view of his companions a neat pocket-compass.
The north is found, the point at which
the farm-house is situated is settled, and the
descent begins. After a little downward
walking, Idle (behind as usual) sees his
fellow-travellers turn aside sharply—tries to
follow them—loses them in the mist—is
shouted after, waited for, recovered—and
then finds that a halt has been ordered,
partly on his account, partly for the purpose
of again consulting the compass.

The point in debate is settled as before
between Goodchild and the landlord, and the
expedition moves on, not down the mountain,
but marching straight forward round the
slope of it. The difficulty of following this
new route is acutely felt by Thomas Idle.
He finds the hardship of walking at all,
greatly increased by the fatigue of moving
his feet straight forward along the side of a
slope, when their natural tendency, at every
step, is to turn off at a right angle, and go
straight down the declivity. Let the reader
imagine himself to be walking along the roof
of a barn, instead of up or down it, and he
will have an exact idea of the pedestrian
difficulty in which the travellers had now
involved themselves. In ten minutes more
Idle was lost in the distance again, was
shouted for, recovered as before;
found Goodchild repeating his observation of
the compass, and remonstrated warmly
against the sideway route that his
companions persisted in following. It appeared
to the uninstructed mind of Thomas that
when three men want to get to the bottom
of a mountain, their business is to walk down
it; and he put this view of the case, not only
with emphasis, but even with some irritability.
He was answered from the scientific
eminence of the compass on which his
companions were mounted, that there was a
frightful chasm somewhere near the foot of
Carrock, called The Black Arches, into which
the travellers were sure to march in the mist,
if they risked continuing the descent from
the place where they had now halted. Idle
received this answer with the silent respect
which was due to the commanders of the
expedition, and followed along the roof of the
barn, or rather the side of the mountain,
reflecting upon the assurance which he
received on starting again, that the object of
the party was only to gain "a certain point,"
and, this haven attained, to continue the
descent afterwards until the foot of Carrock
was reached. Though quite unexceptionable
as an abstract form of expression, the phrase
"a certain point " has the disadvantage of
sounding rather vaguely when it is
pronounced on unknown ground, under a canopy
of mist much thicker than a London fog.
Nevertheless, after the compass, this phrase
was all the clue the party had to hold by,
and Idle clung to the extreme end of it as
hopefully as he could.

More sideway walking, thicker and thicker
mist, all sorts of points reached except the
"certain point;" third loss of Idle, third
shouts for him, third recovery of him, third
consultation of compass. Mr. Goodchild
draws it tenderly from his pocket, and
prepares to adjust it on a stone. Something
falls on the turf—it is the glass. Something
else drops immediately after—it is the
needle. The compass is broken, and the
exploring party is lost!

It is the practice of the English portion of
the human race to receive all great disasters
in dead silence. Mr. Goodchild restored the
useless compass to his pocket without saying
a word, Mr. Idle looked at the landlord, and
the landlord looked at Mr. Idle. There was
nothing for it now but to go on blindfold,
and trust to the chapter of chances. Accordingly,
the lost travellers moved forward, still
walking round the slope of the mountain,
still desperately resolved to avoid the Black
Arches, and to succeed in reaching the
"certain point."

A quarter of an hour brought them to the
brink of a ravine, at the bottom of which
there flowed a muddy little stream. Here
another halt was called, and another
consultation took place. The landlord, still
clinging pertinaciously to the idea of reaching
the "point," voted for crossing the ravine
and going on round the slope of the mountain.
Mr. Goodchild, to the great relief of
his fellow-traveller, took another view of the
case, and backed Mr. Idle's  proposal to
descend Carrock at once, at any hazard—
the rather as the running stream was a sure
guide to follow from the mountain to the
valley. Accordingly, the party descended to
the rugged and stony banks of the stream ;
and here again Thomas lost ground sadly,
and fell far behind his travelling companions.
Not much more than six weeks had elapsed
since he had sprained one of his ancles, and
he began to feel this same ancle getting
rather weak when he found himself among
the stones that were strewn about the
running water. Goodchild and the landlord
were getting farther and farther ahead of
him. He saw them cross the stream and
disappear round a projection on its banks.
He heard them shout the moment after as a
signal that they had halted and were waiting
for him. Answering the shout, he mended
his pace, crossed the stream where they had
crossed it, and was within one step of the
opposite bank, when his foot slipped on a
wet stone, his weak ankle gave a twist outwards,
a hot, rending, tearing pain ran
through it at the same moment, and down
fell the idlest of the Two Idle Apprentices,
crippled in an instant.

The situation was now, in plain terms, one
of absolute danger. There lay Mr. Idle
writhing with pain, there was the mist as
thick as ever, there was the landlord as
completely lost as the strangers whom he was
conducting, and there was the compass