“I don’t know, ma’am.”
“If you’ll go back about a mile, an’ take the first road you come to, an’ then go along that until ye come to an’ old grist mill, an’ then take th’ first turn to the left, an’ the second to the right after that, ye’ll git on th’ right road to Pokeville,” said the man.
“I’m afraid I can’t remember all that,” replied Dan.
The man repeated it for him, and at last the boy thought he could find his way. He thanked his informant and started off, the woman calling after him:
“Tell Lucy that Mandy Perkins, her that married a Linton, was askin’ fer her.”
“I will,” promised Dan.
He hurried Bess along through the dark night, and along the unfamiliar road. He got as far as the grist mill, which he could dimly distinguish, and then he was at a loss. He might have taken the wrong road again, but, fortunately a farmer unexpectedly came along and directed him.
It was past midnight when Dan rode into the village of Pokeville. It seemed as if every one was asleep as he trotted through the lonely main street. Now and then a dog barked, or a rooster crowed, but that was the only sign of life. Dan knew his way now, for Mr. Savage had given him directions how to find the house of Mrs. Randall. It was close to one o’clock when the youth knocked at the door. He expected to find the house lighted up, since some one in it was ill.
“I wonder if she can be—worse or dead,” he murmured. “It seems very quiet.”
Some one must have been up, however, for, a few moments after his pounding on the front door had awakened the echoes of the silent house, an upper window was raised and a head thrust out.