More than a week had gone by since the girls had left their homes; by this time they were quite accustomed to the peaceful routine of the trip. Indeed it seemed to Marjorie as if they had been gone much longer.

During all this time they had not visited a town, and they slept under a roof only one night. But they did not mind the separation from civilization for a temporary period; it entailed no hardship to these nature-loving girls. Perhaps their greatest regret was that it was not possible for them to receive any mail.

By Wednesday afternoon, however, Miss Phillips expected to reach Rikers. There it was possible that some of the girls might find letters awaiting them at the Post Office.

“Now we’ll find out who are our really popular girls!” said Ruth, when they were near enough to the town to distinguish a church spire in the distance. She was confident that she would find at least two letters—one from her mother and one from Harold—so she knew that she was safe in making the remark.

“I won’t get any,” observed Marjorie. “I forgot to tell mother we expected to stop there. How about you, Doris?”

“I don’t know,” replied the girl, carelessly. “But I do know that we’ve got some water in our canoe. Do you see that, Marj?”

Marjorie turned sharply around—she had been “resting up” in the bow—and looked at the bottom of the canoe. Doris was right; there was about an inch of water.

“Water?” echoed Ruth, who had overheard the remark. “Don’t you know it’s a sign of a very poor boatsman to splash water into the boat?”

“Maybe it is,” admitted Marjorie; “nevertheless, it’s there. And I do believe it’s getting deeper. Look!”

Miss Phillips paddled close at these words and peered anxiously into the Will-o’-the-Wisp.

“It’s a leak!” she decided. “Evidently you have grazed a jagged rock or a tree-stump.”

“Can it be fixed?” asked Doris, hastily making for the shore.

“Oh, yes, quite easily,” replied the captain. “But since we are so near to Rikers, we might as well have it repaired there, for a real repair man would have more tools than we carry.”

Marjorie and Doris directed the Will-o’-the-Wisp to the shore and got out while the others went a short distance farther down toward the regular place. Miss Phillips opened a box and took out five padlocks with chains.

“We will put these on here,” she said. “If I only had used the precaution to do this on the island, we wouldn’t have had all that needless worry and loss of time.”

“But it was exciting, you know,” argued Ruth. “Besides I can’t see why you are in such an awful hurry, Captain. The meet is still a week off!”

“Yes, I know it is; nevertheless, it is too good an opportunity for pleasure for us to miss a day at Silvertown. I should think you would be one of the first to realize that, Ruth.”

Ruth said nothing; she did realize what a wonderful thing it would be to spend ten days at Silvertown. And yet she wanted to delay the canoe trip, for she knew to her dismay, that she was not making the progress she had hoped for. At a little trial race which they had arranged the preceding day, Marjorie had come in far ahead. Ruth was next, and Frieda close behind her; but none of the other girls gave her any cause for worry. She knew that she had endurance, and her ability to rescue a capsized canoe was really commendable. She even felt that putting forth a mighty effort, she might possibly be able to beat Marjorie, but it was very doubtful. And she knew that a mere presence of a leak in her canoe would not keep her opponent out of the race; for Marjorie could handle one canoe as well as another. At last, therefore, she made her decision: as a final resort, she would summon Harold Mason to her assistance. She would put the plan they had conceived of together to a test!

As soon as Miss Phillips had locked the boats, and the girls had packed up the supplies which they did not care to leave in them, they all started for the town. It proved to be a surprisingly short walk; within a few minutes they had reached the main street, and were gazing into the windows of the shops as if they had not seen a store for months.

“I think we shall put up at a little inn called the Green Tree.” said Miss Phillips. “I have heard it is very nice, and the rest will do you girls good. Particularly Frieda—” she added—“she needs a rest from cooking.”

“But let’s go to the Post Office first!” pleaded Ruth. “I could never rest until I find out whether there is any mail.”

“Well, then, Ruth, suppose you and Lily go for the mail—you will have to inquire where the Post Office is—while the rest of us go to the inn. Do you see that green and white house on the next street—on the corner? Well, that’s it.”

“We won’t get lost!” cried Ruth, joyfully seizing Lily’s hand. “See you again in five minutes!” she added.

As the weary girls approached the inn they found its aspect most inviting. Evidently the structure itself was very old; the low, rambling, white building reminded them of the Revolutionary period. A wide lawn extended in front of the house, and to the left of the walk was an immense shade tree.

“It isn’t hard to know where the inn got its name, is it?” said Miss Phillips, nodding in the direction of the big maple; “and isn’t it a beautiful tree!”

“If the ‘inn’ proves to be as nice as the outside,” said Ethel, attempting a pun, “I’ll be satisfied.”

The interior disclosed a central hall, with a reception room on either side. One of these was attractively furnished as a parlor; the other was obviously the office. Into the door of the latter Miss Phillips therefore entered.

“Five nice rooms on the second floor!” announced the clerk, in answer to Miss Phillips’s request. “I think you ought ter like ’em, too!”

“Is the house very old?” asked Marjorie, as they ascended the broad curved staircase.

“Yes, very. George Washington stayed here one night, on his way to Philadelphia.”

“Of course he did,” laughed Doris. “But say—is it haunted?”

“I reckon!” answered the man.

