THE LAST DAY OF THE TRIP
It was after ten o’clock when Miss Phillips and Ethel finally dragged
their canoe upon the shore where the rest of the scouts were camping.
In answer to their call the girls all appeared at once. But they did
not need to ask the news; the failure to find Marjorie and Frieda was
plainly written on the countenance of the searchers.
Lily Andrews, who had forced herself to keep cheerful all day long in
spite of her increasing fears, broke down at the captain’s first words,
and sobbed uncontrollably.
“Not a trace!” sighed Miss Phillips from the depths of a disconsolate
weariness.
“I just know they have been drowned!” wailed Lily.
“No, I don’t think that,” replied the captain; “they are too good
swimmers.”
“Tell us all about it!” begged Alice, also beginning to cry.
“No--wait!” protested Frances, gently. “Remember Captain Phillips
and Ethel must be starved, and so tired. Come and eat first; we have
something nice all ready for you. Then, when you’re both a little bit
rested you can tell us the whole story.”
Miss Phillips gave Frances a grateful look, and the whole party went to
the tents, where a bright fire was burning.
“It was lovely of you to wait up for us,” said Miss Phillips, taking
the tin plate Doris handed her.
“We couldn’t any of us have slept a wink till you did come,” said Ruth.
“We were so excited and worried.”
The two ate silently while Ruth and Doris aimed to keep up the spirits
of the party by relating some of the trifling incidents of the day.
Miss Phillips finished her tea and turned to the girls.
“There unfortunately isn’t much to tell,” she said sadly; and then
proceeded to relate her conversation with the woman at the farm-house.
“We took her advice,” she continued, “and made the portage which she
suggested. It was a short cut--possibly it saved us a mile or so. Then
we went very slowly, looking everywhere for a canoe, and calling at
intervals, and whistling the troop call. Once we saw two girls in the
woods and our hearts fairly stopped beating; but when they came nearer
we realized they did not look anything like our girls. Then, as soon as
it got dark, we went faster, calling the girls’ names, however, as we
went along. Twice we stopped people--farmers--to ask if they had seen
anything of the girls, but we got no information.
“And so you see our only hope lies in what the woman reported that the
girls said--that they would press on and try to beat us to Silvertown.
I devoutly hope that is the case; but I am inclined to doubt it, for it
somehow does not sound like Marjorie Wilkinson.”
“But, Captain,” put in Ruth, “Marj really isn’t such a saint, even
though you think she is. I’ve known her to play jokes on people before,
particularly when it is sort of like a game, as this is, and wouldn’t
harm anybody.”
“But it harms me!” sobbed Lily. “I’m scared to death about her.”
“No, Lily, don’t be that!” urged Miss Phillips; “we mustn’t give up
yet!”
“And don’t forget,” added Ruth, “that Frieda Hammer’s with Marj--and
the whole idea may be hers.”
They discussed the matter with animation for a little while. Ruth
could hardly keep down an exuberance of feeling, she was so delighted
in knowing that her plan was working. She had, however, one dreadful
scare, a contingency which she had never once thought of. It was Ethel
Todd who suggested it.
“Captain Phillips,” she said, “in case the girls have been delayed by a
leak or an accident of some sort, and are not at Silvertown, couldn’t
we postpone the meet until Saturday?”
Ruth became white to the lips. Suppose her whole scheme should fall
through for such a reason, and after so much success! In the moment
that elapsed while Miss Phillips considered the proposition, she
suffered agonies. But at last the answer came--and relieved her.
“I wish we might,” she said, rising; “but there are so many events
planned at Silvertown that if we want the lake and an audience we have
to ask for a date months ahead. No,” she concluded sadly, “the thing
will have to go on--unless--of course----”
“No! No! Don’t say it, Captain!” cried Lily, in distress, “Let’s
believe nothing dreadful could happen!”
“I hope not,” Miss Phillips replied. “Suppose we turn in now, girls, so
we can get an early start to-morrow.”
“And see Marj and Frieda and Silvertown all at once!” exclaimed Ruth;
and the cheerful tone of her words brought a ray of hope to those less
optimistic.
Miss Phillips had expected that, in accordance with their schedule,
they might reach Silvertown by Saturday night. But this, of course, was
now impossible; and a wire on Sunday morning preceded them to announce
their arrival for five o’clock.
