"The worst of it is, there is no telling how far this brook runs before
it empties into the Perch River," observed Tom. "We may have to go two
or three miles out of our way."
"We may as well climb up the hill again, Tom, and try to follow one of
those trails."
"Perhaps you are right."
They talked the matter over and at last began to climb the hill, now
more difficult than before, since the snow was several inches deeper.
It took a long while to gain the top, and still longer to find the spot
where they had left the trail.
"Here we are," said Tom, resting on a fallen tree which marked the
locality. "Now the all-important question is, which way next?"
"Tom, I believe we are getting lost," came from Sam, in a dismal tone.
"I don't think we're getting lost, Sam; we _are_ lost, no two ways about
it. We've got to keep our eyes open and our wits about us, or we'll be
getting into a first-class mess."
"It must be almost noon," went on the youngest Rover, and pulled out his
watch. "Phew! Half-past twelve!"
"Thought I was hungry.
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