“If we don’t get back soon, the train will leave without us,” said Oliver. “Come, let us try the direction I thought was right.” And off they started as fast as they could.
It was miserable walking, and before they had proceeded a hundred steps both had their feet wet, and unfortunate Gus had his coat torn in a dozen places.
“It’s positively the worst place I ever got into!” he groaned. “If we don’t get out soon I won’t have a patch of clothing left.”
On and on they went, until Oliver called a halt.
“No use to go farther. If this was the right road we would have crossed the track long ago. We are going wrong, and that is all there is to it.”
“But what shall we do?” demanded Gus, more dismayed than ever. “We can’t stand still here.”
Oliver leaned against a tree. Truly their position was far from enviable. Suppose they should be left, what would they do when night came on?
“I don’t know,” he replied in a low voice. “If we could only—hark! what is that?”
Both listened intently. From a distance came the unmistakable sound of a steam-whistle.