“I don’t know,” answered Trevor, “but let’s hurry. Which way shall we go?” “Across the river to the railroad track. Maybe, Trevor, there’s a station between here and Hillton; there ought to be, eh?” “I don’t know,” sorrowed his companion. “Do you think Dick might have dropped off after we saw him? Maybe, Carl, he’s lying up there on the ice somewhere.” “I don’t believe so. I think Dick will hold on as long as he can. Perhaps he will manage to get back onto the boat; if he does he ought to be able to stop her; he knows enough to lower the sail, I guess. I dare say he’ll turn up all right before long. The best thing for us to do is to find a telegraph office as soon as we can. Come ahead.” Somewhat comforted, Trevor limped along and the two gained the river bank and stumbled through the darkness to the railroad track. Down this they tramped, silent for the most part, with feet that had no feeling left in them, and with fingers that ached terribly. How far from the academy they were neither had any idea; perhaps ten miles, perhaps less. As for the time, that at least they knew, for Trevor managed to get his watch out and Carl supplied a match; the hands pointed to twenty minutes of six. “We ought to be home by seven,” said Carl with attempted cheerfulness. Trevor groaned. A quarter of an hour passed; a half. It was too dark to recognize anything save the lines of track, which had left the river some distance to the right. Suddenly a slight turn brought into view a cluster of lights, white and green. “A station!” cried Trevor. The two boys increased their gait and five minutes later passed a freight train on a siding, and found a little box of a station, ablaze with light, and oh, how warm! Around a great whitewashed stove in the middle of the waiting-room sat three men. Two had woolen caps on; the third was bareheaded, and him the boys rightly judged to be the station-master. Their story was quickly told, and a moment later the key at the telegraph desk was ticking off messages to stations up the line. “You must have got thrown out at about Whitely Mills,” said one of the men at the stove. “The boat would have a clear track from there up to---- I say, Gus,” he called suddenly to the man at the instrument, “they were cutting ice to-day at the houses just this side of Lorraine. That would be a bad part of the river to get onto in the dark. You’d better tell the fellow at Lorraine to send some one down there with a lantern; what d’ye think, Joe?” The third man nodded his head. “Bad place; I noticed they were cutting pretty well out toward the channel.” “All right,” said the station-master. And the instrument ticked on. Carl and Trevor sat by the stove and held their feet and hands to the grateful warmth. They were too tired, too dejected to talk. The engineer and conductor of the waiting freight eyed them curiously but kindly. Finally the latter asked: “How you boys going to get to Hillton?”