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?” “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?” asked 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 her 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 the 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 needn’t hope to get away till your parents come back.”

Marjorie’s eyes flashed in anger. “You’re wicked, cruel people!” she cried; “and when my father hears about it, he’ll have you put in prison! So there!”

“But he can’t!” objected Mrs. Higgins. “We’re only tryin’ to help the police catch a runaway gal. That’s obeyin’ the law, ain’t it—not breakin’ it!”

Marjorie was silent, and the woman opened the door and went out. The girls turned to their breakfast.

“I wish I were dead!” exclaimed Marjorie. “I won’t eat her old food!” Then suddenly, with a flash of inspiration, “Frieda, let’s go on a hunger strike—like the woman suffragists did! They wouldn’t dare let us die.”

“But in the meantime the meet would be over,” objected Frieda, proceeding to the table, and pouring cream over her peaches. “No, Marjorie, that won’t do. But we’ll think of a better plan. Come, eat your peaches.”

Her companion, however, did not stir from the bed. Frieda carried her own peaches over to the window and sat upon the broad sill to eat them. Gazing idly out, she noticed a slender lattice which led up to the window, and an arbor underneath. That was the solution of their problem! Her eyes lighted up with the discovery.

“Marj!” she whispered, excitedly. “There’s a lattice and an arbor just outside our window! We can easily escape!” The other girl was out of bed in an instant, looking eagerly out of the window. Frieda was right; the structure, frail though it was, looked sufficiently strong to support their slender weight.

“Let’s do it right away, Frieda!” proposed Marjorie. “Oh, you are a trump!” She seized her companion, and hugged her in ecstasy.

“Sh!” cautioned the other. “No, I’d love to go right away, but I really think we better wait till dark. Won’t it be wonderful to give the old man the slip?”

“Perfect!” agreed Marjorie. “Gracious, Frieda, it just seems as if I couldn’t wait!”

“Well, you must! And let’s stuff all the food we can, for most likely there isn’t any left in our canoes, and we have no money. Are you good for a two-day fast?”

“I’m good for anything, if we only get away! And, believe me, I’ll stuff!”

The girls dressed, and spent the morning wandering about the house and looking at some old books and magazines, the latter of which had evidently been current during Mrs. Higgins’s youth. They asked continually for news of her husband, but always received a negative reply. They managed to look annoyed and to preserve, in the presence of their captor, the same sullen attitude which they had assumed at the beginning.

At noon they ate a particularly hearty meal, and then retired to their room to take a nap. For they felt that the chances were that they would get little sleep that night. It was while they were lying down, and just beginning to doze off, that Miss Phillips and Ethel came in search of them and held the conversation with Mrs. Higgins through the window. But they were utterly unconscious of the whole proceeding.

They awakened a little before six, just in time to get ready for supper. Again they ate heartily and inquired with concern for the old man.

“You needn’t expect to see ’im before Monday or Tuesday, or whenever your pap comes home,” Mrs. Higgins repeated; “for I know he’ll stick to the end. They’s a nice hotel at Besley, and he has cronies there; in fact, he often goes off fer several days at a time!”

“And leaves you all alone?” demanded Marjorie indignantly. “Men are beasts, aren’t they?” she added.

“Some is,” sighed Mrs. Higgins; “the fact is, I’m quite o’ that mind meself about the old man!”

The girls went to their rooms after supper, announcing their intention of going to bed early. Mrs. Higgins, too, decided to turn in as soon as the dishes were done. Marjorie was just on the point of offering to help when she reconsidered her idea, and decided it would be wisest to let things stay as they were. Marjorie and Frieda watched the sunset and the deepening twilight from their window, and kept a sharp look out for Mr. Higgins. When it was finally quite dark, and they had heard the stairs creak as Mrs. Higgins went to bed, and all was still in the house, they cut the netting of the window with Frieda’s scout knife, and prepared to descend. Frieda went first.

With the end of the bed sheet tied around her waist, she put one foot upon the lattice. Then, finding that it supported her weight, she descended cautiously step by step. Fortunately for her, and for her companion as well, both girls wore sneakers. It was a more difficult matter for Marjorie to follow, for she had no sheet to protect her. But knowing that Frieda, who was heavier, had arrived safely, she made the descent boldly. In a moment they were on the ground together.

Free at last!

They stopped to untie the sheet and hide it behind a bush, and then hurried noiselessly on. Their sneakers allowed them to advance rapidly, and in absolute silence. In a short time they reached the water’s edge. But here they encountered difficulty: the canoe was gone!

“Of course,” whispered Marjorie, “we might have known the miserable wretch would think of that. Never mind, we’ll beat him all the same! Let’s swim across! I know there’s a path on the opposite shore and we’ll be less likely to be caught!”

Fortunately, the night was warm, and the girls felt no shock as they plunged into the dark water. They were both exceptionally good swimmers; otherwise the weight of their clothes might have seriously retarded their progress.

“I’ve never been in swimming at night before,” remarked Marjorie, as she made her way rapidly through the water.

“Oh, I have, heaps of times,” said Frieda.

“Do you ’spose we’ll take cold?” asked the other, a minute later.

“Not if we walk fast. And let’s—I’m not a bit tired, are you?”

“I should hope not, after this afternoon’s sleep. Let’s hurry, and not lose a minute!”

They found that the path was plainly visible in the moonlight; and they walked as fast as they could, glancing nervously over their shoulders now and again, as if in fear of pursuit.