WHEN THE FOG COMES IN

     Ten-year-old Charles lived on the Atlantic sea coast. His father was a fisherman and owned several good-sized fishing boats, and had men to help him about the fishing. In good weather Charles often took a row boat and went out alone on the water to fish. There were certain times of the year when it was not safe for him to go out far even when someone went with him. At these seasons the danger lay in the fogs; but on sunny days it was usually safe.

     One sunny morning--while one of the larger boats was being loaded for a fishing trip, Charles took a small pail of bait and hopped into a small rowboat and rowed out on the shining water to fish awhile. It was very pleasant out on the calm sparkling water, even if the fish didn't bite very well.

     Suddenly a broad shadowed line appeared in the water at some distance ahead of him. A whole school of fish were coming straight toward his boat. Quietly Charles dropped several baited hooks over the side of the boat, and made each line fast to its own little ring.

     Then he got the long handled dip net ready for use. If those little fellows came close enough he meant to have several dips at them, for they made fine frys. Soon he was busy with his short lines, and the shimmering fish came right around his boat, he could almost get them with his bare hands.

     Suddenly, a thick gray darkness settled down over him, the air became cold, the sea looked like a sheet of lead, and the fish no longer shimmered. The fog had come in.

     Hastily Charles drew in his lines and caught up the oars. Now which way was the shore and the wharf where the boats were tied up? While he fished his back had been toward the shore. Carefully he turned the boat and rowed contentedly and steadily in the direction he supposed the wharf to be. He could not see a boat length ahead of him because the fog was so thick. Then he noticed that the water about the boat had sheds of white foam on it. That white foam meant the water had dashed over the great rock, the rocks at the Point. Boats were smashed there. Already he could feel the current tugging at the oars and the boat. He must get away from there at once. As he vainly tried to force the boat in another direction one oar was jerked from his hand and floated away out of his reach. When he tried to use the other oar for steering, it also snapped from his hands and almost tossed him overboard.

     Helpless now, and at the mercy of the waves which were rising in great swells, Charles clung to the narrow seat in the middle of the boat and sobbed with fear. There was no way he could be saved now.

     Suddenly he thought of praying. Surely he needed help now. No one could find him in this thick fog, and no one could save him from the rocks. He had been so busy trying to help himself all the time that he had not thought to pray. But now he earnestly prayed to be saved from death on those terrible rocks.

     He felt his boat tilt upward, the fog was so thick he could hardly see outside the boat, then there was a long sweeping rush forward and his boat was carried completely over the first shoal of rocks, and grated crunchingly on a sandy spot. As the boat stranded, Charles leaped out and clambered quickly up over the slippery rocks to a place of safety.

     His prayer was answered, he had been saved from death on the rocks, he had been delivered from the power of the sea. Charles never forgot that answered prayer.

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