“Pat’s off—that’s certain,” said Bart; “and how we can find him again is more than I can tell.”
“There isn’t any danger, of course. He’ll work his way along; but still he belongs to our party, and I don’t like the idea of leaving him.”
“We’d better keep on quietly, as we were going,” said Arthur. “There’s no use for us to stand still. This seems to be the direction in which he was going.”
“Yes,” said Tom; “let’s go on. We haven’t any time to lose. It’s six o’clock now.”
They went on.
They hadn’t the faintest idea now where they were. Whatever general notion of their course they had kept up, while first following Pat, had now been altogether lost. His chase after the little animal had been a very eccentric one, and they had faced in several different directions while pursuing him. The monotonous woods gave no sign by which they might learn their course. They could not find their way now even to the place where Pat had been seized with his strange frenzy. The fact is, they were utterly and hopelessly lost.
“It seems to me,” said Arthur, “that we’re going to Hall’s Harbor.”
“No,” said Phil; “we’re steering straight for Cornwallis.”
“Not a bit of it,” said Tom. “We’re going to Scott’s Bay.”
“It’s my opinion,” said Bart, “that we’re on our way to the cliff; and as its getting dark, we’d better be careful. Bruce, if you get to the cliff first, and fall over in the dark, just let us know before you go down. I wouldn’t care so much in fine, bright weather, but I have a prejudice against tumbling over cliffs on a foggy night.”