"It is the fourth turning to the right, then the second to the left, and
second to the right again; so you are not going that way."
I made this remark to the dogs, who had stopped at a turning, and wanted
to drag me in what I considered the wrong direction.
"The fourth turning, Aileen," I repeated, forcing them to come with me.
The night seemed to get darker, and the rain heavier every moment, and
that fourth turning seemed to have been spirited away. I found it at
last, or thought I had done so, then the second to the left, and finally
the second to the right.
By this time the lights of the station should have appeared.
They did not. We were lost, and evidently long miles from home. Lost,
and it was near midnight. We were cold and wet and weary; at least I
was, and I naturally concluded the poor dogs were so likewise.
We tried back, but I very wisely left it to the two Newfoundlands now to
find the way if they could.
"Go home," I cried, getting behind them; and off they went willingly,
and at a very rapid pace too.
Over and over again, I felt sure that the poor animals were bewildered,
and were going farther and farther astray.
Well, at all events, I was bewildered, and felt still more so when I
found myself on the brow of a hill, looking down towards station lights
on the right instead of on the left, they ought to have been. They were
our station lights, nevertheless, and a quarter of an hour afterwards we
were all having supper together, the Newfoundlands having been
previously carefully dried with towels. Did ever dogs deserve supper
more? I hardly think so.