All Friday afternoon, Frieda and Marjorie watched eagerly for the return of their jailer, or for some trace of the scouts. But no one came near. By supper time they were worn out and disheartened. They knew that they must spend the night at the farm-house.

They were not, however, overcome by a sense of physical fear. The old people seemed slightly crazy to them, but harmless. They slept a little, late in the afternoon, and finally were awakened by their captor’s summons to supper.

Again they had a wonderful meal placed before them. The woman, it would seem, was ashamed of her husband’s actions, and was doing everything she could to make it up to them. In spite of herself, Marjorie felt a sort of liking for her.

“I suppose you may as well tell us your name,” remarked Marjorie, as she spread some delicious peach preserves upon the tempting hot muffin in her hand.

“Our name is Higgins,” replied the woman, lowering her eyes. “And yours?”

127 “I am Miss Wilkinson, as you know, and my friend is Miss Hammer.”

There was a silence for a few moments while they ate. Both girls realized that even now the scouts were probably eating something like canned salmon and beans, while they enjoyed a chicken dinner; but they said nothing. Marjorie made up her mind not to utter a word of praise of Mrs. Higgins’s cooking.

“It’s evident,” she remarked sarcastically, “that you people never had any children!”

A faint flush spread over the woman’s face, and then a tear came to her eye. But she looked down hastily at her plate to hide her embarrassment.

“No, we never did,” she replied. “But how did you know?”

“No mother or father could be so cruel!” answered Marjorie cuttingly.

The thrust hit deep; the older woman was silenced. The girl had touched the tenderest chords of her heart, and now she was fully ashamed. She would have abandoned the whole project had she dared, she was so completely on her prisoners’ side. But she was afraid of the old man; he might do something desperate to them all if she went back on her word. And even now she realized that she too was a prisoner, just as much as the girls were, and in her own house!

“What do you think can be keeping him?” asked128 Frieda, refusing to dignify such a contemptible creature with a name.

“I don’t know,” replied the woman. “Perhaps the telephone is out of order. Or maybe he’s took sick.”

Fresh peach ice-cream and a wonderful chocolate cake failed to produce any sort of comment on the part of the girls. Marjorie thought she had never tasted such delicious cooking in her life, but still she said nothing. Mrs. Higgins sighed; she so seldom had anyone to cook for, and it would have meant so much to her to have her efforts appreciated.

“I think there are some games in the table drawer in the parlor,” she told the girls, as they rose from the table. “You’re welcome to play with ’em.”

Frieda went in and got them, but Marjorie went straight to her room. Throwing herself upon the bed, she sobbed bitterly.

“Why do you ’spose old Higgins isn’t back?” she asked, as Frieda entered their bedroom.

“Probably he couldn’t get your father,” said the other. “Are you sure he would be home?”

Marjorie thought for a moment, and then started to weep afresh.

“No, he wouldn’t!” she exclaimed. Then, brokenly, “Mama and papa were going away this morning for a week-end party, and Jack is camping. Oh, Frieda!” Her voice died in a wail of woe.

Frieda sat down beside Marjorie and drew her129 head to her shoulder. She let her cry for a minute or so, and then tried to calm her.

“Nothing awful can happen, Marjorie,” she said, soothingly. “We’ll only miss a few days of good time at the most. For something is sure to happen—the real Margie Wilkinson that they are looking for will turn up, or old Higgins will reach your father by phone, and he’ll come hot-foot himself—or the scouts will send a rescue party, or——”

Marjorie smiled faintly through her tears.

“You are a great comfort, Frieda. I don’t know what I’d ever do without you. I suppose there are worse things than missing the meet and a few days at Silvertown; but oh, I was so eager to go!”

“Of course you were! Well, let’s don’t worry yet—why there are four whole days left, and it only takes two to get there. My, wasn’t that wonderful chocolate cake, though? I could almost love old lady Higgins for that!”

“I hate her!” cried Marjorie, vehemently. “She’s just as much to blame as the old man!”

“Maybe not; maybe he rules her completely. Some men do, you know!”

“Well, I’m never going to get married, then!” announced Marjorie. “In fact, I hate all men!”

“Come, this won’t get us anywhere,” interrupted Frieda; “let’s play flinch, and try to forget it.”

The girls played until nearly nine o’clock, and then decided to go to bed. Worn out from the130 mental strain, they felt grateful for the comfortable bed, and soon fell asleep, clasping each other’s hands. There is nothing so effective in cementing a friendship as a common misfortune.

They slept late the next morning, and were awakened by a knock at their door. It proved to be Mrs. Higgins, with a tray.

“Good morning, girls,” she said cheerily; “how are you today?”

Both girls suppressed their natural inclination to say something pleasant, and Frieda, with a suggestion of her old rudeness, asked,

“Is that old man back yet?”

Mrs. Higgins shook her head sadly.

“Not yet, Miss. Mebbe the telephone’s broke. Is your pap likely to be home, Miss Wilkins?”

“No, he and mother went on a week-end motor trip. Of course he won’t be able to get them!”

“Why didn’t you tell him that?”

She set the tray on a table by the window. The breakfast—fresh peaches with cream, hot biscuits, eggs, and fragrant coffee—certainly looked inviting. Marjorie eyed it critically.

“As a matter of fact, I forgot,” she replied, icily.

“Well, more’s the pity for you! If I know Mr. Higgins, he’ll stay right on the job till he gets an answer. If that’s the case, you ne............