Beyond town, we found a heavy mist out, and it fell wet and thick. The turnpike lamp was a blur, quite out of the lamp's usual place apparently, and its rays looked solid substance on the fog. We were noticing this, and saying how that the mist rose with a change of wind from a certain quarter of our marshes, when we came upon a man, slouching under the lee of the turnpike house.
“Halloa!” we said, stopping.
“Orlick there?”
“Ah!” he answered, slouching out. “I was standing by a minute, on the chance of company.”
“You are late,” I remarked.
Orlick not unnaturally answered, “Well? And you're late.”