“Another hour will do it,” said Dick. “I say, we might smuggle in after all, Georgie. What a crow if we do, eh?”
Georgie inwardly reflected that there would be a crow of some sort or other whatever happened, but he prudently reserved his opinion and said, “Rather!”
“We ought to come to the cross-roads before long,” said Dick. “I hope to goodness you know which one goes to Templeton.”
“No, I don’t; but there’s bound to be a post.”
There was a post, but, though they climbed up it and rubbed their eye-lashes along each arm, they could get no guiding out of it. They could see an L on one arm, and an N on another, and a full stop on each of the other two, but, even with this intelligence, they felt that the road to Templeton was still open to doubt, as, indeed, after their wanderings round and round the sign-post, they presently had to admit was the case with the road by which they had just come.
“We’d better make ourselves snug here for the night,” said Heathcote, who fully took in the situation.
“That would be coming to a full stop with a vengeance!” said Dick.
“Shut up; I let you off—and, by Jove, here’s somebody coming!”
The red embers of a pipe, followed by a hulking nautical form, hove slowly in sight as he spoke, and never did a sail cheer the eyes of shipwrecked mariners as did this apparition bring comfort to Dick and Heathcote.
“I say,” said the former, advancing out of the shades and almost startling the unsuspecting salt, “we’ve lost our way. Which road goes to Templeton?”