Opening her bag, she took out the hasty lunch she had packed, and ate it greedily. She was hungry and tired. A few minutes later, she was fast asleep on the floor.

She awoke at dawn, thoroughly chilled, but refreshed, nevertheless, by her night's sleep. She did not lose a moment in collecting her things, and ran down to the creek. To her joy, she found the canoe just where she had left it.

The remainder of the journey, the sale of the canoe to the boatman by the river-front, and the ride to New York, were accomplished without accident or delay, and the girl finally found herself in the great city--the place of her dreams!

Perhaps it was Frieda's good fairy, or perhaps it was the answer to Marjorie's prayers, that brought the strange girl to the attention of the Traveler's Aid agent. Confused by the crowd, dazzled by the vastness of the station, unable to tell one direction from another, she stood bewildered, seeing steps on all sides. What should she do? She hesitated; turned around, and b.u.mped into this good friend.

"Excuse me," she said, in the manner her teacher had taught her at school, "but could you tell me of a nice boarding house? I came here to work."

The woman looked at her kindly, pitying her from the bottom of her heart. To her, she was only a child, alone, strange, in the great city of New York.

"Yes, I know of a nice boarding house," she replied. "But have you a place to work?"

"Not yet!"

"Have you any money?"

"Over thirty dollars!" replied Frieda, to whom it was a princely sum.

Frieda was grateful, indeed, to be put upon the right car, and to have in her hand the written directions to the boarding house which the agent mentioned. In a short time she was established in her room--a bare unattractive one on the fourth floor, not nearly so nice as Mrs.

Johnson's, but as good as she could afford. She meant to get work at once; already she was beginning to appreciate what the Girl Scouts had done for her.

She walked the streets for ten days, without success, looking for work.

And then, on the eleventh, just when her money was beginning to be exhausted, she found it. Stating her age as seventeen, she obtained a situation as waitress in an attractive little tea-room on Fifth Avenue.

Under ordinary circ.u.mstances she would never have been able to get such a place, for the other girls were of a higher type, but two waitresses had developed scarlet fever, and the proprietress was encountering difficulty in replacing them.

Frieda was given a black sateen dress and a white cap and ap.r.o.n, and instructed in the finer points of courtesy and service. She spent some of her first wages for powder and rouge, and learned to twist her hair up, according to the prevailing fashion. On the whole, she pa.s.sed very easily for seventeen or eighteen.

But as the days went by, she found her life singularly monotonous. The proprietress paid the girls small salaries, expecting them to live on tips. But Frieda Hammer received very few tips, for she was not a very successful waitress. The regular patrons avoided her table, and the newcomers were usually displeased with her service, and tipped her grudgingly, or not at all.

Then, during the Thanksgiving holidays, she saw Marjorie and Lily, and a great longing to go back seized her, a desire to study more, and to accept the friendship these Girl Scouts so generously offered. But she thought of the canoe and the money she had stolen, and, overcome with shame, she disappeared into the kitchen to prevent the girls from recognizing her.

About the middle of December she lost her situation, and was forced to seek another, without even a reference. Christmas, which on the farm had meant little except what Mrs. Brubaker had done for her family, took on a new significance as she watched the shops and the decorations, and preparations everywhere. In her imagination she saw the Christmas the Girl Scouts would have, and thought of Mrs. Johnson; and in her heart she was homesick for what might have been.

She secured a temporary position as wrapper in a department store, with the understanding that she would be dropped after Christmas.

She spent Christmas day alone in her room--a small, bare attic, for she could no longer afford the comforts of a boarding house. She would have liked to go to the movies, but with no prospect of work, and not any too much money on hand, she dared not risk the expense.

All during the following week she looked for work, but could find none; for everywhere places were discharging, instead of taking on, girls.

And then the new year brought her the letter from Marjorie!

Marjorie had pictured Frieda now as a sullen, successful, working-girl, ready to scorn any advances on her part. She dreaded lest the girl would tear up the letter before she read it. But she never thought of her hugging and kissing it, as a veritable bond between her and the rest of mankind.

