Marjorie and Frieda began to feel very tired and uncomfortable after they had walked several miles in their wet clothing. Had the sun been out to dry them, or had they been familiar with the road, it would not have been so difficult to go on. Their pace became slower and slower, each girl making a desperate effort to keep cheerful for the sake of the other. But soon they began to look eagerly for a house where they could get food and have a place to rest. They knew that they dared not lie down upon the ground, for they would not only be in danger of cold, but also of discovery by their enemy. So they pressed valiantly on.

“Anyway, it’s better than staying forever at that prison!” commented Marjorie. Her feet were particularly wet, and her shoes heavy.

“I should say so! But wasn’t the old man awful? Marj, don’t you hope we never are greedy like that when we get old?”

“You bet! But do you know, I felt sorry for his poor wife. Isn’t it funny, Frieda, to think how differently a man may turn out, after he’s been married159 a long time? I don’t think Mrs. Higgins loves him now, but probably she did when they were young.”

“I suppose so!” sighed the other girl, much more interested in their own problem than in that of their former captors.

All the while she was keeping a sharp look-out among the trees, hoping to spy a house, or at least a forsaken barn where they might find protection. It was not long afterward that she was rewarded for her diligence.

“Look, Marj!” she cried. “Isn’t that a house—or something?”

And suddenly the girls realized that the night was over, that the first grey light of dawn was upon them. Looking in the direction her companion indicated, Marjorie too distinguished a grey, shadowy outline in the distance. Her heart leaped for joy; there was a chance of a rest at last!

“Don’t you wish we had a watch?” she said; “or even our maps?”

“Anyhow, we know it’s Monday morning,” said Frieda. “And we ought to get to Silvertown today—tonight, rather. For walking is as fast as canoeing.”

By this time they were close enough to the structure to see that it was a rather tumble-down farm-house. The boards of the porch were rotting, and the woodwork everywhere needed paint. Two or three chairs on the porch made the girls certain of the fact that the place was inhabited. The win160dows were all wide open, but there was not a sign of a screen. Obviously, this was not so prosperous a farm as the one they had just left. But Marjorie and Frieda did not mind; they were so weary that a great sense of thankfulness at the promise of a rest was the only feeling that possessed them.

“How much of the truth shall we tell?” asked Frieda, as they approached the porch.

“Only that we are Girl Scouts, who have lost our party, and had our canoe stolen,” answered Marjorie, promptly. “And that we have no money, but when we get to Silvertown, we’ll send it to pay for a bed and a meal!”

With no attempt at quiet, they walked boldly up the porch steps, and knocked loudly. They had to wait only a minute or two, until a middle-aged woman in a soiled wrapper came to the door. Her hair was already arranged in a knot; it was evident that she had been occupied in the process of dressing when she heard the knock. Marjorie told the story as briefly as possible, leaving out the part about their captivity.

“Yes, sure!” said the woman, in answer to their request. “I’ll fix you up a cup of coffee, and you can go right to bed. Then I’ll have a nice breakfast when you wake up.”

She proceeded to fix up her own bed for the girls and loaned them night dresses so that she might hang their wet clothing out to dry. The girls drank161 their coffee gratefully, and slipped into the borrowed garments, too tired even to laugh at the absurd appearance they made. They were asleep in no time.

It was noon when they finally awakened. Frieda jumped out, surprised at the brightness of the sun.

“Oh, Marj! We’ll have to hurry!” she cried; “or else we won’t get there tonight. Maybe the woman, whatever her name is, can tell us how many miles away Silvertown is.”

She went to the door and called down the stairs, wishing that she knew the woman’s name. In a second, however, she received an answer, and Mrs. Brown appeared at the foot of the stairway.

“Have a good nap?” she asked.

“Fine, thanks,” replied Frieda. “But it’s late, and we want to get started. Are our clothes dry?”

“Good and dry!” answered Mrs. Brown; “and I pressed your dresses fer you!”

“Oh, thanks!” called Marjorie, gratefully. “Will you bring them up, Mrs.——?”

“Brown,” supplied the woman. “I’m a widder, and I live with me brother, Sam Cullen. You’ll meet him when you come down.”

A few minutes later she appeared with the clothing, all thoroughly dry, and, as she had said, the suits both carefully pressed. In high spirits, the girls dressed quickly.

When they went downstairs they were surprised at the darkness of the house. Then, looking around,162 they saw that every window was tight shut, and the shutters closed and bolted from the outside. Two or three oil lamps were burning in the hall, kitchen and dining room.

“Why so dark?” asked Marjorie, as Mrs. Brown motioned her to a seat at the table.

“Well, we ain’t got no nettin’ and the flies gets in after the vittals. It’s dreadful to be poor!”

“Mrs. Brown, how much shall we owe you for our visit?” asked Marjorie, changing the subject. “And will it be all right to send a money order?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that!” said the older woman. “Yer welcome to what we’ve got—it ain’t much. But I don’t think you’d better start out today. Why not rest and wait till termorrer mornin’ early? If you start now, you’ve got another night to spend in the woods, and I reckon you won’t find another place to house you like this.”

“Thanks ever so much,” replied Marjorie; “but we don’t want to miss our party any longer than necessary. About how far is it to Silvertown?”

“Dunno exactly—’bout ten miles, I reckon.” She really knew it was not nearly so far, but she thought that if she could persuade the girls to stay it would be so much easier than forcing them.

The girls ate their breakfast, which, though good, and well cooked, was not nearly so nice as the food Mrs. Higgins had given them. As they ate they talked the situation over. They thought that it was163 about one o’clock, but having no watches, they were amazed to find it quarter of three. This deception was merely another part of Mrs. Brown’s scheme.

“Frieda, I don’t believe we could go ten miles before dark, even in our dry clothing,” said Marjorie; “and I don’t care about the prospects of another night in the woods by ourselves, with no tent, or food. If we only had some money, we could hire a machine!”

“Where would you hire it from?” put in Mrs. Brown, rather sharply. “Besley’s the nearest town, and it’s five miles off! Of course,” she added; “if I had the money, you’d be welcome to it. But I ain’t got no more than fifty cents to my name.”

Marjorie sighed, and settled herself to the inevitable. They decided to stay.

Mrs. Brown, although delighted with the decision, was nevertheless in a quandary. She would have to let the girls go out; but could she trust them to return? She thought how angry her brother would be if she let them escape, and how roughly he might treat her afterwards for it. Still, she decided to take the risk.

“And what would you like to do this afternoon?” she inquired, politely. “Take a walk?”

The girls were delighted with this suggestion, for it reminded them of their freedom, but they did not wish to act upon it. They were still weary, and164 their feet were sore; the prospect of rest was alluring.

“No, thanks, I think it would be nicer to stay on the porch, and take it easy,” said Marjorie. “Have you any bo............