scern the outline of it. "A fellow's a fool to go without
matches," he muttered disgustedly.

"Bet you it's a whole lot later than that," said Amy. "Anyway, let's get
going. Which direction do you think Wharton is?"

They debated that for some time after they had reached the road, and in
the end they decided that the town lay to their left, although, as Clint
pointed out, the men in the automobile had gone in the opposite
direction.

"They might be going to Thacher," said Amy. "Anyhow, we're bound to get
somewhere in time. All I ask of Fortune is a bed and a breakfast; and I
could do without the bed, I guess. Somewhere in the world, Clint there
are two cups of hot coffee waiting for us. Is that not a
cheering thought?"

"I wish I had mine now," replied the other shiveringly. "I dare say
we're headed in the wrong direction for Wharton."

"Say not so," exclaimed Amy, whose spirits were rapidly returning.
"Courage, faint heart! Onward to coffee!"

For awhile they speculated on the mysterious mission of the two men in
the automobile, but neither of them could offer a satisfactory solution
of the problem, and finally they fell silent. Fortunately the road ran
fairly straight and they got off it only once. After they had been
walking what seemed to them to be about an hour, although there was no
way of knowing, Clint called attention to the fact that he could see the
road. Amy replied that he couldn't, but in a moment decided that he
could. To the left of them there was a perceptible greying of the sky.
After that morning came fast. In a few minutes they could make out dimly
the forms of trees beside the way, then more distant objects became
visible and, as by a miracle, the sleeping world suddenly lay before
them, black and grey in the growing light. Somewhere a bird twittered
and was answered. A chilling breeze crept across a field, heralding the
dawn and bringing shivers to the boys. Soon after that they came across
the first sign of life, a farm with a creaking windmill busily at work,
and a light showing wanly in an upper window of the house.

"Some poor fellow is getting out of a nice, warm bed," soliloquised Amy.
"How I pity him! Can't you see him shaking his fist at the alarm-clock
and shivering as he gets into his panties?"

"He's lucky to have a nice, warm bed," responded Clint. "If I had one it
would take more than an alarm-clock to get me out of it!"

"Me too! Say, what do you think about sneaking over t