John Hadley and Jack Wilkinson left on Tuesday morning long before the girls were up. They decided first of all to go back to the farm house and ask about the path beside the creek, and then to go over it, every inch of the way, on foot. And then if they still found no traces, they meant to get a detective.

For the situation was now thoroughly alarming. The girls had probably been kidnapped, and hidden somewheres by the old man who was seeking the reward. Perhaps they were even suffering some sort of torture!

The boys reached the farm house about seven thirty. Jack stayed in the machine, driving it very slowly, while John ran on ahead. In a minute he joined his companion; unfortunately Mrs. Higgins still had no news of the girls or of the stranger.

“She says there’s a road—not far from the footpath,” said John, “so you drive on, and I’ll walk. I hardly think this is going to help us any, but we may as well follow it out as quickly as possible and then go to Besley again for a detective.” They proceeded thus for about four miles, progressing very carefully, and watching for canoes, and girls and empty barns and houses where they might be hidden. They were quite near to the very house where the girls were imprisoned when they encountered a Boy Scout. He ran out from the path, and placed himself in front of the machine, all the while waving his hands frantically.

“Stop! Stop!” he cried; and just as Jack brought the car to a stand-still, John scampered over from the wood-path, to hear what the commotion was about.

“I see you’re a Scout!” said John, saluting, and extending his hand for a hand-shake. “What can we do to help you?”

“It’s a girl—in trouble!” he explained. “She’s held prisoner up in a farm-house beside the creek. In fact, there are two girls. I——”

Jack was out of the machine in a flash. Wildly, he grasped the boy’s arm.

“It’s my sister!” he cried. “Tell us, quick!”

“Well, I don’t know why she’s held there, but she sent me a semaphore message to get help. She must be a Girl Scout to know the code, I mean.”

“Did she have light hair and brown eyes?” questioned John, almost shouting his words in his excitement.

“Search me!” replied the other. “Her hair is light—she’s pretty, too. But I don’t know about the color of her eyes!”

“It must be Marj!” said Jack. “Oh, I know it is! Oh, don’t let’s waste a minute!”

“Come on in the machine!” cried John. “Can we drive right up to the door,——?”

“Bob Felton’s my name,” replied the other. “Yes, we can drive right up to the porch. But I wish we had a pistol! Maybe the people are crazy!”

Jack patted his pocket significantly. “We’ve each got a gun,” he said.

“By Jimmy, if I get my hands on that fellow, I’ll choke him till his eyes fall out,” raged John, furious with anger.

Jack drove his machine as fast as he dared over the uneven road for about half a mile; then, directed by Bob Felton, he turned down a narrow path which led to the creek.

“That’s the place!” cried Bob suddenly. “See it?”

“That hole? Why, it’s not fit for a dog!”

“Hadn’t we better stop the machine here under cover, and sneak up on them?” suggested Bob.

“Nix!” replied John. “We drive right up to the house; we’re going to claim them—not steal ’em back again. I guess they’ve already heard our engine, anyway.”

Boldly, Jack drove directly to the front of the house, or rather, until a rickety fence barred further progress, and suddenly applied the brakes. A dirty, mongrel hound came racing out from the back, barking furiously. But the boys never hesitated. Before the machine had come to a halt, John was out of it; and not waiting to pass through the gate, he vaulted the fence with a bound and strode across the intervening space of yard to the door, keeping his hand on the revolver in his side pocket. Nor were the other two boys far behind him. Unmindful of the mangy cur which noisily threatened an assault upon their legs from the rear, they were at John’s heels when he sprang up the steps of the porch.

The widow Brown, having heard them approach and thinking all the while that it was the old man who had returned, appeared suddenly in the doorway just as John had raised his clenched hand to pound upon the door.

John was somewhat taken aback upon being thus unexpectedly confronted by a woman when he had expected to see a man, and with his fist arrested in mid-air, he blurted out,

“Where—where—we want the two girls who are prisoners here! Where are they?”

