“No, only a few yards, boy. I want to see where we got off the track, whether it’s to the right or left.”
“It’s so dark,” said Dick, “I can hardly see my hand. Mind how you go, father; there are some deep bog-holes about here.”
“Then you stand fast, my boy.”
“Hadn’t you better stand fast too, father?”
“And both perish in the wet and cold, my boy! No. I’ll soon find the road. It must be close by.”
Not a tree or post to guide him, nothing but the thick darkness on all sides, as Squire Winthorpe cautiously moved one foot before the other, keeping one upon solid ground while he searched about with the other, and as he moved splash—splish—splash, the water flew, striking cold to his legs, and sending a chill of dread to his very heart.
“It’s very strange,” he cried; “but don’t be frightened, Dick. We shall be all right directly.”
“I’m not frightened, father,” replied the boy. “I’m puzzled.”
“And so am I, my lad, for I did not know we could find such solid bottom off the road. Ah!”
“What’s the matter, father?”