Ruth Henry was hardly inside of her house a minute before she stepped to the telephone and gave a number from memory.

“Hello! Is that you, Harold?... Well, can you come over to our house this evening? I want to show you the map of our canoe trip.”

The answer was evidently pleasing to the girl, for she smiled in satisfaction as she hung up the receiver. Then she sat perfectly still, frowning slightly, as if she were attempting the solution of some problem that was troubling her. Her mother interrupted her thoughts by abruptly coming into the room.

“Why so quiet, Ruth?” she asked. For Ruth Henry, although an only child, managed to keep the household ringing with laughter and merriment most of the time.

“Nothing; I was thinking about our canoe trip.”

“Are you sure there isn’t going to be any danger?” she pursued, rather anxiously. Since time immemorial mothers have feared water sports for their children. “No; I wish there were more. I’m almost afraid it will be too tame—in fact, I may have to manufacture some excitement!”

“Ruth, don’t be silly and rock the canoes, or——”

Ruth laughed scornfully. “Nothing so ridiculous as that, mother,” she replied. “Remember, we aren’t children; high school girls don’t do foolish things to be smart. But I mean some real fun—nothing dangerous, you understand. Harold’s coming over to-night to hear all about the trip. And by the way——” she stood up and took her hat from the chair where she had carelessly thrown it in her haste to reach the telephone—“by the way, Miss Phillips says we will end up at Silvertown and actually spend a week there in a rented house!”

Mrs. Henry dropped the duster she was holding, in amazement at this announcement. Like Ruth, she had always had social aspirations; money and position meant a great deal to her. They discussed the proposition joyfully for several minutes, Ruth not neglecting to state that she had secured as her tentmate the richest girl of the troop, who had also been president of their class the preceding year. Mrs. Henry beamed, and heaved a sigh of satisfaction; her daughter was a girl after her own heart.

Moreover, Ruth’s friendship with Harold Mason, the charming young college freshman who lived next door, was not unpleasing to her. The boy came of a good Southern family of some means, owned his own car, and seemed perfectly infatuated with Ruth. It was possible, of course, that Ruth might do better in marriage, but she could easily do worse; and while she was so young Mrs. Henry felt satisfied to have her so popular.

The young man did not wait that evening until formal calling hours. As soon as Ruth appeared on the porch, he, knowing that supper was over, ran across his lawn, vaulted the fence, and ran up the steps. The girl smiled at his approach, but she did not get up. They were on such familiar terms, and, Ruth always figured, it is never well to let a man see how much you really do like him.

He lounged into a big porch chair, settling himself sideways and swinging one leg over the arm.

“What’s new?” he asked.

Ruth unfolded her map, and handed it to him.

“This,” she said; “and of course we tried out our canoes. They’re perfect beauties!”

“I’ll bet they are,” returned the young man, fixing his gaze upon the map. “Let’s see—what’s this?”

“Well, here’s the place where we start from,” began Ruth, pointing to a circle at the top of the map; “it’s down near the boathouse on the Silver Creek—you know, don’t you, where Michael keeps the boats?”

Harold nodded vaguely; he was not very familiar with this section of the country.

“Then you see the stream gets narrower, and we go along to this cross—Miss Phillips thinks we’ll camp there our first night.

“And see, here’s where we make a portage—and here, and here, and here”—she pointed quickly from one cross to another—“is where we camp again.”

“Do you make any stops?” asked the boy, still keeping his eyes fixed on the map.

“Yes; this circle is Besley, where we expect to load up on more supplies if necessary.”

“And how long do you expect to be gone?”

“We reach Silvertown Saturday night a week, and then we’ll spend a week there and come home by train.”

“Silvertown!” he repeated in wonder. “And you mean to say you end up at Silvertown! Holy smokes! You’re the sports!”

“I’ll say we are!” agreed Ruth. “But listen, Harold—” her tone became serious now—“we’re going to have canoe races, and all sorts of things there, and—and——”

“Great! By Jove!”

“Yes—but for one thing: Marj Wilkinson is the most expert canoeist we have. She’ll win everything!”

“The deuce she will!” cried Harold, bringing his foot down to the floor with a bang. “It’s absurd, Ruth, for a girl like you to let an ordinary, wishy-washy, bum-sport of a Scout like her beat you to everything. It’s just her dumb luck that does it, that’s all. Why, she hasn’t any more spirit than a snail!”

Ruth smiled at Jack’s enthusiasm. She knew that she had him just where she wanted him. He would go to almost any length to do something to please her.

“Can’t you work hard on the way up, and beat her?” he suggested.

“I might, but I’m doubtful. I really think it’s a practice, Harold. And then, I’ve got to admit it, Marj is better at most sports than I am.”

“I don’t believe it! It’s just that she’s a diplomat—getting in right with the gym teacher—and all that. It makes me sick!”

“Well, I’ll do the best I can,” observed Ruth; “for I’d rather have that silver cup, and the distinction that it would carry with it, to have won a meet at Silvertown, than anything else I know of. Why, all the other prizes we’ve worked for so far seem like mere child’s play compared to this one! And besides, I think it would mean a good deal to mother,” she added, as an afterthought.

Harold was silent for a few minutes, lost in thought. He looked across the porch to the lawn, where only the very brightest colored flowers were still apparent in the deepening twilight. Ruth watched his regular profile, noting the beauty of it, and a feeling of pride swelled within her at the thought of the young man’s staunch allegiance to her cause. She was fond of Harold, and she meant to use him whenever she could; nevertheless, she realized even now that if she met some wealthy young man at Silvertown, she would never give her neighbor another thought. For it had always been Ruth Henry’s habit to dispose of old friends as one might of old clothing—when they seemed worn out, and new ones are desirable.

Harold turned his head slowly towards her.

“I think I have a plan!” he announced.

“What?”

And then with their heads close together, still trying, through the growing darkness, to distinguish the points on the map, he outlined his idea. Ruth squeezed his hand ecstatically; she was very happy.

“Just the thing!” she cried. “And the place must be the house opposite this old mill—” she pointed to a cross on the map which was intended to indicate the latter—“because old Michael says that a half-crazy woman lives there all alone!”

Harold hesitated at these words; he was afraid to go too far.

“Have most of the scouts—and Marjorie in particular—pretty good nerves?” he inquired.

“Yes, indeed! All but Doris Sands. But I’ll see that she doesn’t become involved. Promise me, Harold, that you’ll never tell a soul!”

“Never!” he promised; and they continued to discuss the plan a little longer. At ten o’clock he put Ruth’s map into his pocket to take home and copy, and rose to go. Ruth put her hands on his arm, and looked straight into his eyes.

“It’s wonderful of you to do this for me!” she exclaimed.

“I’d do more than this, if I could, Ruth.”

“Is there any danger of—punishment, imprisonment, or something like that, I mean?” she asked. “For I wouldn’t want you to run any risk——”

“Nonsense!” replied Harold. “They’ll never find us out! Besides, it’s only a prank—if we do put it through.”

Ruth dropped her hands to her sides, relieved and satisfied.

“I’ll telegraph the word NOW,” she concluded, as she started down the steps; “if I want you to do it. And I’ll just sign my initials—R. H.!”