Of course, Miss Jenny Ann and the girls still thought that they had floated out from Wayside Point only a short time before. The storm was so heavy—that must explain why they could see no land.
"Put on your heaviest clothes, girls, and your raincoats," Miss Jenny Ann ordered bravely, trying to keep her own consternation out of her voice. "We must light the lamps that should hang at the bow and stern of our boat, and any others that will not be blown out by the wind. To think that last night was the first time that we forgot to put out our signal lanterns! We forgot everything in the excitement of the play."
The four girls slipped quietly into their clothes. They followed their chaperon out on the deck. There they found her seated, flat on the deck so as not to be thrown off her feet by the wind. Beaten and buffeted by the storm, Madge and Phyllis finally managed to hang their lanterns in the prow and stern of the houseboat. Then the five of them sat down together.
"What do you think we had better do?" Phil asked, as cheerily as possible.
"There is nothing to do but to stay aboard until we are taken off by some other boat," answered Miss Jones. "We shall have to call out for help."
How black and deep the water looked, how unlike the quiet channels in which the houseboat had previously rested. "What time is it, Madge?" inquired their chaperon unexpectedly.
Madge fought her way into the cabin. "It is nearly five o'clock," she called. "The dawn will come within the hour."
It was difficult to keep a light burning, the wind blew so fiercely, the rain poured down in such heavy sheets. The houseboat party dared not go inside their cabin. They must stay on deck to watch for an approaching boat to tow them safely back to land.
They sat in a huddled group, their arms about each other. The gay Japanese parasols, the pretty decorations of the houseboat, had long since blown away. Half a dozen chairs romped and rioted about the deck, turning somersaults, now and then hurling themselves against the railing or the sides of the cabin. The girls could only faintly see one another's faces.
Phil had a small fog horn, through which she blew as long as her breath held out. Then she passed it to Lillian and so down the line. The five women sat with their backs to the cabin wall for the sake of the scanty shelter. Eleanor rang a large dinner bell, which she had used on other occasions to summon the houseboat party to their meals.
For an hour they waited, in silence save for sounds made by the bell and the horn. Now and then one of the girls cried out for help. But most of the time they stared out on the water, hoping, expecting every instant to see some other craft. The dawn was long in breaking because of the fury of the storm.
Miss Jenny Ann began to think that the houseboat had drifted a much longer time than she had at first supposed. They were certainly in dangerous waters. Never in her life had she seen the breakers roll so high. It was a marvel that the "Merry Maid" did not capsize. She and the girls fully realized their danger. Yet no one of them made any outcry.
The girls were growing very tired. Now and then one of them fell asleep for a brief instant.
Over and over again in Madge's head, as she sat among her friends, so pale and silent, came the sound of the congregation singing in the little stone church near "Forest House":
"Oh, hear us, when we call to Thee,For those in peril on the sea!"
"Oh, hear us, when we call to Thee,For those in peril on the sea!"
"Oh, hear us, when we call to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!"
The words brought comfort to her now.
When dawn came the storm abated. But with the passing of the storm came another and a greater danger to the "Merry Maid." A heavy fog settled down on the water. It was hardly possible to see more than a few feet ahead. No ship's crew could discover the poorly lighted craft in such a thick, impenetrable fog.
Phyllis owned a small compass. She could tell that their boat was moving southeast. The wind was at their back. It was strange that they had been able to signal no other ships. It could not be possible that they had been blown out to sea!
It must have been nearly eight o'clock when Miss Jenny Ann went into the cabin, leaving the four girls to keep the watch. They were sick and faint. Presently the delicious aroma of boiling coffee floated out on the fog-laden atmosphere.
Miss Jenny Ann summoned the girls indoors, two at a time. The coffee, toast and bacon brought fresh courage. She made them change their wet clothing for that which was warm and dry. They kept the fire burning in the kitchen stove. After a while their fate did not seem so hopeless. The girls were frightened, of course. They wished a ship would hurry along to pick them up. But there was something deliciously thrilling in the idea that the "Merry Maid" was voyaging alone on a—to them—unknown sea, and that they were the first mariners who had ever drifted on such a boat.
All day long the lights were kept burning on the houseboat. There was nothing else to do, although there was the possibility that their oil might give out; they had not a large supply on board. But there was no other way to attract attention. The fog never lifted. If a large boat should bear down upon them, without seeing their lights, the "Merry Maid" would go to the bottom of the sea.
