At a peaceful spot along the Silver Creek, where the water was so still that it seemed to belong rather to a lake than to a stream, five new canoes lay upturned on the shore. Their long, graceful curves, their shining new paint and varnish, their picturesque beauty and obvious excellence of workmanship proclaimed them the best to be had.

Although it was July, the weather was not hot; in this secluded wooded nook where the great shade trees cut off the direct rays of the sun, the atmosphere was almost cool. An old boatman, in charge of a rustic boathouse at the water’s edge, stood beside the stream, lost in memories of his own youth and the delightful canoe trips he had taken. Suddenly the laughter of two girls broke in abruptly upon his reveries; a moment later Marjorie Wilkinson and Ruth Henry appeared from among the trees.

“Hello, Michael!” cried Ruth. “How are you?” But not waiting for any reply, the girls rushed forward to view at closer range their new treasures. With the eye of an experienced canoeist, Marjorie took in every detail.

“They’re Old Towns, aren’t they?” she said. “Oh, but aren’t they lovely?”

“Beat yours all to pieces, don’t they, Marj?” remarked Ruth.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, but of course——”

“Don’t you wish you knew who bought them?”

“You bet I do! Somebody rich, I guess!”

“And wouldn’t you love to know where we’re going, and how long we’ll stay, and—and——”

“I hope you gals is all good swimmers,” interrupted Michael, advancing slowly to the edge of the shore. “Purty ticklish business—canoeing is!”

“Not in flat bottom canoes!” protested Marjorie. “Why, I’ve had mine for nearly a year now, and never upset once!”

“But you never tried to navigate a stream like the Silver!” said the old man, reaching for his pipe and tobacco pouch. “There’s one place in this here stream I’d be willing to bet a silver dollar somebody upsets!”

“Oh, where is it?” cried Ruth, delighted that all of the water was not to be so monotonous as it seemed to be in the locality of the boathouse. Already she had visions of the rest of the girls upsetting; and after steering her own canoe safely through, she saw herself effecting thrilling rescues. There were even medals in life-saving, she had read in the handbook; it certainly would be worth while to possess one, especially if it were the only one of its kind in Pansy troop.

But the old man smoked silently, refusing to explain his remark.

“And are there any wild animals along the stream?” pursued Ruth.

“Hardly!” replied Michael, turning about and going back to his broken chair beside the boathouse. “Maybe a fox or a deer. But nuthin’ real dangerous.”

Ruth and Marjorie both seemed a trifle disappointed until the latter thought suddenly of snakes, and a shudder passed through her.

“Any snakes?” she asked.

“Oh, mostly black snakes and water snakes. Do you mind ’em?”

“I loathe them!” exclaimed Ruth. “All girls do. But isn’t there anything really dangerous along this creek?” she continued. “Besides that one swift place in the water, I mean.”

“Jest one thing, and that only scares some folks. It’s a quare woman, what lives all alone in a farm-house by herself.”

“Oh, and is she really crazy—stark mad?”

“Some says she’s jest sort o’ idiotic; wouldn’t hurt nobody—but never was all there. They say she had a husband once, but he’s dead now.”

The old man shook his head doubtfully, to betray the fact that he did not know whether the report were true or not. Marjorie, who had become tired of this conversation, begged to borrow a paddle to try a canoe, but upon refusal—“according to me orders,” Michael said—she strolled off in the direction from which she had come, to look for the others. But Ruth continued the topic which was to her highly interesting.

“What kind of house does the woman live in, and what does she look like?”

The old boatman described an ordinary farmhouse, on the edge of the creek, some distance down stream. “You’ll know it,” he added; “it’s opposite to an old mill—the only big mill you’ll see on the trip.”

“But would she really hurt any of us girls?” asked Ruth.

“No—hardly! Probably only scare you a bit.”

Before she could put any more questions they heard a shout in the distance, and Marjorie was greeting the rest of the party. Ethel Todd and Frances Wright, the two oldest girls of the crowd, walked ahead. These girls were seniors now at Miss Allen’s, and as they approached they seemed unconsciously to embody the dignity a member of that class is always expected to display. Marjorie remembered when they had been sophomores—at the time when she had entered the boarding school. It was true that their dresses were no longer now, and their hair was still bobbed; but there was something grown-up about their manner of walking. No one would mistake them for boarding school sophomores.

Miss Phillips, their beloved captain, looking more like a girl than ever in her white linen dress, was walking with Doris Sands and Frieda Hammer. The latter was the troop’s ward, who was to serve as cook on the canoe trip. And last of all came Lily Andrews, Alice Endicott, and Florence Evans.

Marjorie greeted the girls pleasantly and hugged Lily and Frieda. Over three weeks had passed since they had seen each other, and three weeks is a long time for a girl to be separated from her chums.

They all exclaimed admiringly at the graceful green canoes beside the quiet water, and ran forward eagerly to examine them.

“May we get in right away, Captain?” asked Lily, impatient of delay. She had paddled Marjorie’s canoe so often that she knew she could handle one of these.

