he now took was carrying him away from the trail, and plunging him into
a hopeless, pathless labyrinth of woods. For Dol had lost all knowledge
of directions, and was completely "turned round;" which means that he
was miserably lost.

The disaster came about in this way. The forest here was very dense, the
giant trees interlocked above his head letting so little light filter
through their foliage that he could scarcely see twenty yards ahead of
him, and that in a puzzling, shadowy gloom resembling an English
twilight.

When he ceased chasing the squirrel, he imagined that he retraced his
steps directly towards the point where he had quitted the trail. In
reality, seeing nothing to aim for in this bewildering maze of endless
trees, turned out of his way continually as he dodged in and out around
massive trunks, he gradually worked farther and farther off the course
by which he had come, drifting in random directions like a rudderless
ship on mid-ocean. This helpless state is called, in the phraseology of
the northern woods, being "turned round."

But Dol Farrar was spared for the present a thorough realization of the
dreadful mishap which had befallen him. He had a shocked, breathless,
flurried feeling, as if scales had suddenly fallen from his eyes, and he
saw the dangers of the unknown as he had not before seen them. But even
in the midst of abusing himself for his rash self-confidence, he uttered
a cheerful "Hurrah!"

"Why, good gracious!" he cried. "Here's another trail! Now, where on
earth does this lead to? I don't see any spotted trees"--looking
carefully about--"but it's a well-beaten track, a regular plain path,