The houseboat no longer rocked violently. The water had become smoother, as is always the case in a fog.
Now and then, during the long day, one of the girls would attempt to go about some accustomed duty. Lillian and Eleanor made up the berths in the cabin. Madge and Phyllis rescued the chairs that were being blown about the deck and lashed them down securely. But after a time the little company would unconsciously creep together to continue their silent staring.
In the afternoon Miss Jenny stationed two girls at the forward watch. She stood in the stern. Madge and Lillian went on the upper deck of their little cabin for a further range of vision.
Far out on the water Madge saw two great, curling columns of smoke.
"Look, Lillian!" she cried hopelessly, "there goes an ocean liner. We must be far from shore. How can we signal her?"
Five tired voices took up a shrill call. Two white sheets fluttered dismally. But the great steamer, on her way to Baltimore, neither heard the sound nor saw the white signals of distress. It was ten times more dismal when the friendly smoke had dissolved in the heavy atmosphere!
Another two hours went by. Madge wondered if it could have been only last night when Flora Harris had so cruelly insulted her. Yet how little Madge had thought of her trouble to-day! How far away it seemed, like a sorrow that had come to her years before.
Just before sunset the fog lifted as though by magic. Madge and Phyllis were together on the cabin deck when a deep rose flush appeared in the western sky. Instead of a line of sea and sky, some distance ahead of the houseboat, just under the horizon, a faint, dark streak showed itself.
"Madge, what is that over there?" Phil asked sharply, pointing ahead.
Madge shook her head. "I am not sure," she answered.
Another fifteen minutes passed. The "Merry Maid" kept a straight course.
Phil clutched Madge by the sleeve. "If I am not mistaken, there is land over there. Our houseboat is being carried straight toward it."
The girls called down their discovery to Miss Jenny Ann, but the watchers below had also been conscious of a change in the horizon.
Miss Jenny Ann feared that she had seen a mirage, she had gazed so long at the water.
"I know it is land, Miss Jenny Ann," Phyllis insisted, with the assurance that made her such a comfort to her friends in times of difficulty.
But would the houseboat ever drift near enough to shore to allow them to be seen from the land? Very slowly the "Merry Maid" now glided on. She was in quieter water. There was little wind, but a surer force drew her toward the land. The tide was running in. After a time the houseboat party realized this. There was nothing to do but to wait and see how far in their boat would drift. After a time they could see the outline of a sandy shore, with thick woods behind it. But there was no house, no human being in sight.
At twilight the "Merry Maid" was not more than a mile from land, and still creeping toward it.
Madge's fighting blood returned to her. The troubles of the past had vanished. What, after all, was the idle insult of a cruel girl? She must now do what she could to save her friends and herself. Madge felt she had not been as courageous as the others during the day's trial. She had thought too much of her own grievances.
"Miss Jenny Ann," she announced determinedly, "I can't bear this slowness and uncertainty any longer. It looks as though the 'Merry Maid' were going near enough to the shore for us to be able to attract some one's attention in a little while; but if night comes before we reach the shore, it will be much more difficult. The beach does not look as though there were many people about."
"What would you have us do?" asked the chaperon.
"There is our very long clothes line on board," suggested Madge. The girls gazed at her in astonishment. What had their clothes line to do with the situation? "I want you to knot it around my waist," she continued, "and let me swim in to the shore."
Miss Jones shook her head. The other girls protested. "You are tired, Madge, and the water is too cold. It wouldn't be safe."
"But, Miss Jenny Ann—girls," pleaded Madge, "has it ever struck you that we do not know the time of the tide? At any moment it may turn and we shall be carried out on the ocean beyond to spend another dreadful night."
At first the little party were silent. Madge was right, yet they could not bear to think of her risking her life for them.
Her persuasions finally won the day. The houseboat was now only a little more than a quarter of a mile from the beach. But they had not been observed. There were no boats in sight.
Phil insisted on swimming in with Madge. She was not quite as much at home in the water, but she was a strong, steady swimmer, and it seemed safer for the two girls to make the effort together.
The clothes line was knotted about Madge's waist. It was then tied to the cleat, from which a short end of rope dangled that had been cut the night before.
After the first plunge into the cold water the swim ashore was delicious. When the two girls finally got into the shallow water they tugged at the rope, Madge keeping it around her waist, so as to pull with greater force. They worked very carefully. Their rope was slender, but fairly strong. This helped them to draw their boat in closer, and they managed to get the "Merry Maid" half aground on a shelf of sand. It was now possible to wade from the boat to the land, with the water coming up no higher than the waist.
