“I see nothing remarkable about it,” said George. “If you walk steadily round a village it is only natural that now and then you get a glimpse of it. Myself, I am glad to see it. It proves to me that we are not utterly lost.”
“It ought to be the other side of us,” said Harris.
“It will be in another hour or so,” said George, “if we keep on.”
I said little myself; I was vexed with both of them; but I was glad to notice George evidently growing cross with Harris. It was absurd of Harris to fancy he could find the way by the sun.
“I wish I knew,” said Harris, thoughtfully, “for certain whether that bisecting line points to the north or to the south.”
“I should make up my mind about it,” said George; “it’s an important point.”
“It’s impossible it can be the north,” said Harris, “and I’ll tell you why.”
“You needn’t trouble,” said George; “I am quite prepared to believe it isn’t.”
“You said just now it was,” said Harris, reproachfully.
“I said nothing of the sort,” retorted George. “I said you said it was—a very different thing. If you think it isn’t, let’s go the other way. It’ll be a change, at all events.”