ogre!"

A stile led from the field into the wood. Dorothy scrambled over, and
began to follow a path through the trees. It was very dark indeed, for
most of the oaks still kept their leaves, and shut out the little
remaining light overhead. She could just see to stumble along, and had
the greatest difficulty to trace her way. It was wet under foot; the
ground was marshy in places, and strewn with dead leaves. After a little
while she came to a place where the path seemed to branch in two
directions. Which to choose she could not tell; both seemed equally bad
and indistinguishable. Reckoning that Hurford must lie to the left side
of her, she turned to the left, almost feeling her way among the trees.

"If I don't get out of the wood soon, I shan't be able to see at all. I
hope it's not far," she thought. The path grew a trifle better; there
were a few stones put down on it. Was she at last coming to a stile?
What was that dark patch in front of her? She stopped short suddenly,
drawing back just in time to avoid stepping into water. Why, it must be
a well! It was a deep pool, edged round with stones, and with a hedge of
holly surrounding it on three sides.

Perhaps the path led by the back of it. No; the bushes were so thickly
matted with a tangle of brambles that it would be impossible to push
through. Evidently the path only led to the well, and she must have
taken the wrong turning where it had branched. Almost crying, she began
to retrace her steps, and hurried faster and faster through the
gathering darkness. She was back at last at the spot where she had made
the mistake, and this time she turned to the right. The trees seemed to
be even nearer together than before, and there was a thick undergrowth
which sent out long blackberry trails that caught and tore her coat as
she scurried by. She had slung her school satchel on her back, and as
she ran it bumped her shoulder almost like somebody hitting her from
behind.

[Illustration: IN DISCREET HIDING]

It grew so dark at last that Dorothy stopped in despair. It seemed
absolutely impossible to find her way, and the horrible truth dawned
upon her that she was lost--lost as thoroughly and effectually as any
knight of romance; while it seemed extremely unlikely that she would
find the convenient pilgrim's cell or hermit's cave that generally turns
up in story-books to shelter the adventurer. To add to her misery, the
rain that had been threatening for some time came