“She certainly is a devoted2 daughter,” remarked Alice, as she directed, with a spluttering, over-worked pen, a souvenir postal3 to her mother. “I never would think of sending a telegram!”
“Ruth’s an only child,” explained Lily; “and it makes a difference, I can tell you.”
“But you didn’t send your parents a telegram, Lil!” put in Marjorie.
“No—they’re away, somewhere. But I do write often.”
Tired of waiting for Ruth, the girls started toward the inn, and met her almost at the steps. They were glad of the opportunity to go to bed early that they might make a good start in the morning.
“And today’s Thursday,” remarked Miss Phillips, as they left the inn before seven o’clock the following morning. “I think we ought to make it by Saturday night. I sent a postal announcing our arrival for then, anyhow.”
“And to whom did you announce it?” asked Ruth,108 hoping to catch her captain unawares and cause her to give away the secret. But Miss Phillips only smiled knowingly.
“This is the earliest start we have made yet,” she said; “but then we had no breakfast to cook, or tents to take down.”
The girls paddled steadily4 all day. At last they came in sight of the big mill which Miss Phillips had designated as their camping spot. Ruth, however, was less interested in that than in the farm near by; for, sure enough, it was there, only instead of being opposite the mill, it was on the same side of the stream, a little farther down.
She had never confided5 to the other scouts the rumors6 that Michael had repeated about the woman who lived there. Indeed, she scarcely believed them herself, for she knew that gossiping people usually build stories about lonely, isolated7 lives. Nor had she any desire to frighten the girls; on the contrary she wanted to get Marjorie—and Frieda, if possible—to visit the farm. She resolutely8 kept all her information to herself. Only Harold Mason shared her knowledge.
Once she was sure of the farm, her next problem was how to get Marjorie there on some ordinary pretext9. But she did not have to think hard; the difficulty practically solved itself. Before their very eyes, as they passed by, loomed10 a whole orchard11 of magnificent peaches—just about ripe! To the109 scouts, who had eaten little except dried fruit since they had left home, the display was most alluring12. And Ruth lost no opportunity in mentioning them at every chance, in order to make the girls’ mouths water all the more.
Accordingly, the next morning, soon after breakfast, she remarked,
“I’ve simply got to have some of those peaches! Captain, couldn’t Marj and I paddle back to that farm-house and buy some for the rest of the trip? Our supplies aren’t very heavy now, are they?”
Miss Phillips considered; it was Friday. Even if the weather continued favorable and conditions good, they could not reach their destination before Saturday night. So there were two days left to the journey; and girls can eat a lot in two days. It was true, too, as Ruth said, that their baggage was light. So, for all these reasons Miss Phillips gave her consent to Ruth’s proposal, cautioning her, however, not to buy too many.
“I’ll give you a dollar out of the fund,” she said; “and you may buy as much as you can for that.”
Ruth and Marjorie jumped up in great glee, and made haste to go and load their canoe. The others lingered a little.
“We better go in Will-o’-the-Wisp,” said Ruth. “Doris, will you go with Lilian in Water-Witch?”
“Anything to get some of those peaches!”
110 “Don’t wait for us to come back here!” called Ruth; “we’ll paddle on, and meet you later. We can’t get lost; if we’re too speedy for you,” she added laughingly, “we’ll meet you at the next camp site—up by the bend!”
“Well, don’t eat all the peaches!” called Ethel, as they started off.
But Ruth was not yet satisfied; she had no intention of going to the farm herself. She knew she must, in some way, contrive13 to substitute Frieda for herself. Before they reached the bank, she stopped short.
“Hang it all!” she exclaimed, apparently14 annoyed. “I’ve got a nail in my shoe.”
“Shall I go get the hammer?” suggested Marjorie.
“No—I’d better go, for if I can’t get it out, I’ll have to get the sneakers out of our bag. But say, this means delay. Could you go for the peaches by yourself?”
“All right; certainly.”
“No, you better not, either,” decided15 Ruth, pretending to be very solicitous16 about Marjorie’s welfare; “you’d better get another girl. Ho—Frieda!”
Frieda appeared in a second, accepted the explanation, and took Ruth’s place. The latter returned to the group of scouts, now ready to depart, and made elaborate pretense17 at fixing an imaginary nail in her shoe. The operation, however, seemed to be quickly111 performed; in less than five minutes the scouts had pushed off, with now only four instead of five canoes in the party.
Meanwhile, Marjorie and Frieda made for the opposite direction. Arriving at their destination before the remainder of the party had even started, they tied their canoe securely to a tree-trunk, and walked towards the farm-house.
“I hope whoever lives there doesn’t bite our heads off,” observed Marjorie.
Looking all around, they saw no one in sight, and proceeded towards the front door.
