Mr.Fogo leapt back another pace.
"_Cl'k--Whir-r-r-r-roo-oo-oo!_" This time the alarum was his salvation.

The tramp pulled up, gave a hasty terrified stare, and with a cry of "The Devil!" made off across the field as fast as his legs would carry him.

Overcome with the emotions of the last few minutes Mr.Fogo sat suddenly down, and the alarum ceased.
When he recovered he found himself in an awkward predicament.
He knew of but one way homewards, and that was guarded by the bull; moreover, if he attempted to find another road he was hampered by the loss of his spectacles, without which he could not see a yard before his nose.
However, anything was better than facing the bull again; so he arose, picked the brambles out of his clothing, and started cautiously across the field.
As luck would have it he found a gate; but another field followed, and a third, into which he had to climb by the hedge.

And here he suffered from a tendency known to all mountaineers who have lost their way in a mist; unconsciously he began to trend away towards the left, and as this led him further and further from home, his plight became every moment more desperate.
At last he struck into a narrow lane, just as the sun sank.
He halted for a moment to consider his direction.
"Pat--pat--pat." He looked up.

A little girl in an immense sun-bonnet was toddling up the lane towards him.