Ruth Henry had always been a pretty girl, but in the past year she had grown even more attractive. Though small of stature, there was nothing insignificant about her; indeed, she was of the striking type which attracts immediate attention, even of the casual observer. Always planning some activity, or involved in some scheme to further her own interests, she was a creature of perpetual animation. This very vivacity was one of her chief charms among young and old.

It was no particular surprise to anyone, therefore, that Harold Mason was smitten by her at first sight. Here, he felt, was his ideal type of girl: pretty, petite, feminine, yet combining with all those characteristics a love of sport and adventure, and a spirit of daring that was almost boyish. What a comrade! he thought.

The boy himself was far from unattractive. Raised in Virginia, he possessed that unconscious charm of the Southerner that is always particularly pleasing to women. He drawled his words, dropping his "r's"; and he had a little habit of smiling at the end of his remarks. Like Ruth, however, Harold Mason was an only child; and, like her, he was spoiled. Possessing a car of his own—even though it happened to be only a Ford sedan—he came and went as he pleased, with the consequence that his studies had often suffered. Now, when he should have been in college, he was merely finishing the latter half of his senior year at High School.

"I tell you what, Ruth," he said on the second day of their holiday (they felt by now as if they had known each other all of their lives), "let's have a regular good time this week. Let's go somewhere every single day!"

Ruth smiled faintly; she could not help being flattered by her conquest.

"Suppose I have other engagements?"

"Chuck them—ah—just for once!"

"And maybe mother won't let me."

"Well, tease her!"

"And then," added Ruth, "you haven't met Marjorie Wilkinson. She's considered (by some) the most attractive girl at our school!"

"Oh, forget her! I've seen her, even if I haven't met her. Her type doesn't appeal to me!"

Ruth laughed good naturedly, and surrendered. But she made one reservation.

"I promised Jack Wilkinson I'd go to the movies with him on Friday."

Harold closed his lips tightly, and shrugged his shoulders.

"As you please," he said; "maybe I will ask Marjorie for that day."

"Then you'll get left!" retorted Ruth triumphantly. "She has a date, too!"

"Well—then I'll ask Miss Maria!" he concluded, mentioning one who was the typical "old-maid" of the town, and who unconsciously bore the brunt of all the young people's jokes.

When Jack and Marjorie came over to Ruth's on Wednesday evening, Harold found the girl to be just as he had expected: rather quiet and diffident, even pretty, but not striking-looking; and he made no attempt to become intimate with her. After they had tired of playing cards, whenever Jack and Ruth saw fit to dance together, he offered to do likewise with Marjorie, as a mere matter of form. But he did not find her easy to talk to.

"Jack, what's Marj going to do on Friday?" Ruth asked as she poured the cocoa from the chafing dish on the tea-table.

Marjorie looked up, amused. She was sincerely thankful that Jack knew as little as Ruth about her coming adventure.

"You can search me!" replied the boy. "I did hear dad mention an auto ride."

"Your father?" repeated Ruth. "Is that all? And here I was picturing a secret meeting with an unknown lover——"

"Wrong as usual!" said Marjorie, a little sharply. "I told you that before, Ruth."

Harold Mason looked up quickly, incensed at the tone Marjorie had unconsciously used towards Ruth. In that instant he became her enemy; if she and Ruth should be rival contestants in any cause again, he vowed to himself that he would do all in his power to help the latter.

"Well, if it's nothing exciting, why don't you tell us about it?" said Jack.

"It's a personal matter, Jack," said Marjorie; "I should think you and Ruth would understand that by now!"

Apparently, Ruth was squelched. "I beg your pardon," she said humbly. But the very next instant she winked at Harold, and he knew her well enough to interpret the signal as a challenge against Marjorie.

"Don't make any engagement for Friday!" she whispered, as Harold left the house with the others.

By pre-arranged signals, Ruth and Harold sat waiting in his car at eight-thirty on Friday morning. The machine did not stand in front of either Mason's or Henry's house; instead, it was drawn up before a provision store, where, to the passer-by, it might appear to be waiting while Mrs. Mason or Mrs. Wilkinson was making purchases inside.

