PRISONERS
All Friday afternoon, Frieda and Marjorie watched eagerly for the
return of their jailer, or for some trace of the scouts. But no one
came near. By supper time they were worn out and disheartened. They
knew that they must spend the night at the farm-house.
They were not, however, overcome by a sense of physical fear. The
old people seemed slightly crazy to them, but harmless. They slept
a little, late in the afternoon, and finally were awakened by their
captor’s summons to supper.
Again they had a wonderful meal placed before them. The woman, it would
seem, was ashamed of her husband’s actions, and was doing everything
she could to make it up to them. In spite of herself, Marjorie felt a
sort of liking for her.
“I suppose you may as well tell us your name,” remarked Marjorie, as
she spread some delicious peach preserves upon the tempting hot muffin
in her hand.
“Our name is Higgins,” replied the woman, lowering her eyes. “And
yours?”
“I am Miss Wilkinson, as you know, and my friend is Miss Hammer.”
There was a silence for a few moments while they ate. Both girls
realized that even now the scouts were probably eating something like
canned salmon and beans, while they enjoyed a chicken dinner; but they
said nothing. Marjorie made up her mind not to utter a word of praise
of Mrs. Higgins’s cooking.
“It’s evident,” she remarked sarcastically, “that you people never had
any children!”
A faint flush spread over the woman’s face, and then a tear came to her
eye. But she looked down hastily at her plate to hide her embarrassment.
“No, we never did,” she replied. “But how did you know?”
“No mother or father could be so cruel!” answered Marjorie cuttingly.
The thrust hit deep; the older woman was silenced. The girl had touched
the tenderest chords of her heart, and now she was fully ashamed.
She would have abandoned the whole project had she dared, she was so
completely on her prisoners’ side. But she was afraid of the old man;
he might do something desperate to them all if she went back on her
word. And even now she realized that she too was a prisoner, just as
much as the girls were, and in her own house!
“What do you think can be keeping him?” asked Frieda, refusing to
dignify such a contemptible creature with a name.
“I don’t know,” replied the woman. “Perhaps the telephone is out of
order. Or maybe he’s took sick.”
Fresh peach ice-cream and a wonderful chocolate cake failed to produce
any sort of comment on the part of the girls. Marjorie thought she had
never tasted such delicious cooking in her life, but still she said
nothing. Mrs. Higgins sighed; she so seldom had anyone to cook for, and
it would have meant so much to her to have her efforts appreciated.
“I think there are some games in the table drawer in the parlor,” she
told the girls, as they rose from the table. “You’re welcome to play
with ’em.”
Frieda went in and got them, but Marjorie went straight to her room.
Throwing herself upon the bed, she sobbed bitterly.
“Why do you ’spose old Higgins isn’t back?” she asked, as Frieda
entered their bedroom.
“Probably he couldn’t get your father,” said the other. “Are you sure
he would be home?”
Marjorie thought for a moment, and then started to weep afresh.
“No, he wouldn’t!” she exclaimed. Then, brokenly, “Mama and papa were
going away this morning for a week-end party, and Jack is camping. Oh,
Frieda!” Her voice died in a wail of woe.
Frieda sat down beside Marjorie and drew her head to her shoulder. She
let her cry for a minute or so, and then tried to calm her.
“Nothing awful can happen, Marjorie,” she said, soothingly. “We’ll
only miss a few days of good time at the most. For something is sure
to happen--the real Margie Wilkinson that they are looking for will
turn up, or old Higgins will reach your father by phone, and he’ll come
hot-foot himself--or the scouts will send a rescue party, or----”
Marjorie smiled faintly through her tears.
“You are a great comfort, Frieda. I don’t know what I’d ever do without
you. I suppose there are worse things than missing the meet and a few
days at Silvertown; but oh, I was so eager to go!”
“Of course you were! Well, let’s don’t worry yet--why there are four
whole days left, and it only takes two to get there. My, wasn’t that
wonderful chocolate cake, though? I could almost love old lady Higgins
for that!”
“I hate her!” cried Marjorie, vehemently. “She’s just as much to blame
as the old man!”
“Maybe not; maybe he rules her completely. Some men do, you know!”
“Well, I’m never going to get married, then!” announced Marjorie. “In
fact, I hate all men!”
“Come, this won’t get us anywhere,” interrupted Frieda; “let’s play
flinch, and try to forget it.”
The girls played until nearly nine o’clock, and then decided to go
to bed. Worn out from the mental strain, they felt grateful for the
comfortable bed, and soon fell asleep, clasping each other’s hands.
There is nothing so effective in cementing a friendship as a common
misfortune.
They slept late the next morning, and were awakened by a knock at their
door. It proved to be Mrs. Higgins, with a tray.
“Good morning, girls,” she said cheerily; “how are you today?”
Both girls suppressed their natural inclination to say something
pleasant, and Frieda, with a suggestion of her old rudeness, asked,
“Is that old man back yet?”
Mrs. Higgins shook her head sadly.
“Not yet, Miss. Mebbe the telephone’s broke. Is your pap likely to be
home, Miss Wilkins?”
“No, he and mother went on a week-end motor trip. Of course he won’t be
able to get them!”
“Why didn’t you tell him that?”
She set the tray on a table by the window. The breakfast--fresh peaches
with cream, hot biscuits, eggs, and fragrant coffee--certainly looked
inviting. Marjorie eyed it critically.
“As a matter of fact, I forgot,” she replied, icily.
“Well, more’s the pity for you! If I know Mr. Higgins, he’ll stay right
on the job till he gets an answer. If that’s the case, you needn’t hope
to get away till your parents come back.”
