On and on the boys floundered. The first enthusiasm was wearing off, and they became aware of the stinging cold and the fierce wind that cut through even the heaviest coats. But they did not think of giving up.
After an hour of tramping, during which the storm seemed to be doing its best to drive the boys back, and during which time several began to murmur discontentedly, Jack suddenly exclaimed:
“I say, Tom, do you think we’re on the right road?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
A halt was called.
“I can’t make out anything,” declared Jack. “It’s as dark as a pocket, and, even in day time, with this storm, we couldn’t see very far. My private opinion is that we are lost.”
“Lost!”
“Yes, that is, not seriously lost,” went on Tom, with a trace of jollity in his voice, “but just lost enough so that we can’t strike town to-night.”
“Then what are we going to do?” asked George Abbot.