But, alas. The time when we think fate has been most kind to us often turns out to be the time when it is hardest. So it was in Arthur’s case. As he hurried along, congratulating himself on having thought of so easy and quick a way to get out of his difficulty, he forgot that the passes over the hills had been reported dangerous.
Going happily along he had no warning of what was in store for him until, with a groan, he sank to the ground and began to rub his ankle. He had stepped into one of those treacherous holes that covered the whole countryside and had sprained his ankle very badly.
Painfully, he tried to get up, but when he attempted to bear his weight on the injured ankle, it pained so cruelly that he winced.
“Oh, I can’t, I can’t,” he moaned aloud in his misery. “What shall I do, what shall I do?” and, sinking to the ground, he covered his face with his hands.
Meanwhile, the boys had missed him and had begun to search all over for him. Not finding him, they became anxious and looked desperately for him in every place they could think of.
“I wonder if he could be hiding in a cave the way Jim was doing the other day,” Shorty suggested.
“Don’t be a fool, Shorty,” said Tom, rather sharply. “Arthur isn’t that kind. Probably he’s chased some butterfly way off somewhere and can’t find his way back.”
“He ought to be able to find his way easily enough with his pocket compass. The thing I’m afraid of is that he may have met with some accident,” said Frank.