“Pshaw! We can’t be,” said Bob. “Here, let’s see. Get out, you idiots, you’re looking at the wrong end of the needle. There’s north and we’re going northeast by east.”
“Ship ahoy!” murmured Dan. “Sail off the weather bow, sir.”
“Then if we keep on we’ll strike Barrington?” asked Tom.
“Yes, and that means a good hotel, Tommy, and a good dinner. It’s rather a joke on us, though,” continued Bob. “We had decided to go to the south shore, and here we are only three or four miles from the Sound!”
“We’re not that far from water,” said Nelson, pointing to the map. “Here’s Old Spring Harbor right forninst us here.”
“That’s right. Well, say, then we must be on this road here,” said Bob, pointing. “If we are, we ought to strike a bridge pretty soon where we cross this creek, or whatever it is.”
But their doubt was set at rest a moment later when a man in a dogcart slowed down at their hail and gave them all the information they desired.
“This is the Barrington road,” he said, “and Barrington station is about two miles. The town is three miles from here, straight ahead. There are several hotels there and lots of boarding houses.”
“That man’s a regular cyclopedia,” said Dan when the dogcart was out of sight.
“He’s a bearer of good tidings,” said Tom thoughtfully.