The woman shrank back in consternation before the look of righteous wrath on the face of the young man who, with upraised hand, appeared about to strike her. She trembled violently, and wondered whether she should call to her brother, who was out in the stable and had evidently not heard the quiet motor of the big machine when it approached. But, knowing her guilt, her terror at the determined attitude of the three boys prevented her from uttering a sound, and before she could even stammer a reply to John’s question, Marjorie and Lily, having heard his stern voice demanding them, came bounding down the stairs.

“Why—why—sir—oh, do have mercy!” begged Mrs. Brown, sinking in a heap at the boys’ feet. But the girls, hardly noticing her, stepped over her, and rushed toward the boys.

“Thank Heaven!” cried Marjorie, flinging her arms around her brother’s neck, and laughing and crying at the same time. Frieda, in her turn, grasped the hand of the unknown scout, and squeezed it gratefully.

“Let’s get away at once!” begged Marjorie. “I can’t stand it here another minute!”

“Suppose you all wait a minnit!” called a voice behind them.

Turning quickly, they beheld the man of the place standing beside the machine, the sharp points of his pitchfork resting against a tire, as if he were about to damage it.

“Get away from that machine, you contemptible skunk!” shouted John, advancing towards him.

The man raised his pitchfork threateningly.

“Throw down that fork, or I’ll let daylight into you!” cried John, whipping out his revolver.

At the sight of the weapon, the man became instantly cowed; he tossed the fork hastily away from him.

“Now come over here and explain yourself,” ordered the boy.

“I ain’t done nuthin’,” whined the other, entering nevertheless through a break in the fence.

“Ain’t done nuthin’!” mimicked John. “You’ve kidnapped two innocent girls, a crime that’s punishable by a long term of imprisonment. Don’t you call that something? What’s the big idea, anyhow?”

The man cringed at these words, displaying even less courage than his sister had; but seeing that John was replacing his revolver in his pocket, he took heart again.

“No, I didn’t, neither!” he replied; and he proceeded to relate the whole story, all the while proclaiming that he was innocent.

“But who is this old man?” demanded Jack. “Surely you know him!”

“I never saw him before in my life!” declared the man.

“Nor I!” chimed in his sister.

“Is there an insane asylum anywheres around?” asked Jack.

“No nearer than twenty-five miles,” answered Mrs. Brown.

“Well, let this be a lesson to you. You deserve to be punished; but since we are going away quickly, we’ll let the matter drop. But it was a mean, contemptible trick!” concluded Jack.

The young people quickly got into the machine and drove off. Completely exhausted after their severe mental strain, the girls could not even relax; they alternately laughed and cried all the way home.

Though the boys were tremendously happy over their success, John was a trifle disappointed at Marjorie’s almost total disregard of him. She was dazed, but so thankful that her brother was with her; indeed she seemed to lean entirely upon him. Frieda, on the other hand, gave all the credit to Bob Felton, who was, in her mind, their real deliverer. She had not been so distressed over the affair as Marjorie, and she was calmer now.

In less than half an hour they drove into the grounds. The greater part of the party were bathing, but the older people were sitting on the porch.

With a cry of joy, Marjorie jumped out of the machine and embraced Miss Phillips; in the presence of her captain the girl seemed to gain something of her old self-control. It was then that Marjorie finally realised that Mr. and Mrs. Andrews were responsible for the whole trip, and that the palatial house was to be theirs.

“Oh, I’m so glad we’re going to have the whole week,” she said. “Thanks to our new friend and deliverer—Robert Felton!”

“Yes, and you’re in time for the meet tomorrow,” added Mrs. Andrews. “And we shall be glad to have you stay,” she turned toward the boy, hospitably—“are you far from home?”

“Not very,” replied Bob. “We live at Besley.”

“Then you can join our party?”

“Oh, do!” pleaded Frieda, for already she felt as if he were an old friend.

“There’s a canoe meet on hand for tomorrow,” put in Mr. Andrews. “And tennis matches for Thursday and Friday. The boys are to take part in them, too,—they’re to be mixed doubles.”

The boy’s eyes shone with anticipation; the program was decidedly to his liking.