Miss Jenny Ann climbed off the boat and made her way to the shore, followed by Lillian and Eleanor.
At last the five women, wet but thankful, stood safe on land.
Blankly they surveyed each other and the empty beach. Then they gazed at their pretty toy boat, that had borne so staunchly the vicissitudes of its dangerous voyage. It was almost night. The shipwrecked mariners were very tired and the beach was curiously lonely. But the strain was over.
Madge began to laugh first. Her laugh was always infectious. The others followed suit.
"Here we are, the latest thing in 'Swiss Family Robinson'," she announced cheerfully. "Now, let us proceed to stir up some people and ask them to give us some dry clothes and a night's lodging. Come on. Let us explore our island."
CHAPTER XII
A DESERTED ISLAND
The houseboat party did not penetrate very far up the shore. All were too utterly worn out. They walked for a mile or more, and, when they found no sign of life, came back to their landing place.
"There is nothing for us, children, but to sleep here on the beach to-night, or go back to our houseboat," declared Miss Jenny Ann. "We are perfectly safe, as there are no other human beings anywhere about."
"No more houseboat for me," rejoined Eleanor firmly. "Think of the size of the rope that held our anchor and now the boat is secured by a clothes line! I'll walk up and down on the beach all night, but I'll not set foot on the 'Merry Maid'."
"But, Eleanor," protested Lillian, "we are so wet and cold. And it's so dark and lonely."
"I know," agreed Miss Jenny Ann, "yet I feel a good deal as Nellie does."
"We'll freeze to death, or have pneumonia, then," put in Lillian plaintively.
Phil and Madge were talking together in low tones. Madge nodded her head wisely.
"It's worth trying," declared Phil stoutly.
Turning to the chaperon, she said: "Miss Jenny Ann, Madge and I are going back to the boat. We will get our steamer blankets and some matches. If you and the girls will find some wood we will make a fire on the beach. We can dry ourselves, and our fire may be observed in this forsaken place."
"You'll get the blankets wet bringing them here, Madge," remonstrated Lillian. "If only we had not left the 'Water Witch' up at Tom's camp, what a help it would be now!"
"Don't worry," laughed Madge, "just wait and see what Phil and I are going to do."
A light soon shone on the houseboat. Strange sounds of hammering were heard. Miss Jenny Ann, Lillian and Eleanor would have grown impatient if it had not been such slow work to find wood in the forest at night. But they came back to the beach with their arms full several times before a halloo from the houseboat indicated the return of the excursionists.
A heavy something fell plunk! over the side of the houseboat. Two figures scrambled after it. In a minute or two it was possible to see Madge and Phyllis pushing a large barrel in to shore. The barrel had originally been filled with potatoes, which the girls had dumped on the kitchen floor of the houseboat.
The barrel held several steamer blankets, dry shoes and stockings all around, matches, and a few pieces of kindling wood. Madge and Phil made several trips before they concluded their work for the night. Besides covering, they brought to the shore their cherished coffee pot and provisions for breakfast in the morning.
In the meantime their chaperon and the other two girls had made a glorious fire. By ten o'clock the entire party was sound asleep.
Miss Jenny Ann had not meant to sleep. She had intended to watch the fire all night. But such an overpowering drowsiness crept over her that she rose and piled all the wood they had left with them on the fire at once. Then she, too, gave herself up to slumber.
Madge awoke first in the morning. She leaned over to see if her cousin, Nellie, were all right. Nellie's brown eyes smiled back at her. The two girls rose softly and ran lightly back into the forest for more wood for their fire, of which a few faint embers were still burning.
The forest was very dense. There were no paths through it from the side at which the girls penetrated. There were oak, walnut and beech trees growing in primeval beauty. Great clusters of wild grape vines, loaded with ripe fruit, climbed the trunks of the trees and swung from their branches. The bittersweet black haws were ripe. They were easy to gather from the low limbs of the small trees.
Madge and Eleanor found quantities of twigs and small logs. When they had piled up the wood near their sleeping friends they went back to the forest and returned with plenty of grape leaves for plates, and as much of the wild fruit as they could carry.
