Early Monday morning John Hadley and Jack Wilkinson drove one of Mr. Andrews’s machines out of Silvertown, back by the quickest route to the farm-house. In his hand, Jack carried a map of the trip, and they followed the road that ran closest to the creek.

At the farm-house they met Mrs. Higgins, and asked anxiously for news of the girls. Overcome by a sense of remorse, she told them the whole story, just as it had occurred. The boys listened with increasing anger.

“The man’s crazy, of course!” cried Jack, fiercely. “Why, I’m her own brother——”

“Still, there may be a Margie Wilkinson missing—and not your sister,” remarked the woman. “It’s not such an uncommon name.”

“Hardly likely, though. You haven’t seen the old devil since?”

“Not a sign of ’im!” replied Mrs. Higgins. “But what I can’t understand nohow is why the girls didn’t reach Silvertown by now. They escaped here Sunday night, perty early, too, I reckon!” “By George, the old nut must have caught them again!” roared John, beside himself with rage. “Come on, we haven’t a moment to lose! Where’s this town you spoke of? Let’s go notify the police immediately.”

“And shall I leave the girls’ boat in the barn where the old man hid it?” she asked. “I found it yes’te’day.”

“Yes, we’ll send a truck down for it later,” said John. “We must be off now!”

Mrs. Higgins gave them directions how to reach Besley, and a description of the old man who seemed at the bottom of the affair. But although the constable at Besley remembered seeing the man, and the hotel-keeper showed them the name—Adam Jones—signed in a very shaky handwriting, he said he had not seen the old fellow for several days.

“He come over here a couple o’ nights fer dinner,” remarked the clerk. “But he didn’t have much to say—except to pass the time o’ day. Didn’t say nuthin’ about no runaway. I reckon he wanted to keep the reward fer hisself.”

“Well, if you see him, you just lock him up!” cried John, vehemently. “He’s nothing but a common kidnapper!”

“Easy now, young feller!” cautioned the constable. “The man may only be tryin’ to obey the law and earn an honest reward. There might be other Margaret Wilkinsons, besides your sister!” “But my sister’s name is Marjorie!” contradicted Jack.

The constable shrugged his shoulders and turned away as if he did not attach much importance to the boys’ assertions; they probably had their facts wrong, he surmised.

All day Monday the boys wandered about the woods, looking in vain for the lost girls. As it began to grow dark, John suggested a telegram to Mrs. Wilkinson.

“Mother and dad went for a motor trip,” replied Jack; “and they won’t be back till Tuesday or Wednesday. So it’s no use now. But we can go out again tomorrow, and if we don’t get any trace, we’ll send word then. But, by the immortal gods, we’ve got to find them, John! I believe it would kill mother!”

Disconsolately, they drove back and entered the house just as the guests were answering the summons to dinner. Mr. Andrews and Mr. Remington had likewise met with no success, and the seriousness of the affair threw a cloud over the party.

Ruth had not enjoyed herself so thoroughly that day as she had expected. Very soon she noticed that the boys and girls began to pair off, or go in groups of fours, and she seemed left out. If she had entertained any hope of having John Hadley to herself while Marjorie was away, she was disappointed; for, of course, he was gone all day. And Jack Wilkinson’s absence lent another trying aspect to the situation.

During the bathing hour, most of the party remained together, and at luncheon they wandered in and sat as they pleased. With Dick Roberts hovering near Lily, and Roger with no eyes for anyone but Doris, the only boy left of the old crowd was David Conner, and he seemed too much worried about Marjorie’s absence to be an entertaining companion. Ruth’s choice, was, therefore, narrowed to the new scouts, but unfortunately they seemed already taken with Frances, Ethel, Florence, and Alice. The girl suddenly felt herself ignored, an outsider; and she had no one but herself to blame!

But Ruth Henry was not a girl to demand pity or to allow others to think her unpopular. She therefore attached herself to Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, and talked entertainingly all through luncheon.

“The afternoon is an open one,” said Mrs. Andrews, when the guests were all assembled on the porch a little later. “We had hoped to have a tea, so that you could meet some of the young people of Silvertown, but we have postponed it until Thursday in the hope that Marjorie and Frieda will be found. For no one is much in the mood of festivities with this hanging over us.”

“I know what I’m going to do!” announced Ruth. “It’s very unsociable, but it’s got to be done. Practice canoeing all by myself!” This was a clever stroke of Ruth’s; it at the same time afforded her a good opportunity to improve her chances of winning on Wednesday, and freed her from any suspicion of unpopularity.

“I’m going to bed!” sighed Lily. “At least, if the guests will excuse me.”

Several of the others signified their intentions of going walking or canoeing, and soon the party was completely scattered.

As the evening drew near, they all felt an unconscious tremor of excitement—of hope that the searchers might return with the missing girls, or at least with news of them. But one glance at their faces dispelled any illusions.

“All boys together tonight, and all girls together!” announced Mrs. Andrews, as they entered the dining room. She believed that this brief separation would add zest to the companionship of the evening.

When everybody was seated, John told his story in a tone loud enough to be heard all over the room. The news was far from welcome; indeed, Lily Andrews and Doris Sands became almost hysterical.

“We’re going out again tomorrow, if we have Mr. Andrews’s permission,” he concluded; “and, by Jupiter! if we don’t find them, we won’t come back. We’ll take plenty of money, and go armed, and stay out till we conquer, or die!”

