“We are on the right road,” was my thought as I compared these in my mind with the crosses on the diagram.
About half a mile farther, a small cluster of buildings loomed up, dark and obscure, by the roadside.
“This is the place,” I said confidently, motioning the driver to pull up. I remembered that Henry Wilton's map had stopped at the third cross from the parting of the roads.
“No, it isn't,” said Dicky eagerly. “It's two or three miles farther on. I trailed the fellow myself to the next house, and that's a good two miles at least.”
I had leaped to the ground, and opened the door of the carriage.
“We are at the fourth place,” I said.
“And the cockeyed barn?” inquired Mrs. Knapp, peering out.
I was struck silent by this, and looked blankly at the dark forbidding structure that fronted on the road.
“You're right,” said Mrs. Knapp with a laugh. “Can't you make out that funny little window at the end there?”
I looked more closely at the building. In the dim light of the stars, the coat of whitewash that covered it made it possible to trace the outlines of a window in the gable that fronted the road. Some freak of the builder had turned it a quarter of the way around, giving it a comical suggestion of a man with a droop to his eye.