"I've always thought it would be very exciting to be lost," Roy said
with a sigh; "but it doesn't seem very nice, does it? And it is so cold.
I wonder if we shall meet with any adventures, lost people generally
do."
"If we could come into a gipsies' camp with a huge fire and a pot of
stewed hares, it would be stunning! Or if we could find old Principle's
cave, that would be better still!"
They were stumbling on, Roy gasping and panting for breath, and Dudley
every minute or two giving a shout, when suddenly almost as if he had
risen from the ground, a lad appeared in front of them.
"We're lost," shouted Dudley; "who are you? Can you tell us where
Crockton village is?"
"Ay, can't I! You're only about four mile off!"
"Is it straight on?" questioned Roy, wistfully.
"No, you're goin' away from it."
The lad stood looking down at the two small boys and there was some pity
in his tone.
"The little 'un is dead beat. Here--let me hoist you on my back, I'd as
lief go to Crockton as anywhere else to-night, and I know every inch of
these hills, I've been looking after cattle here since I were a babby!
There now, ain't that better?"
Roy was too tired out to resist, though he made a faint protest, and
Dudley seeing him comfortably settled on the broad shoulders of the lad,
trotted along contentedly by his side.
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