The young people did not have to wait long, for a few minutes before nine, Jack Wilkinson came hurrying towards them.

"They're gone!" he shouted. "The other direction—out the Main street."

In a second, he was inside the car, and Harold stepped on the starter and released the emergency.

"How long ago?" he asked, as the machine began to move forward.

"Just long enough for me to get my things on and run over here. About five minutes, I should say."

"Just Marj and your father?" asked Ruth.

"Yes."

"Is he a fast driver?" inquired Harold.

"Pretty fast, except in traffic," replied Jack.

"Well, speed up, Harold," urged Ruth. She leaned back against the seat contentedly; it would be such a lark to worry Marjorie, especially since she had been so secret about the whole proceeding.

"And what am I to do if we do catch them?" asked Harold.

"Just follow them, and make their lives miserable," laughed Ruth.

"I think it must have something to do with Miss Phillips," remarked Jack. "I heard her name mentioned once or twice."

Ruth repressed an involuntary start.

Miss Phillips! So this was the scheme: Marjorie was merely courting popularity with the Scout Captain! Probably her rival intended to wheedle Miss Phillips into giving her the first-class test privately, so that she might be the first in the troop to receive that honor! A hard look came into Ruth's eyes; she was more resolved than ever to do all in her power to make the other girl's project fail. But she said nothing of all this to her companions.

They followed the main road for about five miles, passing several machines, but never catching sight of the desired one. Harold had been keeping to about thirty miles an hour, but as he reached the level road and the open country, he let it out to thirty-five.

Ruth talked incessantly, telling the boys all about the Scout parties and the hockey games. Although she had not mentioned Frieda Hammer, she suddenly remarked,

"Wasn't it dreadful about Marj's canoe?"

"Yes," replied Jack; "who do you suppose stole it?"

"Don't you know?" exclaimed Ruth. "Why, that thief our Scout troop adopted to reform. But it serves Marj right! She was the strongest one for doing it."

Harold, who was in the dark about all this, was naturally curious to hear the whole story, and Ruth recounted it as briefly as possible.

All this time the youthful driver was speeding his Ford at its very limit, and gradually gaining upon a speck in the distance which appeared to be a touring car.

"By George! that's our Buick!" cried Jack. "I'll just bet anything!"

But Harold could not go any faster, and the other car was making good time. He continued, however, to keep it in sight, while Ruth breathlessly urged him on.

The houses were closer together now, and Harold unconsciously slackened his pace.

"Must we go slow?" asked Ruth, disappointed.

"Yes; the law's fifteen. But we'll take a chance on twenty-five!"

"Still, dad will have to slow up, too," remarked Jack, consolingly. "And maybe we'll catch him on the open road again."

"It's almost like following elopers," laughed Harold. "I do love a chase."

"So do I," agreed Ruth. Then, "Oh, see that bridge; do we have to cross that?"

"Yes," replied Jack; "for that will take us into Trenton. And they must be headed that way."

They slowed down before crossing the bridge when suddenly there was a terrific report, like an explosion, which startled them so that they almost jumped out of their skins. Harold applied the brakes quickly, and swung the car sharply towards the side of the road.

"Good night!" he exclaimed; "a blow-out! I was a fool to leave that bum shoe on the rear! And the spare is perfectly new!"

"We'll never catch them now!" mourned Ruth, dejectedly.

They sat gazing at each other helplessly.

"Well, we'll never catch them if we sit here all day; that's a sure thing!" announced Jack, coming to life. "Come on, Mason! Let's break all records for a quick change!"

They scrambled out into the road.

"Jerusalem!" exclaimed Jack, poking a finger at the jagged hole in the flat tire, where the tread was so worn that the lining of the shoe was exposed. "Look at that hole!"

He peeled off his coat and tossed it into the machine, and handed his watch to Ruth, saying,

"Here, Ruth; time us, from now on."

Harold, following his example, was rummaging under the back seat for his tools; he threw a kit and a jack out into the road calling,

"There you are, Wilkinson! You unscrew the rim-cleats, and I'll jack her up."