It added greatly to their breakfast, and immediately after the houseboat party started on an exploring expedition. They must surely find some one to help them. At first the little clan of girls kept near to the beach, expecting to find a fisherman's cottage or a boat. They were afraid to go too far back in the woods on account of the danger of losing their way. They had had no fresh water since the day before, except the small amount that Madge and Phil brought from the houseboat for use in their coffee. All were growing very thirsty, and apparently there was no one to aid them on the beach.
Miss Jenny Ann began to think that they had landed on an island. It was altogether uninhabited and so could not be any part of a main shore.
Madge led the way when they entered the woods. She traveled slowly ahead, forcing her path through the tangled underbrush. They must surely find a house on the other side of the woodland. Now they listened eagerly for the sound of a stream of running water.
They had walked until afternoon before they came to a clearing in the forest. They had dropped down to rest, when Phil heard a longed-for murmur. It tinkled and splashed and gurgled. Phil was on her feet again in an instant, running toward the noise, her companions close after her.
There, in an open space, lay a pool of clear water, fed by a little stream that ran down a small embankment. At least it was a place of hope and refreshment, and they drank their fill of the clear, cold water. Somewhere near they must come across a house. Surely the island was not uninhabited.
Here the party divided, continuing the search in four directions. It was Lillian's call that brought them together again.
She stood in front of a small house. It was built of shingles, and the roof was made of cedar boughs. About a hundred feet off was another house of exactly the same kind. There was no sign of life anywhere about them. The paths in front of the doors were overgrown with weeds.
The five women knocked timidly on the first door. No sound came from behind it. They knocked again, then crossed over to the second house. It, too, was deserted. There was nothing to do but push open the doors.
The first rusty latch yielded easily. The house contained a single dirty room. There was no furniture, except one or two old chairs. The four corners of the room were filled with hemlock branches, which must once have served as beds. A rusty rifle leaned against the wall. Beside it lay a box half filled with cartridges. An old iron pot rested on some burned-out ashes. The place did not appear to have been occupied for some time. The other lodge was furnished in much the same way.
"What does it mean?" inquired Miss Jenny Ann faintly, feeling her courage about to give out. "It can't be possible that we have come ashore on an untenanted island?"
Phyllis clapped her hands. "Never you mind, Miss Jenny Ann; here is our home in these little houses until some one comes to find us," she declared undaunted.
"Hurrah for Phil!" cried Madge, catching her chum's spirit. Then, seeing the chaperon's expression, she went up to her and put her arms about her. "See here, Miss Jenny Ann, you are not to worry over us. We are going to have a good time. As long as we have got into this scrape, let's make the best of it. Don't you see it is rather a lark. Of course, I am sorry that our families and friends will be so dreadfully worried about us. But some one is sure to rescue us in a few days. We can keep our signals of distress fastened on to the houseboat and move up here to live. I am beginning to believe that this is a small island that is used for duck shooting. We have run across two hunting lodges. The duck shooting begins the first week in November."
"November!" cried Miss Jenny Ann in horror. "Why, children, we will starve to death unless we are rescued before that time."
Madge and Eleanor laughed.
"Miss Jenny Ann does not know the woods at this time of the year, does she?" protested Eleanor. "We can play at being squirrels and live on nuts as soon as a frost comes."
"'There are as many fish in the sea as ever were caught'," quoted Lillian gayly.
"And crabs," added Phil. "And rabbits and birds and goodness knows what-all in the woods. Why, it is a perfectly wonderful adventure! Suppose we are alone on this island? I'll wager you no American girls ever had an experience like this before."
It was a weary trip back to the houseboat, but there were so many plans to be made for this pioneer existence. The girls decided that they intended to play at being their own great-great grandmothers. They were settlers who had just landed on the shores of a new country. They must prove that they had the old fighting blood of their ancestors.
At the edge of the wood Madge gallantly seized hold of a good-sized log, dragging it toward the shore in the direction of the houseboat.
"What ho, my hearty?" questioned Phil, coming to her assistance. "What do you intend to do with this tree?"
"Kindly refer to your 'Robinson Crusoe' and your 'Swiss Family Robinson' and you will know. We must make a kind of raft, so that we can go back and forth to the houseboat without getting wet every time we go aboard."
Miss Jones, Lillian and Eleanor managed to haul another log of nearly equal size. On the shore the girls lashed the two logs together with short ends of their precious clothes line.
Madge took off her shoes and stockings, pinned up her skirts, and, getting down on her knees, with a stick for a paddle, started forth on her raft. She claimed the honor of the first trip, since the idea had first been hers.
