He stood and looked at it long and carefully. It ran across the brook, and on either side it presented the same appearance. The question that now arose in his mind was, which side should he choose—the right or the left? There was nothing in the path that helped him to a decision; no footmarks were visible to show him where to go; he was left altogether to chance and to his own instincts.
At length he decided to take the path on the right hand side, and accordingly he at once went on in this direction. The path was about six feet wide, and was comparatively smooth; so smooth, indeed, that it seemed almost luxurious when compared with the irregularities of the brook, with its alternations of gravel and swamp, which was also deep in water. Here, then, Phil walked along rapidly, and was so full of hope that at every turn in the path he expected to see some house.
The path, as has been said, seemed like one of those which are used in the winter only for lumbering purposes. At the present time it bore no marks whatever of recent use. No traces of wheels were visible, no footprints of any kind; yet it was level, for the ordinary irregularities seemed to have been smoothed away by the attrition of logs which had been hauled over it.
Phil walked on for several hours. He was very much fatigued; but the new excitement that had arisen consequent upon this discovery had prevented him from giving way to his weariness, and had, in fact, roused him above it to such an extent that he was unconscious of it. His expectation of meeting with some signs of humanity clung to him incessantly as he walked along; and though he was constantly disappointed, yet he constantly hoped, and persisted in the hope, in spite of disappointments.
At length, it began to grow darker, and he saw that evening was coming on. He had been walking incessantly, with but one short rest, ever since eleven o’clock. Under ordinary circumstances he could not have maintained such a prolonged effort; and had he not met with this path he would have sought rest long before this. But his intense desire to escape, which had been stimulated by this discovery of the path, drew him on, and nerved him to new efforts. At the end of each hour he still hoped that the next hour would bring something; and so he kept on even after the darkness began to deepen. Now, as the darkness increased, the path grew less and less perceptible, and at last he happened to get out of it at a place where there was a wide opening in the woods. Leaving it here, he wandered about until he discovered that he had lost it altogether. On making this discovery, he made no effort either to retrace his steps, or to find out the lost path. He was too much worn out to think of doing either. He simply gave up.
A moss-covered mound was close beside him; and taking a seat here, he determined to remain for the night, and leave all further effort for the following day. He was fearfully fatigued, and utterly worn out. When he gave up he gave up completely. His only thought now was for his immediate wants, and those wants comprised the two essentials of food and rest. Rest he could find here, on the mossy mound, under the forest trees. As to food, thanks to his forethought and self-denial in the morning, something yet remained. It was that sandwich which he had reserved for a time of need. The time of need had come, and he drew the sandwich from his pocket.
He looked at it for a moment solemnly and thoughtfully. It was his last sandwich—the very last of his little stock of provisions. Should he eat it all, or should he still preserve a little of it? It seemed unwise to eat it all. He broke it into two portions, and wrapping one up carefully, he proceeded to eat the other. But on eating this he found his appetite unappeased, and his craving for more was irresistible. He unwrapped what he had reserved and looked at it. Should he eat it? Dare he eat it? To eat it would be to deprive himself of his last mouthful, and on the following morning he would have nothing with which to begin the day.
