Hannah, who did not
propose to be left alone there in the dark, was hurrying after him,
but he stopped and when she reached his side she found him holding the
lantern and peering at an iron gate in a white fence. His face, seen by
the lantern light, was a picture of bewildered amazement.
"What is it?" she demanded. "What IS it?"
He did not answer, but merely pointed to the gate.
"Eh? What--why--why, Caleb, that's--ain't that the Nickerson memorial
gate? . . . It can't be! But--but it IS! Why--"
Mr. Hammond was muttering to himself.
"We took the wrong road at the crossin'," he said. "Then we must have
switched again, probably when we was arguin' about kindlin' the fire;
then we must have turned again when the harness broke; and that must
have fetched us into Lemuel Ellis' wood-lot road that comes out--"
"Eh? Lemuel Ellis' wood-lot? Why, Lemuel's wood-lot is at--"
"It's at Wellmouth Centre, that's where 'tis. No wonder that church
looked familiar. Hannah, we ain't been nigh Bayport. We've been ridin'
round and round in circles through them woods all night."
"Caleb HAMMOND!"
Before Caleb could add anything to his astonishing statement the silence
of the night was broken by the clang of the bell in the tower of the
church. It clanged four times.
"WHAT!" exclaimed Caleb. "Only four o'clock! It can't be!"
"My soul!" cried Miss Parker, "only four! Why--why, I thought we'd been
ridin' ten hours at least. . . . Caleb Hammond, you and me don't want to
find a minister; what we need to look up is a pair of guardians to take
care of us.
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