"That's a funny-looking jack!" observed Ruth, looking at it curiously.

"It's a new kind," retorted Harold knowingly, thinking that Ruth, like most girls, probably knew nothing about tools.

Jack glanced over his shoulder at the object; then dropped what he was doing to examine it more closely.

"By George! Ruth's right! Where is the part that goes under the axle?"

Harold was out of the machine in a jiffy.

"Great snakes!" he howled, tearing his hair. "It does come off; and if I can't find it under the seat, we're out of luck, that's all!"

He dived again into the car, leaving the other two staring at the dismembered jack. They heard him fumbling around again, and, after a minute, he slid out and sat upon the running-board.

"No use! I guess I left it home," he said.

"Then I guess I won't need this," said Ruth, handing Jack his watch.

Suddenly, the humor of the situation struck all three of them at once, and they burst into shrieks of laughter.

"Well, catching them is now out of the question," said Jack, after the merriment had subsided; "but we'll have to get home again somehow."

"Yes," agreed Harold, "the question is—how?"

"There must be a garage around here somewhere, and we could borrow a jack," suggested Ruth.

"Shall I go ahead and look for one?" asked Jack.

"Oh, we'll stop a passing machine, and borrow one," said Harold.

"But none has passed us yet," protested Ruth, "and we might have to wait here all day."

"I don't think so; there ought to be lots of traffic on this road; it's a main highway. They just won't come because we want them to."

"There are several little houses down there," said Jack, indicating a group of boat-houses along the banks of the river, about fifty yards away; "perhaps one of them would have a jack."

"To jack up the boats with?" asked Harold, sardonically.

"It won't hurt to try, anyway," retorted the other boy. "Come on, Ruth! We'll go ask."

To see Ruth walk away with Jack and leave him sitting there alone, was too much for Harold.

"Jack! I say, Jack!" he called. "Come back a minute!"

The boy and girl retraced their steps.

"What do you want?"

"I was just thinking—you might crawl under the car——"

"Eh?"

"I say, you might crawl under the car," repeated Harold.

"What for?"

"Jack 'er up!"

He jumped up from the running-board just in time to avoid the other's clutches.

"Now, Harold!" protested Ruth. "As if this were not enough, you must make it worse with bad puns."

"I won't do it again," promised Harold, with mock penitency. "But wait a minute—I'm going with you."

He tossed the tools on the floor of the car and slammed the door.

"Jack, my boy," he resumed, "I really believe your idea is a good one, an inspiration, a mark of genius; I verily believe we are on the eve of a great discovery——"

"Oh, you dry up!" snorted Jack. "I don't really think we'll find one. But it won't hurt to ask."

Upon closer inspection all of the boat-houses appeared to be deserted, except the one farthest away. This was slightly removed from the others, and more ramshackle looking; but someone was evidently there, for they could hear the sound of hammering, which seemed to come from within. Over the door hung a home-made sign, with the inscription:

"See anything funny about that name?" asked Harold.

The others examined it more closely.

"He's got the "N" printed upside-down."

"Sure enough!" laughed Ruth. "Well, of all things!"

"Judging from the noise he's making," continued Harold, "John's business isn't very slack!"

"Are you commencing again?" groaned Jack.

"That will do, Harold! You've said quite enough!" warned Ruth.

They halted before the open doorway, through which they could see an old man bending over an upturned boat which he was repairing.

"Good day, Mr. Slack!" called Harold.

The man paused with his hammer in mid-air, and raised his head; a dirty white beard which seemed to start at his eyes, grew down over his chest.

"Howdy! What can I do for you?"

"We've had a puncture," explained Harold, "and we want to know whether you have a jack that we could borrow?"

The man shook his head.

"Never had no use for one," he replied.

Their faces fell; but as they turned to leave, the old man straightened up, and called out,

"Hold on a minute! What kind of car you got?"

"A Ford," Harold told him.

"There's your jack, then," he said, pointing to a pile of lumber in one corner of the room; "that there twelve-foot beam!"

"How?" queried the boy.

In reply, the man worked his arms up and down, as if he were operating a lever.