The raft reached the "Merry Maid" in safety. She rose to wave her hands in triumph, but she rested too much of her weight at one end of the logs. The raft tipped gently and she plunged head first into the sea.
"Splendid way to keep from getting wet, Madge!" sang out Phil.
However, after a time, the raft did help. There were a hatchet, a hammer and some nails on the houseboat; a few odd lengths of rope and heavy twine, as well as the straps from the trunks. By nightfall the girls had made a raft of some pretensions. It served to bring more of their grocery supplies to the land. By wading on either side of it to keep it from tipping, Madge and Phil managed to steer one of their trunks to the shore.
At Eleanor's suggestion a few extra sheets were carried off the houseboat. Then Miss Jenny Ann and Nellie set themselves seriously to work to make a cable for the "Merry Maid." They divided their sheets into good, broad strips; using six, instead of three strands, they plaited them into a fairly strong rope. They must run no risk of losing the houseboat. It must not be allowed to drift away for the second time.
The girls were tired and hungry at bedtime, though not one whit discouraged. It would take some time to move what they needed from the houseboat to the lodge in the wood. But they were equal to the task, and found it good sport.
Miss Jenny Ann continued to worry over the prospect ahead of them. Would they be forced to spend the winter on this deserted island? How could they? They would perish from hunger and cold. Would their families give them up for lost? How would Miss Tolliver ever open her school at Harborpoint without her four favorite pupils and one of her teachers?
For a few days these dreadful ideas continued to haunt Miss Jones. The girls may have thought of them, but they did not talk of them. Indeed, they were far too busy. Pioneer life was strenuous. They found little time for fretting.
CHAPTER XIII
LIFE IN THE WOODS
It was wonderful how quickly they adapted themselves to their new mode of life. A few days later Phyllis, with a rifle slung over one shoulder and a dead rabbit over the other, was striding along through a dense thicket of trees. Her face was tanned, her cheeks were crimson. She was whistling cheerily.
"Won't Madge be proud of me?" she murmured half aloud. "Ten days ago I had never fired a gun in my life. Now I have killed this poor little bunny. Beg your pardon, bunny, I never would have shot you, but we really had to have something to eat for dinner to-night. It was your life or ours."
The woods were brown and gold. A heavy frost had fallen early in the autumn. The little spot of earth through which Phyllis Alden wandered was empty of other human beings; it looked as though it might have been created for her alone.
A sudden sound in the underbrush startled Phyllis. She clutched her rifle and brought it to position. There was no further movement.
"I ought not to have come so deep into the woods alone," she thought. "I believe I am beginning to suppose that we are living in the Garden of Eden, and that there is no one alive in the world except Miss Jenny Ann and we four girls."
Phil moved on. Something stirred again. Phil felt her gaze drawn by a pair of big, soft, brown eyes that surveyed her with a fixed stare of horror. It was a wistful, penetrating gaze. Phil had never seen anything like it before.
"Who's there?" called Phil. There was no answer, and no movement in the underbrush. Phil moved cautiously toward the pair of eyes, that never ceased to stare at her. Still the figure back of them made no movement.
The underbrush was so thick that Phyllis could not possibly see what she was approaching. When she was within a short distance of it the little creature collapsed and dropped with a soft flop on the ground at her feet. It was a tiny baby fawn.
"You poor, pretty thing!" exclaimed Phil impulsively, stooping to look more closely at the fawn, which was shivering with terror and hunger. Then Phil, in spite of her lately acquired skill with the rifle, looked fearfully about her.
The girls in their long rambles through the woods had observed several times, from afar, the antlers of a red deer, with her hind grazing quietly beside her. They had never gone near enough to be in any danger. And they had seen no other animals in the woods in the daytime except the wild hare and the squirrels. Only at night the screech of the wildcats in the forests had penetrated behind the closed doors of their sleeping lodge.
Phyllis knew that a deer will seldom risk an attack, but that it will make a tremendous fight in defence of its young. Phil had no idea of being sacrificed, so she edged carefully away, gazing in every direction through the trees. There was no sign of any other deer.
By some chance the mother deer must have wandered off in the forest after food and died. Nothing else could have made her leave her fawn long enough to cause it so nearly to perish from cold and hunger.
