"This won't do at all!" he cried, raising both hands to his bald head
which was by this time very wet and more shiny than ever. "You will get
your death of cold, young ladies, you surely will. You must come with me.
Here, right along this path I have a cottage--" All the time he was
talking he was hustling them fussily ahead of him, for all the world like
some old hen with a brood of chickens.

The girls, not knowing what else to do and being in rather a bewildered
frame of mind, allowed themselves to be hustled. The rain was sheeting
down in a terrific cloud burst, so that their clothes clung to them damply
and they began to shiver.

They circled the fallen tree which had so nearly been their undoing, and a
moment later found themselves upon a narrow footpath which seemed to lead
into the very heart of the woods.

"I wonder where he is taking us," whispered Grace in Betty's ear. "Maybe
he's a murderer or something."

In spite of her discomfort, Betty giggled.

"Did you ever see a murderer with a bald head like that?" she asked.

It seemed to the girls as if the path must be at least a mile long, but
just as they were despairing of ever reaching the end of it, they came out
into a partially cleared space and through the trees caught a glimpse of
something that looked like a house.

Their new acquaintance, who up to this time had been bringing up the rear,