“This way,” said Rose.
“No, this way,” contradicted Phil, positively. “I remember that blasted oak.”
“Seems to me,” began Rose, doubtfully, “that the blasted oak that I remember was not at the fork, but close to the edge of the woods. I don’t think that this is the same tree. I do remember that old beech, though,” she added, pointing down the right-hand path, “and I think that that is the way.”
“No, I’m sure about that blasted oak down this path,” said Phil, “and I think this is the one to take.”
“Bet you it is!” put in Ray, supporting Phil, on principle; “I remember it, too. Come on, boys.” And the children trooped down the left-hand path, while Rose, though she still looked doubtful, followed the rest.
CHAPTER XVIII.
COMING HOME.
“I don’t know how the rest of you feel, but I’m getting about starved,” announced Phil, after they had gone some little distance further. “I vote we have our grub just as soon as we get to the berry-pasture, before we pick any berries.”
This proposal was heartily approved of by the entire party.
“It must be nearly noon, I think,” said Eunice. “We wasted a lot of time by the brook, you know, and we’ve been walking for hours since.”
“Hark! there’s the twelve o’clock whistle now,” exclaimed Phil. The children listened eagerly. It certainly was the distant mill-whistle, but it was not the noon signal, but, instead, the one for seven o’clock in the morning.