"I reckon so," said Dicky. "I haven't kept count, but I recollect only
two before it."
"All right. Up with you then!"
Dicky obediently mounted to the seat beside the driver.
"I shall ride outside," I said to Mrs. Knapp. "I may be needed."
"I suppose you are right," she replied with somewhat of protest in her
voice, and I closed the door, and climbed up. It was close quarters for
three, but at the word the horses, refreshed by the brief rest, rolled
the carriage up the road that led to the hills.
Half a mile farther we passed a house, and within a quarter of a mile
another.
"We are on the right road," was my thought as I compared these in my
mind with the crosses on the diagram.
About half a mile farther, a small cluster of buildings loomed up, dark
and obscure, by the roadside.
"This is the place," I said confidently, motioning the driver to pull
up. I remembered that Henry Wilton's map had stopped at the third cross
from the parting of the roads.
"No, it isn't," said Dicky eagerly. "It's two or three miles farther
on. I trailed the fellow myself to the next house, and that's a good
two miles at least."
I had leaped to the ground, and opened the door of the carriage.
"We are at the fourth place," I said.
"And the cockeyed barn?" inquired Mrs. Knapp, peering out.
I was struck silent by this, and looked blankly at the dark forbidding
structure that fronted on the road.
"You're right," said Mrs. Knapp with a laugh.
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