slow, steady beat of a propeller through the enveloping mist, but no craft came very near them, and _The Dart_, proceeding slowly and cautiously, with Harry winding lugubrious wails of warning from the patent fog-horn every half minute or so and Kendall straining his eyes into the gray wall ahead, slid through the water. In spite of the fact that it seemed quite probable that they might have to spend the night wandering around the Sound, the three boys were in high spirits, due, doubtless, to the reaction which usually follows a moment of peril, and chattered like magpies. It was unanimously agreed that it would be quite unnecessary to mention their misadventure to anyone.