"See here, Bert; I guess we're on the wrong track," said he, coolly. "I've missed the tree somehow, and it's getting late, so we'd better make for home. We'll have a try some other day."
Poor little Bert, by this time thoroughly weary, was only too glad to turn homeward, and the relief at doing this gave him new strength for a while. But it did not last very long, and soon, footsore and exhausted, he dropped down upon a bank of moss, and burst into tears.
"Oh, Charlie, I wish we were home," he sobbed. "I'm so tired, and hungry, too."
Charlie did not know just what to do. It was getting on toward sundown; he had quite lost his way, and might be a good while finding it again, and he felt pretty well tired himself. But he put on a brave face and tried to be very cheerful, as he said:
"Don't cry, Bert. Cheer up, my boy, and we'll soon get home."
It was all very well to say "cheer up," but it was another thing to do it. As for getting home soon, if there were no other way for Bert to get home than by walking the whole way, there was little chance of his sleeping in his own bed that night.
How thoroughly miserable he did feel! His conscience, his legs, and his stomach, were all paining him at once. He bitterly repented of his disobedience, and vowed he would never err in the same way again. But that, while it was all very right and proper, did not help him homeward.
At length Charlie grew desperate. He had no idea of spending the night in the woods if he could possibly help it, so he proposed a plan to Bert:
"See here, Bert," said he, "you're too played out to walk any more. Now, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll run home as fast as I can, and saddle the old mare and bring her here, and then we'll ride back again together. What do you say?"
"Oh, don't leave me here alone?" pleaded Bert. "I'll be awfully frightened."