A moment later he flung open two or three doors and disclosed the bedrooms. There the girls beheld four-poster beds, Colonial rag rugs, and snowy curtains at the windows.

“It’s lovely!” exclaimed Miss Phillips. “We certainly ought to have a real rest. Now—” she waited for the clerk to depart—“has anybody any preference as to rooms? Select whichever you like.”

“All right,” agreed Frances; “but let’s all stay together for a minute—till Ruth and Lily come back with the mail.”

“A real bed!” exclaimed Marjorie, removing her shoes and throwing herself upon it. “It does seem like luxury now, doesn’t it?” she remarked.

“And such a lot of space to dress in!” added Doris.

“And hot water for a bath!” put in Ethel.

The girls were indeed tremendously elated over the prospect of hot baths, leisurely dressing, and a dinner which they did not need prepare or clear away. For fifteen minutes they lay on the beds, chatting happily, and resting. So absorbed were they in their conversation, that they did not notice their captain’s absence until she returned.

“I have phoned about your canoe, Marjorie,” she said, upon entering. “A very nice sounding voice told me that it could be fixed by tomorrow morning. I sent the key up by the servant.”

Marjorie jumped up guiltily at the words of her officer. “Oh, Miss Phillips, I’m sorry,” she apologized; “I ought to have done it myself. But——”

“Never mind,” laughed the captain. “It wasn’t really any trouble. And I’m glad it’s arranged. Now all you have to do is to enjoy yourselves.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of Ruth and Lily. Their hands were filled with letters, and their eyes sparkled with pleasure.

“Did I get any?” cried Alice, jumping up at their entrance and rushing towards them.

“Everybody got some,” answered Ruth. “Even Marj, who pretended nobody knew her address!”

“I can’t imagine who—” she began, as Lily tossed the letter into her hands. Then, upon recognizing John Hadley’s handwriting, she became silent. But how he had found out the address was a mystery to her, and she was too shy to ask questions and run the risk of being teased.

“You got lots of mail, didn’t you, Miss Phillips?” observed Ruth.

The captain looked up smiling. “Yes, I received a lovely letter from the people who are responsible for this trip,” she replied.

“People!” echoed Lily. “I thought it was a man!”

“It is—but he happens to have a wife. It is she who wrote to me.”

“Curses!” cried Ruth, melodramatically. “And here I’ve been setting my cap for our rich friend—thinking all the time that he surely was a bachelor.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll get left then,” laughed Miss Phillips. “For he has a daughter about your age.”

“A daughter!” repeated Marjorie. “Do we know her?”

“Y-e-s,—I believe you have all met her.”

“Is she a Girl Scout?”

“I believe she is.”

Lily and Marjorie both grew tremendously excited. “A member of Pansy troop?” asked the latter.

“That would be telling!” This last was uttered mysteriously; and the girls knew from their captain’s manner that she would give them no further information.

When the scouts appeared in the dining room, all in uniform, they created quite a sensation among the other guests at the inn. The people looked up pleasantly as they passed, and one woman even came over to the captain to request a demonstration of scouting at the local church, an invitation which Miss Phillips was forced to decline on account of lack of time.

All this while Ruth was scheming how to get away from the others to send her telegram to Harold. She regretted now that she had not seized the opportunity when she was with Lily; it would have been easier than after supper with all the others around.

The girls sat on the porch until nearly dusk, when Miss Phillips suggested that they go to the movies.

“At least, if they have a theatre,” added the captain. “Alice, will you run and ask the clerk?”

In a moment the girl returned with an affirmative answer, and the whole crowd started off in the direction indicated by the clerk. The absence of trolley cars, the lack of congested traffic of any kind, made the town seem almost as quiet to the girls as the woods where they usually spent their evenings. After walking along for some minutes in silence, Lily Andrews first spoke. She stopped suddenly, right in the middle of the block, overcome by a serious thought.

“Captain Phillips!” she exclaimed abruptly, “how can we ever stay at Silvertown for ten days with nothing but our uniforms, a clean middy, and a change of underclothing?”

She uttered the last word so loudly that Miss Phillips had to caution her that it might prove embarrassing if a passer-by should hear her.

“I wondered that no one asked that question before,” she replied. “But I will put your minds at rest. Each girl will find a suit-case filled with her prettiest dresses and daintiest lingerie already there. I arranged with your mothers to pack them.”

“How wonderful!” cried Marjorie, seizing her captain’s arm ecstatically. “You always think of everything, don’t you, Miss Phillips!” Inside the small picture-palace, they found that they could hardly refrain from laughing and talking. But they made a great effort to be quiet until they were out on the street again.

“How about ice-cream?” suggested Lily. “I’ll treat the crowd.”

“Fine!” agreed the girls.

Ruth, however, excused herself. “I want to stop over at the Post Office and send mother a telegram,” she said, “just to let her know I’m all right.”

“But wouldn’t a picture post-card be better?” asked Marjorie. “We can get them at the drug store, and a telegram might scare her.”

“No, she expects a telegram,” replied Ruth firmly.

The girl was truthful in one respect; she did send a telegram. However, it was not addressed to her mother, but to Harold Mason, and it contained only the word “NOW,” and was signed, “R. H.”

“And now,” she chuckled, as she traced her way back to the inn—“and now the real excitement begins!”