“No,” replied Miss Phillips, noticing the little twinkle in old Michael’s eyes at the question. “We are going very slowly.”

She bent over and began to right one of the canoes, so that the girls might see the inside. “As you all observe,” she said, “there are five canoes——”

“Aren’t they beauties!” exclaimed Lily, unable to keep silent. “Whoever bought them must be rich——”

“Who was it, Captain?” pleaded Ruth. “Please tell us!”

“No; I dare not. But I will tell you one thing: after the trip is over, the canoes are to be the property of the members of Pansy troop!”

“When we graduate, can we take them with us?” demanded Ruth.

“No; they are to belong to the active members of the troop. But you have two years yet, Ruth. You’re only a Junior.

“Now—to get back to the subject in question. Suppose we all sit down here. The ground’s dry enough, isn’t it, Michael?”

“Dry enough for anybody what hasn’t got the rheumatiz.”

“All right!” laughed Miss Phillips. “Then I guess we’ll take a chance.”

The happy party seated themselves upon the ground which was well covered with pine needles and dry leaves. Here and there they found patches of moss, but it seemed dry enough not to cause them to avoid it. Miss Phillips began all over again.

“As you have guessed,” she said, “we are going down the Silver Creek. I am allowing two weeks for the trip, although it may take us longer. As far as I know there is only one portage.”

“What’s a portage, Captain?” asked Lily.

“Lily Andrews! And you a Latin student. Didn’t you ever hear the word ‘porto’?”

Lily blushed; of course she remembered now. It was one of the first verbs in the grammar: “porto, portare—to carry.”

“There is this one place where the stream is very rapid and filled with dangerous rocks, so we shall have to carry our canoes about a hundred yards,” explained Miss Phillips.

“Frieda knows all about how to do that,” remarked Ruth, significantly.

The girl flushed, and Marjorie gave Ruth a cutting look. Evidently the flags of war were to be hoisted again.

“Is that the dangerous spot Michael was talking about?” she asked, in order to hide Frieda’s embarrassment at Ruth’s reference to her runaway escapade in the stolen canoe.

“I suppose so,” replied Miss Phillips. “It can be done in a canoe, but I prefer the safer way.”

“Oh, Captain, aren’t we to have any adventure at all?” sulked Ruth. “You know, if there isn’t some naturally, we may provide it for ourselves; and then maybe you’d be sorry!”

“There will be plenty of adventure,” said Miss Phillips. “Remember, you all are inexperienced canoeists——”

“Except Marjorie,” put in Ruth.

“No, even including Marjorie; for she has never been on a long trip. And it will all be very new to you. Then, at the end of the trip, we shall reach Silvertown, and spend a week there. On Wednesday of that week there will be a canoe meet—races, righting canoes, etc.; and our benefactor will award a silver cup.”

The girls scarcely took in their captain’s words. Had they really heard her aright—or could there be another place by the same name as Silvertown? Ruth jumped up excitedly.

“Captain, we’re not actually going to Silvertown, the Silvertown? Is it possible?”

“It’s not only possible, but a decided fact. The cottage is all in readiness!”

“But Captain, that’s one of the most fashionable resorts in the country! Why, I’ve heard that it costs hundreds of dollars a day to live there!”

“It does cost a good deal, Ruth,” admitted Miss Phillips, still noncommittal.

“And to get a summer house takes thousands—they’re so in demand, and the place is so small.”

“Very true.”

Ruth stamped her foot impatiently, and even the other girls grew a little exasperated. Miss Phillips seemed really mean to tease them so. “How could we—the humble members of Pansy troop, Girl Scouts—ever dare to hold a canoe-meet on their priceless lake?” asked Ethel Todd.

“Well, we’re going to; that’s all I can say,” replied their captain. “And now, you all understand, I am sure, how much we want to become expert canoeists and bring credit to the troop. So, all during the trip we want to practice as we go along, until the summer guests at Silvertown think we are regular Indians.

“Of course, Girl Scouts will be an entirely new thing to these people; but they are all interested in boating, and horseback riding, and all sorts of athletics; so there is no reason why they should not look favorably upon us. I have heard, too, that they give a great carnival in the interests of charity each year, and it is possible that the winner of the silver cup may receive an invitation to take part in that. But that, of course, is only conjecture!”

“Ye Gods!” breathed Ruth, in awe. “Adopted by that bunch; your social position would be assured for life!”

“Oh, social position!” mimicked Marjorie. “Ruth, you are so droll!”

Ruth looked daggers at Marjorie; the latter had sent her a return blow in answer to her knock of a few minutes before at Frieda. But she was not cowed; it would take more than that to defeat Ruth Henry. Instead, she made a mental note of Marjorie’s irony, and resolved that she would make her pay later.

“The next thing, I think, is the choosing of canoe-mates. You all know that we shall have two persons to each canoe—one in the stern who steers and does the hardest work, and one in the bow who watches for rocks ahead and also paddles.

“Now would you rather draw lots to see which girls go together, or would you rather select your own partners? It is immaterial to me, so long as everyone is satisfied.”

