There were no trees in front of the church, and when they came out by the front platform, Miss Parker exclaimed, “Well, I never!  I wouldn’t believe I’d remember so clear.  This church seems just as familiar as if I was here yesterday.  Why, what’s the matter?”

Mr. Hammond was standing on the platform, holding his lantern up before a gilt-lettered placard by the church door.

“Hannah,” he gurgled, “this night’s been too much for me.  My foolishness has struck out of my brains into my eyes.  I can’t read straight.  Look here.”

Hannah clambered up beside her agitated companion, and read from the placard these words: 

First Baptist church

          Rev.  Jonathan Langworthy, Pastor

“Good land!” she exclaimed.  “Mr. Langworthy!  Why, Mr. Langworthy is the minister at Wellmouth Centre, ain’t he?  I thought he was.”

“He is, but perhaps there’s another one.”

“No, there ain’t—­not another Baptist.  And—­and this church, what little I can see of it, looks like the Wellmouth Centre Baptist Church, too; I declare it does! . . .  Where are you goin’?”

Caleb did not reply, neither did he turn back.  Hannah, who did not propose to be left alone there in the dark, was hurrying after him, but he stopped and when she reached his side she found him holding the lantern and peering at an iron gate in a white fence.  His face, seen by the lantern light, was a picture of bewildered amazement.

“What is it?” she demanded.  “What is it?”

He did not answer, but merely pointed to the gate.

“Eh?  What—­why—­why, Caleb, that’s—­ain’t that the Nickerson memorial gate? . . .  It can’t be!  But—­but it is!  Why—­”

Mr. Hammond was muttering to himself.

“We took the wrong road at the crossin’,” he said.  “Then we must have switched again, probably when we was arguin’ about kindlin’ the fire; then we must have turned again when the harness broke; and that must have fetched us into Lemuel Ellis’ wood-lot road that comes out—­”

“Eh?  Lemuel Ellis’ wood-lot?  Why, Lemuel’s wood-lot is at—­”

“It’s at Wellmouth Centre, that’s where ’tis.  No wonder that church looked familiar.  Hannah, we ain’t been nigh Bayport.  We’ve been ridin’ round and round in circles through them woods all night.”

“Caleb Hammond!”

Before Caleb could add anything to his astonishing statement the silence of the night was broken by the clang of the bell in the tower of the church.  It clanged four times.

“What!” exclaimed Caleb.  “Only four o’clock!  It can’t be!”

“My soul!” cried Miss Parker, “only four!  Why—­why, I thought we’d been ridin’ ten hours at least. . . .  Caleb Hammond, you and me don’t want to find a minister; what we need to look up is a pair of guardians to take care of us.”