"Bordenton eighteen miles off!" ejaculated I. "My friend, it's not possible; either you or I must be a little mad!"
"I'm quite the contrary," observed my sharp-witted informant, "bein' uncommon sensible; I don't know how you feel about the head notwithstanding."
I now began to imagine he was quizzing me; therefore, in order to make him feel that my questions were urged in anything but a jesting spirit, I made known my object in taking the road thus early, and concluded by saying,
"I have been riding for two hours on the way to Bordenton, being but sixteen miles distant from it at starting; so how, my good friend, do you make it out?"
"Well, I don't know," was his reply, given in a most unsympathising sort of tone; "but I reckon you'll about double the distance if you ride for two hours more on this road, as you are now a-going."
"How so?" said I, "Is not this the road?"
"O yes! I guess it is, only you're looking towards the wrong ind on it, if you want to fetch Bordenton; but, maybe, you're bound for Amboy all the time, mister?"
"And where the devil is Hightstown?" said I.
"About two miles and a half behind you. I'm going there myself."
At this moment I do not think it would have been difficult to have made me doubt my own identity, so utterly bothered was I; but my informant was quite right, for, turning about, I entered the village for the third time this morning, just three hours after I took my first departure from it, during which I must have ridden at least twenty-four miles.