His resolute spirit was applauded; everyone felt that he was thoroughly in earnest, and that he was, moreover, the best one for the job. Ruth alone looked annoyed; events were not quite taking the course she had planned.

When the hostess announced a dance at the club house for any who wished to attend, Ruth again looked worried. She would be forced to remain at home, she knew; for none of the boys would ask her. She glanced shyly at Jack, but received no encouragement; the boy was worn out after the adventure of the day.

The whole party had just seated themselves comfortably on the porch when a Ford Sedan wound up the drive towards the house. Then, to Ruth’s great astonishment and joy, she recognized Harold Mason at the wheel!

Mr. Andrews rose to meet him. Lifting his hat, the boy inquired whether Ruth Henry were not among the guests.

Already Ruth had jumped to her feet.

“Oh, Harold, I’m awfully glad to see you. How did you ever happen to be up here?”

“I’ve been visiting a chum in New York, and as I drove near, I thought of you and wondered whether I couldn’t look you up as I passed. Why, here’s Hadley, too! And Wilkinson! Is your sister here, Jack?”

Before the latter could reply, Ruth introduced the stranger to the rest of the party, and then hastened to tell the story about Marjorie and Frieda. “I’m going to look for her!” cried Harold immediately, his voice filled with indignation. “I bet the old fellow was an escaped nut. Any asylums around here, Mr. Andrews?”

“I don’t know—we’re strangers here, too. But there is nothing you can do now, my boy. Our boys are going out again tomorrow, and if they do not have any success, we can get in touch with Mr. Wilkinson by evening. But won’t you join our party? I’m sure Mrs. Andrews joins me in extending you a hearty invitation. There’s a dance at the club house tonight.”

“How jolly!” exclaimed Harold. “I’d love to, Mr. Andrews, at least, if—well—it’s up to Ruth.” Then, turning to her, he asked, “May I go with you? If not, I guess I’d better be on my way.”

“Yes, indeed; if you have evening clothes,” replied the girl.

“Of course I have; didn’t I tell you I’d been visiting in New York?”

Ruth felt as if she had never been so glad in her life to see anyone as she was to see Harold. It was not only a relief to have a devoted attendant, but it afforded her a release from her own gloomy thoughts. For already the escapade was beginning to depress her. She really had never thought of the effect Marjorie’s absence would cast upon the other guests; all she had thought of was the girl’s own annoyance at the delay, and that reflection brought her nothing but satisfaction. Marjorie had been too popular lately; she was having things her own way entirely too much. It was not good for any one girl to receive so much attention, Ruth thought; for the sake of the others in the troop, as well as for herself, she had regarded her prank as veritably charitable. But now she was almost beginning to regret it. For she knew that when the girl did finally appear, she would be the petted heroine of the party even though Ruth herself might win the cup. And who knew? Mr. Andrews might even suggest that the winner compete with Marjorie and Frieda! It was a strange thing that Ruth Henry had not learned by this time that her underhand scheming never got her anywheres. But each time she seemed to forget, and tried her mean practices all over again.

She could hardly wait to be alone with Harold, to talk the thing over from beginning to end. Fortunately, the others went earlier, while she waited for him to dress.

He was not absent long, however, for he, too, was eager to tell her about the adventure.

“By George! you look stunning, Ruth, in that white fluffiness!” he exclaimed, as he threw her cloak around her shoulders.

“You should have said ‘By Georgette,’” corrected Ruth; “because that’s what my dress is made of!”

She linked her arm through his, and they started down the steps. Harold was blissfully happy; he knew that he had accomplished something worthwhile for her. He hoped to see her win the meet on Wednesday; perhaps, after such a success, he might be able to come to an understanding with her. For Ruth Henry was very attractive, he thought, and although only seventeen, she was undoubtedly the sort of girl to become engaged very young.

However, he said nothing of all this now. Instead, he told her the whole story, just as it had happened, allowing her to realize the perils he had gone through for her sake.

“And you don’t think she’ll ever suspect?” asked Ruth, trembling at the daring of it all.

“Never!”

“Harold!” She laid her other hand over his arm. “You have been wonderful; and I can never thank you enough. But will you promise me one thing more?”

“Absolutely anything!”

“That if she ever should find out, you’ll say it was your own idea to help me, and that I never knew a thing about it?”

Harold laughed. “Oh, yes, Ruth, if you wish. But Marjorie will never find out.”

They ascended the steps of the broad clubhouse and found the dancing already in progress. Hastily disposing of their wraps, they joined the merry throng and were soon lost amid the crowd. During the intermission that followed, Mrs. Andrews brought four young people of Silvertown to meet them. Two of them, Jeanne and Eloise Trowbridge, occupied the cottage next to theirs, and one of the young men, Griffith Hunter, lived across the street. Ruth became more animated than ever, and dances were exchanged. Harold all the while watched her jealously, for she seemed immensely infatuated with young Mr. Hunter.

The evening passed quickly. Ruth was again with Harold on their way home. But her thoughts were no longer with him, but rather against him; for she was ready to send him home.

“Tomorrow,” she decided, “I’ll speak to Mrs. Andrews; for if he hangs around, I’ll never get a chance to see any other boys. And besides, he’s served his purpose.”

She turned to her companion to say goodnight. But something in his look, his tone, softened her heart, and she squeezed his hand affectionately.

“After all, he might as well stay till the meet is over,” she thought; “for he really has earned it.”