The next moment he changed his mind about going to that particular house. A vicious bulldog rushed out at him, and he got over a near-by fence with more haste than grace. Picking up a stone, he drove the dog back, then stepped off toward another house which he could see in the dim distance.
All the while he was moving about, his mind was grappling with the situation—and carrying him nowhere. Had his mind been unbalanced? Had he lost his reason in some strange manner and only just recovered it?
This was a terrible thought, but it was the only explanation that occurred to Matt.
There was no dog at the next house, and he walked up to the front door and rapped loudly. A long time elapsed, and then a window was thrown open in the second story and a head was poked out.
"Who in the name o' goodness is bangin' at my front door at this time o' night?" demanded a fretful voice.
"I'm sorry to disturb you," answered Matt, "but I've lost my way and would like you to tell me how far I am from Ottawa."
"Ottawa?" returned the voice. "Well, you're twenty miles from Ottawa, an' four miles from Lawrence."
"Twenty—miles!" gasped Matt.
"That's it. Lawrence is right ahead over that hill yonder. It's purty dark, but I guess that hill's plain enough. Anythin' else I can tell you? Now I'm up I might as well tell you all you want to know."
"What time is it?" asked Matt in a subdued voice.