Left Tackle Thayer. Barbour Ralph Henry

from over that way, and that fellow said the trolley line was over there."

      "I don't believe that fellow very well," responded Amy pessimistically. "He said he'd get us to Wharton, and he didn't. He said his old car would go, and it didn't. He said we could cross that field, and it didn't–I mean we couldn't. Anyway, I propose we find the road again and sit down and wait until someone comes along and gives us a lift."

      "That's all very well, but which way is the road?"

      Amy considered. "Search me," he said finally. "Let's play it's over there, though. After all, it doesn't matter which way you walk when you're lost. You always walk in circles. We'll be back here in a while, Clint. Why not make believe we've walked and are back again?"

      "Don't be an idiot," said Clint. "Come on. It'll be dark first thing we know and then we will be in a fix!"

      "And I'm getting most awfully hungry," murmured Amy. "I shall search for berries as we toil weariedly onward."

      When they at last left the pasture behind them they found themselves in another wood. Clint leaned hopelessly against a tree and shook his head.

      "This has ceased to be a joke, Amy. We're just about lost as anything."

      "Right-o!" Then he added cheerfully: "But we didn't walk in a circle, Clint. That's something. And that road must be somewhere around here. When you think of it it's mighty funny. There we were with a perfectly good road on one side of us and a trolley line on the other. We haven't crossed either of them. Now where the dickens are they?"

      "The way I figure it," replied Clint thoughtfully, "is that the trolley was a lot farther off than he said it was and that the road turned to the left again after we got off it. One thing is certain, and that is that if we haven't crossed it it must be in front of us somewhere, and the only thing to do is keep on going."

      "Until we drop," agreed Amy. "I shall begin and look for a nice comfortable place to drop. Say, we won't get a thing but hard looks when we get back–if ever we do."

      "We'll be lucky if we get off with hard looks, I reckon," said Clint gloomily.

      They went on through the woods. They were tired now and it was quite dark under the trees and they made slow progress. Once Clint tripped over a fallen branch and measured his length and once Amy ran head-on into a sapling and declared irately, as he rubbed his nose, that he would come back the next day with an axe and settle matters. At last, after a silence of many minutes: "We're doing it, I'll bet you anything," said Amy.

      "Doing what?" asked Clint from the twilight.

      "Walking in a circle. We must be. We've been in this place for twenty minutes, at least, and we haven't found a way out yet. Which way is it you go when you walk in a circle? To the left, isn't it?"

      "Right, I think," answered Clint doubtfully.

      "No, I'm pretty sure it's the left. Tell you what we'll do, we'll take shorter steps with our right legs, Clint"

      They tried it, but nothing resulted. It was pitch-black now and, since the sun was gone, getting chillier every minute. Clint wished he had put on a vest, or, rather, waistcoat. He was about ready to give up when a patch of grey showed ahead and they made toward it to find themselves at the edge of the wood on a little hill. Below them spread uncertainly a bare field. Overhead a few stars shone. If the road was near it was too dark to see it. They sat down on the ground to rest. For several minutes neither spoke. Then Clint heard a chuckle from Amy.

      "Glad you find it so funny," he grumbled resentfully.

      "I was just thinking of something," gurgled Amy. "This is Saturday, you know, and we always have cold lamb for supper on Saturdays. I hate cold lamb."

      "I don't see where the joke comes in," grumbled Clint.

      "Why, I don't have to eat the lamb, do I? Isn't that funny?"

      "No, it isn't. I could eat cold–cold–cold dog! Come on. We might as well walk as sit here and freeze to death."

      "I've read," said Amy, "that freezing was a pleasant death, but it doesn't seem so. Maybe, though, it's painful just at first." He arose with a groan and followed Clint down the slope. There were more briers, and now and then they stumbled over outcropping rocks. The field seemed interminable, but after awhile Clint bumped into a wall. They climbed over it and started on again.

      "If there was only a moon," said Clint, "it would help some. You can't see a blessed thing."

      "If there was a moon it wouldn't get through the clouds. It feels to me as if it might rain."

      "You certainly have cheerful thoughts," Clint grumbled. "I wonder if it would do any good if we yelled."

      "We might try it. Suppose we give the Brimfield cheer, Clint."

      "Oh, shut up! You make me tired, Amy. Come on, now. Yell as loud as you can. All ready?"

      "Hold on I What am I to yell?"

      "Yell 'Help!' you idiot!"

      "Oh, all right." They raised their voices together in a loud appealing shout. Then they listened. Not a sound answered them.

      "Once more," said Clint. Again they shouted and again they listened. Deep silence, broken only by the chirping of crickets.

      "No good, I guess," said Clint despondently.

      "Nobody home," murmured Amy. "Now what? I'll tell you frankly, as man to man, that I can't go on walking all night, Clint. I'm dog-tired and my left leg's got a cramp in it and I'm weak with hunger. Let's find a cosy corner somewhere and go to sleep."

      "I reckon we'll have to. I'm about all in, too. We'd better find a place where there's more shelter than there is here, though. Gee, but we are certainly a fine pair of idiots!"