“Is there any shorter way?”
“Well, there is an’ there ain’t. If you go across that field yonder an’ find Benny James’s place likely he’ll row ye across to t’other side, an’ then——”
“But we want to walk,” said Sam impatiently.
“Uh-huh; all right. Keep the road then, son.”
“And there’s no short cut?”
“I don’t know as there be. Still, ye might strike off across the hill when ye reach the first fork. Likely you’d pick up the road ag’in beyond Lower Millis.”
“I see.” Sam frowned thoughtfully. Finally, “I guess we’d better stick to the road,” he said.
“Uh-huh; I would if I was you, son.”
Rather dejectedly then they took up the journey once more. “I don’t believe the old codger knows what he’s talking about,” grumbled Tom Crossbush. “How can it be four miles further when we’ve walked five or six?”
“Five or six!” said another of the party. “I’ll bet we’ve walked ten!”