Marjorie’s eyes flashed in anger.
“You’re wicked, cruel people!” she cried; “and when my father hears
about it, he’ll have you put in prison! So there!”
“But he can’t!” objected Mrs. Higgins. “We’re only tryin’ to help the
police catch a runaway gal. That’s obeyin’ the law, ain’t it--not
breakin’ it!”
Marjorie was silent, and the woman opened the door and went out. The
girls turned to their breakfast.
“I wish I were dead!” exclaimed Marjorie. “I won’t eat her old food!”
Then suddenly, with a flash of inspiration, “Frieda, let’s go on a
hunger strike--like the woman suffragists did! They wouldn’t dare let
us die.”
“But in the meantime the meet would be over,” objected Frieda,
proceeding to the table, and pouring cream over her peaches. “No,
Marjorie, that won’t do. But we’ll think of a better plan. Come, eat
your peaches.”
Her companion, however, did not stir from the bed. Frieda carried her
own peaches over to the window and sat upon the broad sill to eat
them. Gazing idly out, she noticed a slender lattice which led up to
the window, and an arbor underneath. That was the solution of their
problem! Her eyes lighted up with the discovery.
“Marj!” she whispered, excitedly. “There’s a lattice and an arbor just
outside our window! We can easily escape!”
The other girl was out of bed in an instant, looking eagerly out of the
window. Frieda was right; the structure, frail though it was, looked
sufficiently strong to support their slender weight.
“Let’s do it right away, Frieda!” proposed Marjorie. “Oh, you are a
trump!” She seized her companion, and hugged her in ecstasy.
“Sh!” cautioned the other. “No, I’d love to go right away, but I really
think we better wait till dark. Won’t it be wonderful to give the old
man the slip?”
“Perfect!” agreed Marjorie. “Gracious, Frieda, it just seems as if I
couldn’t wait!”
“Well, you must! And let’s stuff all the food we can, for most likely
there isn’t any left in our canoes, and we have no money. Are you good
for a two-day fast?”
“I’m good for anything, if we only get away! And, believe me, I’ll
stuff!”
The girls dressed, and spent the morning wandering about the house
and looking at some old books and magazines, the latter of which
had evidently been current during Mrs. Higgins’s youth. They asked
continually for news of her husband, but always received a negative
reply. They managed to look annoyed and to preserve, in the presence of
their captor, the same sullen attitude which they had assumed at the
beginning.
At noon they ate a particularly hearty meal, and then retired to their
room to take a nap. For they felt that the chances were that they would
get little sleep that night. It was while they were lying down, and
just beginning to doze off, that Miss Phillips and Ethel came in search
of them and held the conversation with Mrs. Higgins through the window.
But they were utterly unconscious of the whole proceeding.
They awakened a little before six, just in time to get ready for
supper. Again they ate heartily and inquired with concern for the old
man.
“You needn’t expect to see ’im before Monday or Tuesday, or whenever
your pap comes home,” Mrs. Higgins repeated; “for I know he’ll stick
to the end. They’s a nice hotel at Besley, and he has cronies there;
in fact, he often goes off fer several days at a time!”
“And leaves you all alone?” demanded Marjorie indignantly. “Men are
beasts, aren’t they?” she added.
“Some is,” sighed Mrs. Higgins; “the fact is, I’m quite o’ that mind
meself about the old man!”
The girls went to their rooms after supper, announcing their intention
of going to bed early. Mrs. Higgins, too, decided to turn in as soon
as the dishes were done. Marjorie was just on the point of offering to
help when she reconsidered her idea, and decided it would be wisest to
let things stay as they were.
Marjorie and Frieda watched the sunset and the deepening twilight from
their window, and kept a sharp look out for Mr. Higgins. When it was
finally quite dark, and they had heard the stairs creak as Mrs. Higgins
went to bed, and all was still in the house, they cut the netting of
the window with Frieda’s scout knife, and prepared to descend. Frieda
went first.
With the end of the bed sheet tied around her waist, she put one foot
upon the lattice. Then, finding that it supported her weight, she
descended cautiously step by step. Fortunately for her, and for her
companion as well, both girls wore sneakers. It was a more difficult
matter for Marjorie to follow, for she had no sheet to protect her. But
knowing that Frieda, who was heavier, had arrived safely, she made the
descent boldly. In a moment they were on the ground together.
Free at last!
They stopped to untie the sheet and hide it behind a bush, and then
hurried noiselessly on. Their sneakers allowed them to advance rapidly,
and in absolute silence. In a short time they reached the water’s edge.
But here they encountered difficulty: _the canoe was gone!_
“Of course,” whispered Marjorie, “we might have known the miserable
wretch would think of that. Never mind, we’ll beat him all the same!
Let’s swim across! I know there’s a path on the opposite shore and
we’ll be less likely to be caught!”
Fortunately, the night was warm, and the girls felt no shock as
they plunged into the dark water. They were both exceptionally good
swimmers; otherwise the weight of their clothes might have seriously
retarded their progress.
“I’ve never been in swimming at night before,” remarked Marjorie, as
she made her way rapidly through the water.
“Oh, I have, heaps of times,” said Frieda.
“Do you ’spose we’ll take cold?” asked the other, a minute later.
“Not if we walk fast. And let’s--I’m not a bit tired, are you?”
“I should hope not, after this afternoon’s sleep. Let’s hurry, and not
lose a minute!”
They found that the path was plainly visible in the moonlight; and they
walked as fast as they could, glancing nervously over their shoulders
now and again, as if in fear of pursuit.