“Tangled among them, is it? Sure an it’s not so very bad thin. He can only walk on an walk on; an he’s sure to come out somewheres. Besides, he’ll hit upon a road some place or other, and wander along that.” “There are no roads here.” “How do you know? Ye don’t know. Thur may be fifty roads widin a mile of this very place, so there may. So what’s the use of givin up?” “No,” said Bart. “This is a wild, unfrequented place, and the woods are unbroken for an immense distance. If Phil has got among them he will wander on till--till he drops.” “Ah, come now, none of that. Sure, what do ye think of Phil? Do ye think now that Phil’s an idiot? Sure now, what’d ye do yerself if it was you that was lost instead of Phil? Do you think that you’d wandher about till you dropped, or do ye think ye’d work yer way out somewheres? Come now, ye know ye’d work yer way out, so you would. And so would I. And so will Phil, so he will.” This process of reasoning struck Bart so forcibly that he had not a word to say. Pat in fact was right in his estimate of Bart’s confidence in himself. Bart really did feel sure that if he were lost in the woods he’d get out. “Sure now imagine yerself in Phil’s place,” continued Pat, cheerily. “What’d you do? I’ll tell you what you’d do. Whin ye found yerself lost, ye’d thry, of coorse, to git back. Well, thin, ye’d go wandherin about. Very well. Ye’d sit down an rist, and think what ye’d best do nixt. Then ye’d start off afrish. Maybe ye’d climb a tray to see if ye cud see anythin. At any rate ye’d work away as long as the daylight lasted. At steeted intervals ye’d let off howls as loud as ye cud howl. Well, thin, it’ud grow dark, an so ye’d go to work an make up your mind to pass the night here, an ye’d thry, of coorse, to make yerself as comfortable as possible. So ye’d collect any quantity of moss an ferns, an spread them out--perhaps ye’d make a fire--but that’s neither here nor there; anyhow, ye’d make a comfortable bid for yerself, an thin ye’d take a bite of somethin to ate, and thin ye’d lie doun an doze off into the comfortablest slape ye ever knew. That’s what ye’d do--an ye know it, so ye do. Now wouldn’t ye? Answer me that. Isn’t that jist what ye wud do?” “Well, I suppose I would,” said Bart; “but perhaps the Indian has had something to do.” “The Injin. O, bah! Bother the Injin. That does to spake of in the middle of a dark night, but not undher the bright daylight. That Injin’s safe in his own camp by noo, I’ll warrant ye.”