“I’d love to stay,” he said, enthusiastically. “May I go call mother on the telephone? I’ll need some clothes——”

The mention of his mother brought Marjorie back to her own situation.

“Thank goodness my mother didn’t know what happened to us!” she said, fervently. “If she had, it would have worried her to death.”

“By Jupiter, I’m going to phone dad tonight, though!” announced Jack, “so that he can get on that old nut’s trail. I’ll never rest till the mystery’s solved!”

“No, for the man may go right on persecuting other girls,” remarked Mr. Andrews.

The sound of gay voices from the driveway interrupted the conversation. “Wait till they see you!” chuckled Jack. “Won’t they get the surprise of their lives!”

“The most joyful one, too,” added Mrs. Andrews. “At least, it will be for Lily.”

The party now emerged from the trees which had hidden them from view of the porch. Alice Endicott was the first to become aware of their presence.

“They’re found!” she shrieked, darting forward. “Oh, look, people,—Marj and Frieda!”

Instantly they all began to run towards the porch. Lily was the first to throw her arms around Marjorie. Kisses, embraces, questions, and explanations followed in such rapid succession that Mrs. Andrews had to call for order amidst the wild confusion.

“Have mercy on the poor girls!” she entreated. “Remember Marjorie and Frieda have been under a terrible strain.”

In the interval that followed, Marjorie had an opportunity to study Ruth’s face. The girl was vainly striving for control; she was attempting with that artificial smile of hers to cover the feeling in her heart. But Marjorie knew her well enough to read her like a book.

“Ruth’s disappointed,” she thought to herself; “of course she didn’t want Frieda or me to compete tomorrow.”

She was surprised to find Harold Mason most cordial, for she knew he had never liked her. He even went out of his way to come over to the couch hammock where she was seated, and start a conversation with her, asking her all about her experiences. But she longed to forget all about it; so, at the first opportunity, she changed the subject.

“By the way, you aren’t a scout, are you?” she asked him, as they watched Bob Felton reappear from the house.

“Hardly!” he replied, loftily. “I’m a college man!”

“Yes, I know,” said Marjorie; “but so is John, yet he still considers himself a scout, don’t you, John?”

“Indeed I do!” answered the young man, glad to be noticed again by Marjorie. “Once a scout, always a scout, even though you are too old to be an active member.”

“I’m not one of the party,” explained Harold. “I just dropped in as I passed by, to see Ruth. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Marjorie glanced at Ruth for the reason for this assertion, for she knew that the hospitable host and hostess would be glad to include him in their party, had Ruth desired it. She saw however that the latter was deeply engrossed in Griffith Hunter, a wealthy young regular at Silvertown, and evidently had no eyes for Harold.

Marjorie and Frieda and some of the others went to their rooms while Ruth took the former’s place on the couch hammock, conveying with her eyes an invitation for Griffith to join her. But instead he lighted a cigarette, and leaned against the porch rail.

Griffith Hunter was a typical youth of the topmost round of society. Though conventional and reserved, he possessed at the same time a certain naive charm that made him attractive for his own sake, aside from his position and wealth. A freshman at Harvard, a member of the inner circle of society, a resident of Silvertown, he seemed to Ruth to be everything desirable in a young man.

“If I could only get him to ask me to be his partner in the mixed-doubles,” she thought, “that would make up for losing my other scheme.”

With this end in view she therefore started to talk about tennis. But the young man listened only half-heartedly; his thoughts seemed to have flown in a different direction.

“A remarkably pretty girl!” he observed, as Marjorie’s name was mentioned by someone near him.

Every nerve in Ruth’s body called out in protestation against his remark, but, hiding her jealousy, she replied sweetly,

“Yes, isn’t she? Marj is my best friend—we come from the same town.”

“I’d like to see more of her,” he added, almost as if he were thinking aloud. Then, as he moved towards the steps,

“So sorry I can’t stay for luncheon; but mother’s expecting some friends and requested my presence. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go over now. See you tomorrow, at the meet!”

And Ruth inwardly raged at the fate that always seemed to award her second place.