“Oh, let’s draw lots,” said Frances, carelessly.

“I don’t agree with you,” put in Ruth. “We not only travel with the girl, but we occupy the tent with her, don’t we, Captain?”

“Yes, except that I will have a tent of my own, and Frieda, who as cook will have more equipment than the rest of you, will sleep by herself. And Frieda and I will travel in the same canoe, but the rest of you girls—the eight of you—will have four canoes and four tents.”

“Then let us choose our own canoe-mates!” pleaded Ruth.

“But who would have first choice?” questioned Marjorie.

“Draw lots!”

“All right—as you wish,” agreed Miss Phillips, producing a tiny note-book from which she tore out several pages. On separate slips she placed numbers from one to eight, requesting the girls to draw at random. With her usual good luck, Ruth Henry drew number one; while Marjorie Wilkinson discovered that her paper read “eight.”

“I want Lily Andrews!” announced Ruth, triumphantly, to the consternation of the girl mentioned.

“Are you satisfied, Lily?” asked the captain.

Lily hesitated a moment, and glanced shyly at Marjorie. But her chum smiled back at her frankly, and Lily knew that she did not mind.

“Perfectly,” replied Lily.

Frances Wright, who held number two, chose Ethel Todd; and Doris Sands selected Marjorie. This meant, of course, that the two freshmen, or rather sophomores, as they now were—Alice Endicott and Florence Evans, should be together.

“You can decide among yourselves which is to be stern man,” concluded the captain; “or you may even alternate, if you wish. Now suppose we man our canoes, just as we have decided to travel, and practice a little bit.”

A trifle stiff from sitting on the ground, the girls jumped up eagerly, glad of the opportunity for action. Miss Phillips obtained the paddles from Michael, and the girls began to turn the canoes right-side up. “Why, they haven’t any names!” exclaimed Marjorie, in surprise.

“No,” replied Miss Phillips; “I forgot to tell you that you are to name them yourselves, and if you will write and tell me your decisions, I will have them painted on the edges before we start on our trip.”

Alice clapped her hands joyfully. It would seem so much more like their own canoes if they chose the names, she thought. And all of the others immediately expressed their approval of the plan.

“And now for the paddling,” said Miss Phillips, after the girls had pushed their canoes from the shore, and were drifting along rather aimlessly. “Put your shoulders and body into it—then your arms won’t get tired. And, above all, don’t reach far ahead into the water, or dip too deep. For those are the signs of a novice.

“Both girls watch cautiously for rocks, and rapids, and tree-trunks; but always let the girl in the stern do the steering. Remember—she is the boss, the captain of the boat, as it were. Finally, don’t paddle in deep, fierce water—keep away from it. And be sure to keep out of eddies. Now suppose we all paddle down stream for half a mile or so and I will watch your motions and give you directions. Of course we cannot become experienced canoeists all at once.”

The canoes shot ahead, following the direction indicated by the captain. After a short distance the stream became narrower and swifter. Tall banks on either side, covered with trees whose trunks bent toward the water, almost obscured the sun and the sky from view. The girls were enchanted with the beauty of the scene and the joy of the new experience. For some minutes they were too deeply impressed to speak. And although Miss Phillips noticed some very awkward strokes, she had too much tact to spoil the spell of the scene by criticism. That could very well wait.

It was Ruth who first broke the silence. She steered her canoe up to the side of Marjorie’s, which had up to this time taken the lead.

“I’ll race you, Marj!” she challenged.

“No, no!” protested Miss Phillips. “Not now. Later we shall have some races—but with only one girl in a canoe.”

“I wish we were starting to-day,” said Marjorie; “it’s dreadfully hard to wait.”

“But it won’t be long,” reassured Miss Phillips. “And there is a lot to do. Why, I haven’t even bought the tents yet!”

“What kind are you going to get, Captain?” asked Marjorie, who had always enjoyed reading the sporting catalogues which her brother Jack left around the house. “Shelter-halves?”

“I don’t know; they’re the easiest to put up and really afford perfect protection. I believe that the men in the army use them for their short overnight hikes.”

“And the food?” questioned Ruth. “Shall we have to take loads and loads?”

“No, because I think we can buy things along the way. But of course we need a good deal.”

The girls now had their first lesson in turning their canoes about, for the captain decided it was time to go back. As usual, Marjorie accomplished this act with the most grace, and the others exclaimed admiringly at her prowess.

The scouts found it a different matter indeed to paddle up stream, and more than one of them admitted that they were thankful that they were not coming home that way. All but Marjorie felt tired when they handed the canoes over to Michael’s keeping at the little boathouse.

“And now one thing more,” said Miss Phillips, as they reascended the bank to the edge of the woods. “I have a little present for each of you, which you must take good care of. It’s a map of the country through which our stream runs, and where we shall travel. Study it, show it to your families, and bring it with you next Monday when we start off.”

“Next Monday!” echoed Marjorie, as she and Ruth left the others at the fork in the road. “I wonder if it will ever come!”