"Indeed I'm not!" exclaimed Tom indignantly. "You can see for yourself that we've passed this place before. Here are some of the ashes I knocked off the bark torch," and he showed his chums the place where he had hit the burning bark against a stone.

"That's right," Bert and the others were forced to admit.

"Well, what are we going to do about it?" asked Jack. "We're lost-that's evident and we don't need a pair of opera glasses to see it. But how are we going to get back to school? Or even on the right road? I wish we'd stuck to the way, even if it did go up hill. This taking of short cuts never did appeal to me, anyhow."

"But we didn't take a short cut," insisted Tom. "We took a long cut, and that's the trouble."

"I wonder if that farm fellow directed us wrong on purpose?" asked

George.

"He might have," said Jack. "And yet what would have been his object?" If he could have seen that same farm-hand gloating over a crumpled dollar bill about that time, Jack might have found an answer to his inquiry.

"Well, there's no use going into that part of it," spoke Tom. "The question is, what are we going to do?"

"Get back on the main road as soon as we can," suggested Bert, "and stick to it, hills or no hills, I never wanted to come this way anyhow."

"Neither did I," asserted Tom, a bit nettled.

In a short time they had several improvised torches, made of bark, and, each one lighting his own, and holding it down close to the ground, they started off again.

"Here comes a shower!" exclaimed Tom, as he felt the first drops of a

September storm. "Lucky we got the dry bark in time."

"Say, but this is punk!" grumbled Bert, as he stumbled on in the half-darkness.

By carefully noting the path, and keeping to it, they managed to avoid going in a circle again. Their torches smoked and spluttered, as the rain increased, and, though they were under the shelter of trees, they soon were quite wet.

"Cross-country runs!" murmured Jack, as he stepped into a bog-hole up to his ankles. "No more for yours truly!"

"It's all in the game," said Tom, with a laugh. "We'll soon be out of it."

"We're out of it now," snapped Bert, looking at his watch. "We've got half an hour to make the gym, for it's half-past seven now, and I'll wager a can of beans that we're five miles from it."

"Not as bad as that," asserted Tom. "We may make it yet, if we can strike a good road. This looks like something here, fellows," he added, as he emerged from the woodland path upon a firm footing. "It is!" he cried a moment later. "I guess we can make it now! Come on!"

Holding his torch of bark above his head, Tom led the way. He was quite sure of himself now, even though he did not know just where the path was coming out. It was broadening as he advanced, and he was positive it did not lead deeper into the woods.

"Ugh!" suddenly grunted Tom, as he came to an abrupt halt.

"What's wrong?" asked Jack.

"I ran into a fence, or something. Yes, It's a fence," Tom went on.

"We must have struck some sort of a farm."

"I wish it was the one where that fellow works," put in Jack. "I'd like to rub his nose in the mud for sending us on the wrong path."

"There's a light over there!" cried Bert, as he and the others came up to where Tom had come to a halt at the barrier. It was a rail fence of the "snake" variety, and Tom had run full tilt into it in the darkness, his torch having burned out.

"A light!" cried Bert. "That means a house, or some sort of human habitation. Let's head for it, fellows, and maybe we can get on the right road."

"Over the fence is out!" cried Jack, as he leaped the barrier. "Come on, fellows!"

The others followed him, the torch of George being the only one aglow.

"It's a cornfield!" cried Tom, as he landed in it. "Look out, and don't trample too much of it down."

"Oh, it's only late fodder corn, and I guess it won't matter much," was Jack's opinion, as he floundered on through the field. They could hear him crashing down the corn stalks, and being wet, tired and miserable, and perhaps a little unthinking, the others did the same thing.

"Head for the light!" called George. "My torch is on the blink."

It went out a moment later, and in the darkness and rain the lads stumbled on. The light grew plainer as they advanced toward it, and, in a little while, trampling through the corn, they saw a farm house just beyond the field through which they had come.

"That's not where the fellow lives who sent us wrong," asserted Jack, and the others agreed with him.

"Now to see where we are," suggested Tom, as he vaulted another fence, and found himself in the big front yard of a farmhouse. There was a barking of dogs, and, as Tom's chums followed his lead, a door opened, letting out a flood of light, and a rasping voice asked:

"Who's there? What d'ye want this time of night?"

"We're from Elmwood Hall," replied Tom. "We were out on a cross-country run, and we lost our way. Can you direct us to the river road?"

"Which way did you come," the rasping voice went on, and a man, with a small bunch of whiskers on his chin, stood in the lamp-illuminated doorway.

"Through the woods," said Tom. "We got lost there."

"And then we cut through a cornfield," went on Jack.

"Through a cornfield!" cried the farmer in accents of anger. "D'ye mean t' say you tromped through my field of corn?"

"I-I'm afraid we did," answered Tom ruefully. "We couldn't see in the dark, and it was the only way to come. I hope we didn't do much damage."

"Well, if ye did ye'll pay for it!" snapped the man, as he came from the doorway. "I don't allow nobody t' tromp through my prize corn. I'll have th' law on ye fer this, that's what I will! Knocked down my corn; did ye? Well, ye kin find th' road the best way ye like now. I'll never tell ye. And I want t' see how much damage ye done. You wait till I git a lantern. Tromped through my corn! That's jest like you good-fer-nothin' school snips! I'll fix ye fer this all right, or my name ain't Jed Appleby!"

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