“Don’t go to the front door, Marj!” said Frieda, stopping suddenly. “Country people always use their kitchens most of all. Let’s go there!”
Accordingly, they passed around to the rear of the house. Peering through the screen door of the kitchen, they beheld18 an attractive interior—neat and clean and well kept. At the far corner, beside the stove, they distinguished19 the stout20 figure of a woman bending over a pan. Marjorie knocked timidly.
“Come in!” called the woman, cheerily. Then, turning around, she opened her eyes wide in amazement21 at the sight of the two young girls.
“How do you do?” said Marjorie pleasantly, as she and Frieda entered the big room. “We belong to the girls who camped last night a little way up the stream, and we want to know whether you will112 sell us a dollar’s worth of peaches. They looked delicious.”
The woman smiled with pleasure. A workman loves to hear praise of his achievements, and the peach orchard was this lonely woman’s one happiness and pride. For the moment, she forgot the part she was to play in her sheer delight at the compliment.
“Yes, I growed them all myself. Been livin’ here nigh on to thirty year—” she was about to say, “by myself” but caught herself in time, and added, “me and my husband. And if I do say it myself, it’s a fine crop of peaches I’ve got. I never have no trouble sellin’ them.”
“And do you do all the work yourself?” questioned Frieda. “Doesn’t your husband help you?”
The woman shook her head. “No, he runs the car into Besley and other towns and sells ’em, but I do all the growin’. He never seemed to have no luck. But set down a minnit, and I’ll give you some doughnuts and fresh milk.”
“Thanks,” said Marjorie, gratefully. “But I almost think we oughtn’t to be so far behind the others——”
“But it will take a while to pick the peaches,” interrupted the other; “and you might as well be restin’ and a refreshin’ yourselves. Set down!”
The girls laughed good naturedly, and seated themselves upon a long wooden box which was113 evidently used for kindling22. Just as they were handed their refreshments23, an old man shuffled24 into the room.
“Jim, these girls wants some peaches,” said the woman. “Will you go out and pick them a basket?”
“A dollar’s worth,” explained Marjorie, biting into her doughnut.
The man nodded his head slowly, and then turned around and carefully closed the wooden door and bolted it.
“First of all,” he drawled, “will you answer me one question. Be either of yez by any chance Margie Wilkison?”
Marjorie dropped her doughnut into her lap in amazement. How could this man possibly know her name? But she never thought for a moment of attempting to conceal25 her identity. So she answered unhesitatingly.
“Yes, my name is Marjorie Wilkinson. Why?”
The old man squinted26 one eye, and, glorying in the completeness of his disguise, looked into her face.
“You know why as good as I do, young leddy! They’s no use pretendin’!”
At these words both girls sprang up instantly. There was something queer about the old creature—something uncanny! Both girls shuddered27 involuntarily, and with a common purpose started for114 the door, leaving their half-finished doughnuts on the table.
But the man held up his hand. He had no intention of allowing them to escape thus easily.
“Maybe you think we don’t know all about who you are!” he said mockingly.
Marjorie looked helplessly at the woman.
“Is he crazy?” she asked.
“No, indeed,” replied the other. “He really knows what he’s talking about. And you do too, only you won’t own up to it!”
“Frieda!” said Marjorie, in a terrified voice. “We must get out of here immediately.”
“Not so fast! Not so fast!” said the old man. “All the doors happen to be locked. But in case you think I mean to harm you, I’ll explain, though I know you’re only pretendin’ like you don’t know.
“Miss, you know better’n I do that you ran away from your pap. And you must know as how he’s anxious to get you back. Though mebbe you’re not acquainted with the fact that he’s offered a thousand dollars’ reward to them as locates you and notifies him accordingly. Therefore, I mean to hold you—and your friend, too, to keep you company—until your pap gets my message and shows up to claim you and give me my reward. My wife jest had one of them new fangled arrangements for runnin’ water put in the house, and it cost us a pretty penny; the money’ll come in right handy. We’ve got a nice115 bedroom for you upstairs, so you might as well make yourselfs to home. Now is there anything I can do for you?”
By this time Marjorie realized that he was really in earnest, though where he could have heard the strange story appalled28 her. She stood still, hopeless, in the centre of the room, and two great tears rolled down her cheeks.
“It’s all a ghastly lie!” she cried. “You people are ordinary kidnappers—and that’s the meanest kind of criminal there is!” She flashed a look of intense hatred29 at them both. “My father knows all about where I am, and he gave me full permission to go with the scouts. If you don’t believe me, why don’t you telephone him?”
“Easy, easy, me gal30!” said the old man, with a cynical31 smile on his face. “It’s possible, of course, that we might have the wrong Margaret Wilkison, but I guess I’ll find that out. A thousand dollars would lift the mortgage from this yere farm!”