All day long they paddled steadily. At first they seemed silent and
rather depressed; but as they neared Silvertown their excitement
increased, and they grew more and more hopeful of finding their lost
companions. It was Ruth Henry who encouraged this spirit, rejoicing
inwardly at the disappointment they were soon to encounter. She was
glad that she had managed to include Frieda in the scheme, for she had
never cared for the country girl, and was thankful for an opportunity
to “put her in her place,” as she said. It was ridiculous of Miss
Phillips to think of allowing such a person to take part in an event
at Silvertown, and she was pleased over the chance to exclude her.
But Frieda and Marjorie, and, in fact, all the other scouts, would be
forever unaware of the real cause of the adventure.
“One hour more!” observed Lily looking at her watch. “And we’ll see
Marj.”
“One hour more!” said Ruth, “and we’ll see our house, and Silvertown!”
“One hour more!” echoed Doris, “and we’ll know who is giving us our
wonderful trip!”
“One hour more!” added Miss Phillips, “and you’ll get the surprise of
your life!”
“Oh, what, Captain?” asked Ruth, with intense interest.
“Or perhaps I had better say _surprises_!” she corrected. “For there
will be more than one!”
The creek had become wider now, and it was more difficult to handle
the canoes. But the girls put forth great effort, even succeeding
in increasing their speed, so anxious were they to reach their
destination. The scenery was lovely; now and then there were attractive
bungalows along the water’s edge. The girls watched impatiently for
signs of Silvertown.
“We shall approach the town from the rear,” observed Miss Phillips; “so
we will not get the best view.”
“And how are we to know it?” asked Frances.
“We shall see the big lake joining the creek, and then in a minute or
two, we’ll see it. As I have said before, the whole place isn’t very
big.”
When the canoes actually came to the lake and approached, as Ruth said,
“the isle of their dreams,” they were surprised at how little of the
town they could actually see. For, on the shore towards the creek the
trees were large and close together; only the roof of the church or a
particularly high house was now and again visible above the trees.
Two luxurious machines stood on the bank, and the girls looked
instantly to identify the drivers. Lily was the only one to recognize
one of them. For both were chauffeurs.
“That’s our chauffeur!” she cried, in consternation. “Yes, and one of
those cars is ours, too!”
“Well, of all things, Lil!” exclaimed Ruth. “How do you suppose----?”
But Lily was already out of the canoe, and was running toward the
chauffeur.
“Henry, where did you come from? Are mamma and papa here? Have two Girl
Scouts arrived here before us? Where----?”
Henry touched his cap, and smiled at this breathless storm of questions.
“Yes, Miss Lily,” he finally replied; “Mr. and Mrs. Andrews are here,
and you will see them in a few minutes. And there are some young people
who arrived yesterday----”
Lily gasped in astonishment, and the others pressed close about her and
the chauffeur.
--“But they were not _girls_; they were----”
“Sh!” cautioned Miss Phillips. “Not a word about that, please. It’s a
surprise.”
When Lily finally learned that Marjorie and Frieda had not arrived, her
eyes filled with tears; she stood still, as if she wanted to get into
the canoe again and go back. But Miss Phillips told the girls to get
into the machines.
“But who will take care of our canoes?” asked Ethel, who had no desire
to lose them a second time.
“One of the men will be right along, Miss,” explained Henry. “You
needn’t worry.”
The machines drove for a short distance along a dirt lane which seemed
to go right through the heart of the woods. When they finally emerged,
the girls beheld a smooth white road lined with beautiful bungalows and
houses, all in the most perfect condition. Green lawns, dotted here
and there with flowers, and enclosed by hedges, surrounded the lovely
dwellings.
“And is our house as lovely as these?” asked Ruth, impressed by the
splendor of it all.
“Just a minute and you can see for yourself,” replied the captain.
At these words the car slowed up and turned abruptly through an open
gate, and up a wide, curving driveway, which led to a charming house
of the English type. It was low and rambling, but very large; indeed,
at first glance it seemed to the girls to be almost the size of their
dormitory at Miss Allen’s.
On the wide veranda of the house the girls could plainly see a group of
people--apparently all men. No, there was one woman in the center of
the group. It was Mrs. Andrews!
“But who are they?” questioned Ruth, turning to the captain.
“Some of the Boy Scouts,” replied the latter; “and Mr. Remington--and
our benefactor and his wife: Mr. and Mrs. Andrews!”
But amid the noisy, happy greetings that followed, there was a great
note of sadness; Marjorie and Frieda were missing, and with one
exception, no one knew what had happened to them!