THE HIDDEN ISLAND ll

Kilsa shook away her tears and bent to the paddle
willingly, adding her skill and strength to Kahala’s
so that the canoe glided swiftly on through the fog
that hung like a thick gray blanket on every side.
So deep was the silence that their voices sounded
startlingly loud and they unconsciously spoke in
whispers.

“It is a very bad fog, Kilsa,” Kahala admitted at
last, drawing his paddle from the water and listening
intently. “I have never seen such a fog. I can hardly
see you there in the other end of the canoe.”

“It is a very bad fog,” Kilsa agreed, shivering. “I
am very much frightened, Kahala. The water, too,
looks strange. There are no swells as there should be
on the sea. It is like a lake here all around us—a
lake when there is no wind. There is something very
strange about it, something that I do not like. Let us
go back. I am afraid.”

“Listen!” Kahala commanded. “Do you not hear
something?”

“Yes, I hear a noise, a queer noise, far away,”
Kilsa whispered; “like the voices of many people
talking, far away.” Sure enough, somewhere far off
in the distance could be heard the sound of many
voices, talking, shouting, laughing, all at the same
time.

“Perhaps it is the hidden island!” Kilsa cried. “If
there is an island here in this fog it would be hidden,
Kahala! Perhaps it is the puffin birds talking! Shim