“My name is Marjorie, not Margaret!” snapped the girl. “So you see you’re mistaken after all, and you might as well let us go! You’ll never get anything but a jail sentence out of my father!”
“Give me a chance to find that out; then, if I’m mistaken, I give you my word, I’ll let you both go.”
“Well, then go phone now!” challenged Frieda. Though she had said nothing thus far, it was not because she was not greatly incensed32. Had there been116 any hope of escape, she would have leaped at the old man, for she was exceptionally strong. But she realized that it was useless to attempt such a thing.
“Yes, go!” commanded Marjorie; and she gave the man her telephone number. “Just see what my father says!”
“I am going over to Besley now. We ain’t rich enough to have a telephone here. So make yourselfs comfortable, while I’m gone. Reckon I’ll lock the missis in, too, in case you all get too rambunctious33 for her!”
With these words he unbolted the door and went out, locking it on the outside behind him. Frieda’s mind instantly flew to the windows, but they were completely covered by a heavy wire screening which was fastened to the window frame on the outside.
“I’m sorry, girls,” said the woman, her voice softening34 with pity, “but he really won’t hurt you. He only wants the money. You don’t know how it feels to be poor all yer life and then see a chance to make a tidy sum, and not put all yer powers into gettin’ it. It’ll only be a matter of a day or two, and then you can join yer party again if you ain’t the one we’re lookin fer. And if you are, think how glad yer pap will be to see you again. Now—want to come upstairs?”
The girls followed the woman half-heartedly up the crooked35 stair-case to the second floor, all the117 while watching for chances to escape. But they saw none.
The bedroom into which she led them was neat and clean, and the bed linen36 spotless. Marjorie silently thanked her for that, and sat down upon the chair beside the window. Here there was no wire screening—only netting, and the sash was wide open. The lovely air from the orchard floated in reminding them what a beautiful day it was outside. Marjorie secretly wished that Ruth were her fellow-sufferer, as originally planned; for somehow she felt that Ruth, with her cleverness, could rise superior to almost any contingency37.
“Well, Frieda, I guess we’re in for it!” she remarked as the door was closed, and the retreating footsteps of the woman could be heard going down stairs again. “And I suppose there’s no use getting excited over it. But it certainly is hard luck!”
“Marj!” cried Frieda suddenly, in a doleful tone. “Suppose this makes us too late for the water meet!”
The idea had not occurred to Marjorie. She looked thunderstruck for a moment, but upon consideration, dismissed the thought with her usual optimism.
“It simply couldn’t, Frieda,” she reassured38 the other. “Today’s only Friday; the old sinner will surely find out today that he’s mistaken and let us go early tomorrow. It’s two days’ trip—we’ll only be a day late; and the meet isn’t till Wednesday.118 Oh, Frieda—” she jumped up and threw her arms around her companion—“I’d be so disappointed if I don’t have a chance to try for that cup!”
The woman appeared with their luncheon39, and the girls found themselves treated like royal guests. They slept in the afternoon, but by five o’clock the old man had not appeared, and Marjorie’s hopes sank.
One day was lost!
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1
scouts
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| 侦察员[机，舰]( scout的名词复数 )； 童子军； 搜索； 童子军成员 | |
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2
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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postal
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| adj.邮政的，邮局的 | |
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4
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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5
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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6
rumors
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| n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 )；[古]名誉；咕哝；[古]喧嚷 | |
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7
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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8
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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9
pretext
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| n.借口，托词 | |
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10
loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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11
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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12
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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13
contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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14
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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15
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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16
solicitous
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| adj.热切的，挂念的 | |
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17
pretense
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| n.矫饰，做作，借口 | |
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18
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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19
distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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21
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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22
kindling
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| n. 点火, 可燃物 动词kindle的现在分词形式 | |
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23
refreshments
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| n.点心,便餐;(会议后的)简单茶点招 待 | |
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24
shuffled
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| v.洗（纸牌）( shuffle的过去式和过去分词 )；拖着脚步走；粗心地做；摆脱尘世的烦恼 | |
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25
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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26
squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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27
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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28
appalled
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| v.使惊骇，使充满恐惧( appall的过去式和过去分词)adj.惊骇的；丧胆的 | |
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29
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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30
gal
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| n.姑娘，少女 | |
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31
cynical
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| adj.(对人性或动机)怀疑的，不信世道向善的 | |
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32
incensed
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| 盛怒的 | |
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33
rambunctious
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| adj.喧闹的；粗鲁的 | |
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34
softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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35
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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36
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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37
contingency
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| n.意外事件，可能性 | |
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38
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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39
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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