ten o'clock
There was probably not a woman among them but had felt more , read more , and thought more than John Munt , but he was a man , and the mind of a man is the court of final appeal for the wisest women . Till some man has pronounced upon their wisdom , they do not know whether it is wisdom or not . Munt drew up his chair , and addressed himself to the whole group through Mrs. Pasmer : `` We are thinking of getting up a little picnic to-morrow . '' The day of the picnic struggled till ten o'clock to peer through the fog that wrapt it with that remote damp and coolness and that nearer drouth and warmth which some fogs have . The low pine groves hung full of it , and it gave a silvery definition to the gossamer threads running from one grass spear to another in spacious networks over the open levels of the old fields that stretch back from the bluff to the woods . At last it grew thinner , somewhere over the bay ; then you could see the smooth water through it ; then it drifted off in ragged fringes before a light breeze : when you looked landward again it was all gone there , and seaward it had gathered itself in a low , dun bank along the horizon . It was the kind of fog that people interested in Campobello admitted as apt to be common there , but claimed as a kind of local virtue when it began to break away .