"Just stick it underneath and hist on one end," he explained.

"Can it be done?" asked Harold, doubtfully.

"I seen it done onc't—I guess you fellers kin do it. Maybe not if you had a bigger car—I dunno. Yer welcome to try. But you want to take a block to stick underneath the axle when you get 'er raised."

Following his suggestion, the boys raised the beam to their shoulders, and carried it back to the car, Ruth following with the smaller piece. Placing one end of the timber beneath the axle and raising the other end, they found that without effort they could lift the rear of the machine sufficiently for Ruth to insert the block.

"Golly!" exclaimed Harold; "I believe we could lift a truck this way. Pretty smart of old Santa Claus to think of it."

In a short time the change was made, the tools put away; and resting the improvised jack along one side of the car, across the mudguards, they returned with it to its owner.

"The job's done, Mr. Slack!" announced Harold, as they flung the beam to the ground. "I'm very much obliged to you for your help."

He slipped a coin into the old man's hand.

"That's all right!" was the answer. "I'm much obliged to you. I wouldn't have no use for a real jack," he repeated.

Meanwhile, Ruth was carrying on an earnest conversation in undertones with Jack. She was directing his attention among the various small boats which filled the long room, to a particular one in the far corner, which was noticeable because of its bright green paint, and because it was the only canoe among many row-boats.

"It certainly looks like Marjorie's," she was saying.

"Where did you get that canoe?" she demanded sharply, turning to the boat-house keeper.

"I bought it from a young lady," he replied. "She paddled down the river. I give twenty dollars for it."

"That canoe was stolen!" cried Ruth, indignantly, as if to accuse the old man.

He thrust out his beard.

"How do you know?" he asked.

"I recognize it!" replied the girl.

He looked relieved and smiled.

"They's a good many models of the Oldtown canoe that looks like that one, young lady."

The graceful craft was lying on its side so that the interior was exposed more to their view than the sides.

"I'll identify it," said Ruth, undaunted. "There's a long scratch in the paint, about an inch from the keel, near the middle—we got stuck on a rock one day."

"You could find that on most any canoe," replied the man.

"Well—let me see—oh, there's candle grease on the inside, at each end! That's from the Japanese lanterns we had there, the night of the water-picnic," she told the boys. "And the name was painted on it in red letters—The Scout!"

At this, the old man's eyes opened wide.

"I guess you're right, lady," he said. "She's called The Scout, all right; but I don't know about the scratch and the candle grease—I never noticed that!"

"Will you sell it back to me, if you're convinced?" asked Jack.

"Gimme what I paid for it, and she's your'n. Never was much good to me, anyhow; I never hired it onc't—mostly too rough for a canoe in the river."

"Will it be all right if I pay you five dollars now, and return with the rest, say to-morrow, and get the canoe?"

"Suits me," agreed the other.

So the bargain was struck, and they crossed the room to examine The Scout. There, sure enough, were the evidences as Ruth had given them. At last, the canoe was found!

"I told you you were on the eve of a great discovery, didn't I?" said Harold, as they were driving home.

"But you never would have found the canoe, if it hadn't been for me," corrected Ruth.

"Marjorie certainly will be glad!" remarked her brother.

"Marjorie!" cried Ruth; "why, I'd forgotten all about her—and the chase!"

Then she fell silent for a long time. She was thinking of the medal of merit Miss Phillips had offered for the finding of Frieda; and she could not see why, if no one were successful, the finding of the canoe might not be considered the next thing to the finding of Frieda. It would be much better that Marjorie should never know about their pursuit of her.

Breaking her silence, she said,

"Promise me, both of you, that you won't tell Marj how we chased her?"

They both swore solemn oaths.

After supper, she and Harold strolled over to Wilkinsons' to tell Marjorie the news of the canoe, for Jack had promised to say nothing about it until they came. But they found her singularly unappreciative.

"I knew Frieda sold it before she reached Trenton," she remarked; "and I intended to get papa to take me to find it to-morrow!"

"Of all the ungrateful people!" snapped Ruth, as they left the house. "And we don't know yet where Marj went," she added.