“I could ha' taken my davy that the lost ones was off another point o' the compass,” said the old man.
“No, Comyn,” said another. “No, my man, they came from thither.”
He pointed straight in front of him.
“From where we stand that should be the Gap,” said Mr. Hartwell.
“A special comfortable place to be wandering wild in is the Gap, for if you walk straight on it carries you to the mighty ocean, and if you walk back you will reach your own home safe, if it be in that direction,” said the old man with emphasis.
“Was this mist far up the valley?” Wesley enquired.
“Not more than a league, sir,” replied the old man. “'Twas a sunlit morn when we made our start, and then it came down on us like a ship in full sail. There goes another hail, and, as I said, it comes from behind us. Is there one of us that has a clear throat. 'Kish Trevanna, you was a gallery choir singer in your youth, have you any sound metallic notes left that you could cheer up the lost ones withal? Come, goodman, be not over shy. Is this a time to be genteel when a parson's of the company, waiting to help and succour the vague wanderers?”
“The call is for thee, Loveday, for didst not follow the hounds oft when there was brisk work in Squire's coverts?” said the man to whom the appeal was made.
“We must hasten onward,” said Mr. Hartwell, making a start. “'Tis most like that we are overtaking whomsoever it be that was shouting a hail. Forward, friends, and feel your way to the pack-horse road.”
The whole party began to move, Mr. Hartwell and Wesley leading, and before they had proceeded for more than two hundred yards they heard the sound of talking just ahead of them, and the next moment a group of men loomed through the mist. Friends were also in the new party.