"It's a cornfield!" cried Tom, as he landed in it. "Look out, and don't trample too much of it down."
"Oh, it's only late fodder corn, and I guess it won't matter much," was Jack's opinion, as he floundered on through the field. They could hear him crashing down the corn stalks, and being wet, tired and miserable, and perhaps a little unthinking, the others did the same thing.
"Head for the light!" called George. "My torch is on the blink."
It went out a moment later, and in the darkness and rain the lads stumbled on. The light grew plainer as they advanced toward it, and, in a little while, trampling through the corn, they saw a farm house just beyond the field through which they had come.
"That's not where the fellow lives who sent us wrong," asserted Jack, and the others agreed with him.
"Now to see where we are," suggested Tom, as he vaulted another fence, and found himself in the big front yard of a farmhouse. There was a barking of dogs, and, as Tom's chums followed his lead, a door opened, letting out a flood of light, and a rasping voice asked:
"Who's there? What d'ye want this time of night?"
"We're from Elmwood Hall," replied Tom. "We were out on a cross-country run, and we lost our way. Can you direct us to the river road?"
"Which way did you come," the rasping voice went on, and a man, with a small bunch of whiskers on his chin, stood in the lamp-illuminated doorway.
"Through the woods," said Tom. "We got lost there."