“That looks like the end of the earth,” he declared. “If we just keep on following the trail we’ll get there by night.”
“It’s night now,” said Muffs with a shiver as she leaned heavily on the Guide. “I can’t even see the trail through his glasses. You take the lead, Tommy. Maybe he’ll show you the trail.”
She handed him the Guide and for some time they walked on without a word. The noise of their feet in the brush sounded louder now as if they were waking someone from sleep. Birds chirped at them from the trees and twice a woodchuck crossed in front of them. He sat up like a dog and seemed to listen.
“He thinks we ought not to be here,” Tommy said. “He wants us to go home.”
“Well, aren’t we going home?” Mary asked.
But her little brother had stumbled over a log and was busy picking himself up. Then he had to look for his whistle. A tiny black beetle found it before he did and crawled inside. Through the glasses he looked like some giant eclipsing the sun. Tommy puffed out his cheeks and blew very hard, trying to get him out. Mary saw him doing it and edged over to Muffs.
“I don’t believe he sees the trail at all,” she whispered. “Could we be lost?”
“Then Tommy could blow the whistle.”
“He’s trying to, but it won’t work,” Mary returned. “Even if it did blow, no one would hear it way off here in the woods.”
Muffs had not thought of that. In New York people heard whistles and there were always kind policemen to take lost children home. Here they had nothing except the wooden Guide and his head was too small to hold many brains. No one believed in his wisdom now but Tommy. He was holding him close to his face and peering anxiously through the glasses.