penknife, and will me toward it, but also to look toward it
himself. Now, to look toward any object, a man usually turns his
whole body in that direction. So, groping about, clumsily, I
managed to get sight of the toes of those well-remembered boots.
Seeing which way they were pointed was all the information I
needed just then. So, with all sorts of hesitating movements and
false starts, I finally trotted off in the direction he had
faced. The rest is easy. Of course, coming to a corner, I was
absolutely in the dark as to whether I was to turn or to keep
straight ahead. This necessitated my turning back to Mr.
Mortimer to catch a glimpse of which way his feet were pointing.
I covered this by speaking to him, begging him to will me aright
--to will me more earnestly--or some such bunk. I could invent
many reasons for turning round; pretend I had lost my feeling of
'guidance,' or pretend I heard a sudden noise, as of danger, or
even pretend I felt I was going wrong. Well, I got a peek at
those feet as often as was necessary, and the rest was just
play-acting to mislead the people's minds. Of course, when I
stumbled over a stone or nearly fell into a coal hole or grating,
it was all pretense. I saw the pavements as well as anybody, and
my effort was to seem unaware of what was coming. Had I
carefully avoided obstacles, they would know I could see."

"And when you reached that vacant lot?" prompted Eunice.

"I saw friend Mortimer's feet were pointing toward the center of
the lot, and not in the direction of either street. So I turned
in, and when I got where I could see the burned-down house, I
guessed that was the hiding-place. So I circled around it,
urging my 'guide' to look toward the place, and then noting his