"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 j.a.panese 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.

CHAPTER XVIII

ALONE IN THE CITY

At heart, Frieda Hammer was not a bad girl. But for all these years her moral sense had remained undeveloped. She was like a man who has worked in a factory all his life, where the continuous roar of the machinery dulls his sense of hearing, so that all the finer tones are lost upon him. Frieda was so unaccustomed to the qualities of unselfishness and friendliness, that when she came in contact with them she could only mistrust them. Ruth Henry was the only member of the Girl Scout troop that she could seem to understand, for she was the only one who was out and out for herself. Marjorie Wilkinson was a puzzle to her, and always had been.

And just as the man without an ear for music would not appreciate an orchestra if he heard one, so this mentally-starved girl could not understand the charity and sweetness of the Scouts. But gradually, under the influence of her teacher, of Mrs. Johnson, and of her normal life, she began to realize what it all meant. She secretly liked Marjorie, but she was too proud to show it; instead, she decided to study hard, and bring credit to the Scouts.

All this was before the j.a.panese fete. Then, that night, like a harsh discord on one instrument breaking the harmony of an orchestra, she heard Ruth's detestable remark: "Here comes Frieda Hammer--look out for your jewelry!" her whole nature rebelled. Sick at heart, and regretting that she had ever allowed the Scouts to persuade her to leave home, she now wanted, more than anything else, to get away from them. She hated them all, Marjorie included!

Her first thought was to leave immediately for home, but upon remembering that while there she was always unhappy and wishing to be elsewhere, it occurred to her that this was her opportunity to strike out for herself. Casting about in her mind for some loophole of escape, she hit upon the plan of stealing Marjorie's canoe, paddling down the creek till it joined the river; and then, at the approach of some town, of attempting to sell it for what she could get, and continuing the remainder of her journey to New York by train. Why New York, rather than any other city, she never stopped to consider; it stood out as the one town to which anyone would wish to go.

That this way of traveling was much slower and more laborious than setting out upon foot at the outset, never occurred to her; it seemed like an easy way, less liable of detection, and it appealed to her love of adventure. Once in New York, she calculated, she would become a waitress in some "swell" restaurant, where she would make lots of money to spend for clothes. A hired girl of the Brubakers who had been a waitress in New York, once told her of the lavish tips she used to receive; and the future, as Frieda pictured it, seemed particularly rosy and independent. But to get there was the thing; once there--almost anything might happen! Why, some rich man might fall in love with her and marry her. That she was but fourteen, and neither attractive nor cultured, never entered her head; she had always longed for adventure, and she meant to have it.

Frieda would have put her plan into effect immediately, if she had only possessed a little money. As it was, she was afraid to set out with an empty purse. But when, over a week later, the Scouts sent her the cash for her ticket home at Thanksgiving, it seemed as if all obstacles were now removed.

Accordingly, she carried out her project the following day. She attended school in the morning, and came home for lunch as usual, so as not to arouse suspicion; but shortly after one o'clock, she slipped out with her bag all packed. And her most precious possessions were Marjorie's pink dress and sweater!

If she had carefully calculated her time, she could not have chosen a more favorable hour for escape. All of Miss Allen's girls, and the teachers as well, were at luncheon, and the public school children were already back at their desks. Finally, one-thirty in the afternoon was just the time that Mrs. Johnson invariably selected for her nap!

Cautiously watching the campus, she untied the rope, and stepped into the canoe. It was a simple matter to paddle across the lake to the spot where the small stream joined it; but it was a more difficult feat to carry the canoe even a short distance on dry land. Frieda Hammer was a strong girl, but had it not been for the thought of the price she could get for it, and the distress its loss would bring to the Scouts, she would have cast aside her heavy burden then and there. She wished, too, that it had belonged to Ruth instead of to Marjorie, but she kept a.s.suring herself that she was glad to bring trouble to any member of Pansy troop.

The distance, however, was short, and in a few minutes she was back again on the water. She paddled on and on, encountering no further obstacles, but was surprised at the speed with which the afternoon seemed to pa.s.s. The shadows began to lengthen; and there was still no sight of a river. She realized that soon she would be obliged to stop for the night. Through the trees, over on the left bank of the stream, she distinguished a house. Perhaps she might rest there for the night!

It was the "haunted house" which the Scouts later visited, but Frieda did not know that. Had she heard the tale of the ghost, she would probably have hesitated before remaining there alone all night; but no such story troubled her imagination. She was thankful for the shelter and protection, for the night was chilly.