Frieda read the letter over and over, gradually developing a plan. She would go back to Trenton, get work if possible, and save to buy back the canoe. Then, when it was paid for, and she had enough money, she would paddle back to Miss Allen's, return the fifteen dollars and beg the forgiveness of Marjorie and the rest of the Scouts. The thought of beginning all over again inspired her with happiness--the first real happiness she had felt since her arrival in New York!

She next discovered a way to go to Trenton by trolley; and accordingly, the next morning she paid her bill and started off. For the time being, she seemed to have forgotten Ruth Henry; all that she thought of was how Marjorie Wilkinson would receive her when she finally saw her.

She reached Trenton in the afternoon, and hunted a room. Fortunately, she still had enough money to pay in advance. Leaving her belongings, she set out in the direction of the boat-houses, to ascertain whether the canoe was still there. But on her way she pa.s.sed a large mill, before the entrance of which hung a sign, "Girls Wanted;" and without a moment's hesitation she went in, and secured trial employment.

With a light heart, she crossed the bridge to the other side of the river. Walking down a short distance, she espied several old men along the sh.o.r.e.

"There he is!" she thought, as she caught sight of the white beard that had attracted her before. She looked around expectantly for the canoe, but did not see it among the boats.

"Good afternoon!" she said pleasantly, adopting the manner she had been taught to use in the restaurant. "Several months ago I sold you my canoe. I wonder if I could buy it back at the same price?"

The man eyed her narrowly, while his mouth curled into a snarl.

"Your canoe, eh? _Your_ canoe! I happen to know you stole that canoe--it never was yours!"

The girl recoiled as if he had struck her. How could he know? Were policemen on her trail? She shuddered with apprehension. Then, drawing herself up with dignity, she inquired haughtily,

"And from who did you get your information?"

"A gal and two boys in an auto stopped here to fix a puncture, and suddenly the gal seen the canoe, and recognized it. 'Where'd you get that?' she asked.

"'Some gal paddled up here in it and sold it,' I replied.

"'Wal it weren't her'n to sell,' the gal says. 'She's nuthin' but a common thief--that's what she is!'

"And she paid me five dollars to save it for her, and the next day they drove up with more money, and took it away.

"Now, I ain't sayin' nuthin' on you, but I advise you not to talk about _your_ canoe no more!"

"Oh, indeed!" said Frieda, scarcely able to choke back the tears. And, turning hastily around, she walked over to the bridge.

But she could never go back to the Scouts now; she as a "common thief;"

she had better stay and work alone!

CHAPTER XIX

THE SLEIGH RIDE

The first Scout meeting after the girls returned from the holidays was teeming with excitement. Ruth Henry reported that she had found the canoe; and received, to her delight, great applause. Marjorie revealed what she knew about Frieda, omitting to tell about the letter she wrote to the girl; and Miss Phillips informed them that they still had three hundred dollars in the treasury.

"Now for the new patrols," she announced; "I know you are all interested. The three girls with the highest Scout standing, besides Edith Evans who will continue to act as Lieutenant, are Marjorie Wilkinson, Helen Stewart, and Ruth Henry. Ethel Todd came fourth; if we should get enough girls for a new patrol, she would be the leader."

When the clapping had subsided, these girls, with their Captain, withdrew to choose patrol members. Ruth smiled; it was funny that she and Marjorie who were rivals in everything, ever since they had come to Miss Allen's, should again be opposed to each other.

The patrol leaders chose their members, not so much for their ability as for their personality. For this reason, Helen Stewart's patrol included the five senior Scouts, Vivien VanSciver, and two freshmen--Florence Evans and her room-mate, Mildred Cavin. Marjorie's included Lily, Ethel, Frances, Marian, Doris, Alice Endicott, and Daisy Gravers. And Ruth's, of course, comprised her own following: Ada Mearns, Barbara Hill, Mae VanHorn, Evelyn Hopkins and three girls she did not know so well--Anna Cane, Dorothy Whitcomb, and Gladys Staley.

As soon as the patrols were announced, Miss Phillips talked to them about keeping up the standards of each patrol: promptness, industry in Scout work, etc., saying that whichever patrol won the highest standing by the end of the year would be senior patrol the next year. For the present, Helen's division was to have this honor.

"For two months now," continued the Captain, after the excitement had died down, "we shall do nothing but Scout work. Each girl is to prepare for the next test higher up.