What could Phil do? She was afraid to pick the fawn up for fear she had been mistaken in her surmise. Yet it seemed too cruel to leave the beautiful little creature to perish. If Phil wished to save it, how could she manage it? She already carried their beloved rifle, which, with a supply of ammunition, had been their lucky discovery in the hunting lodge. Bunny was not to be thrown away. He meant dinner for the houseboat party. The deer was small and thin, yet it was a good armful. Phil might have shot the tiny fawn and so spared it the misery of slowly starving to death. Hunters, who care little for the lives of the creatures in the woods, declare that it is difficult to shoot a deer, once it has gazed with its wistful, trusting look into one's eyes. What chance had tender-hearted Phil, with her dread of having anything in the world suffer, against the appeal of the forsaken creature?
"Oh, me, oh, my! I suppose I must take you home to our lodge to take care of," relented Phil, "though I am sure that Miss Jenny Ann will not rejoice at another mouth to feed."
Phil carefully emptied the barrels of her rifle so as not to endanger her own life. She took some stout twine out of her pocket and swung her rabbit around her neck. She fastened her gun to her side in awkward fashion with another piece of cord, so as to leave both arms almost free.
Then Phil stooped and picked up the poor little fawn. It struggled at first and kicked its feeble legs. But after a little it was too weak and feeble for further resistance. It lay quite still.
In spite of this, Phil's return home began to grow difficult. She had never carried such an uncomfortable baby before. Yet she had often shouldered the twins at home, and had borne them both, kicking and wriggling with delight, about the garden. But this burden was such an odd and unaccustomed shape!
Phyllis sat down on a log under a chestnut tree and regaled herself with chestnuts while she rested. She was beginning to be afraid she would be late for luncheon at their lodge and she was ravenously hungry. Perhaps one of the girls would come out to look for her.
Miss Jenny Ann and her girls had been living an enchanted life for the past fortnight. Not a single human being had they seen since their strange arrival on the unknown island. They had been deep into the woods on both sides of their lodges. They had wandered up and down the shore that sheltered their deserted "Merry Maid." But they had not yet crossed to the opposite side of the island. The way was jungle-like and untrodden. Miss Jenny Ann feared that, once lost, they would never find their way back to their shelter again. So far she hoped for rescue from a ship that must some day pass within range of the island. She believed the other shore to be as deserted as the one on which the "Merry Maid" had landed.
"Madge and Lillian must have finished with their fishing hours ago," reflected Phil. "I must not be so lazy; I must hurry along home."
Phyllis had placed her burden on the ground. She leaned over to pick it up. A sound of human voices smote her ear. The voices were not those of any member of the houseboat party. They were the voices of men.
Phil was startled—the sound was so unexpected and surprising. Without an instant's hesitation she slipped behind the giant chestnut tree and crouched low on the ground. The men were coming nearer. She had not been dreaming. It occurred to Phyllis at once that these men must be game-keepers, who had been sent to explore the island to see if any one had been shooting the game before the hunting season opened. And here was Phyllis Alden with a dead rabbit swung over one shoulder and a live fawn in her arms!
Had Phil stopped to consider she might have known that she could easily explain her presence to the men. But she did not stop to think, for she was much too frightened.
One of the men had a dark, uncompromising face. The other Phil did not see distinctly.
The men evidently believed the island as deserted as Phyllis had thought it before their appearance.
"It's a forsaken hole," one of the men said to the other. "For my part, I'll be glad when we are through with this business. I've no taste for it. I wish it were finished."
"Oh, the job's easy, if it is slow," the other man answered. "You ain't used to the things I am."
The men tramped on without dreaming of Phil or of her hiding place.
Once they were out of sight, Phyllis realized how foolish she had been. She called after them, but they were now out of hearing. Phil felt ashamed of herself. Why had she been afraid of these two men? Could she go to the lodge and say to Miss Jenny Ann that she had let a possible chance of rescue pass by them?
Phil decided to linger in the woods no longer. No matter if her arms and her back did ache she must hurry back to tell Madge of the apparition she had seen.
"Phil Alden! Phil Alden!" Phyllis heard a clear voice calling to her. Then she heard the violent ringing of their cherished dinner-bell.
"Here I am to the left," she shouted back. "Come here and help me carry these things."
Madge pushed her way through the bushes, radiant and glowing with health.
"For mercy's sake, Phil Alden, what have you there?" she demanded, taking Phil's rifle and the dead rabbit, but looking askance at her live offering.
"I am ashamed of myself," apologized Phil, "but I found this beautiful little thing starving to death, in the woods. Do you think Miss Jenny Ann will mind if I take care of it and feed it until it is old enough to look after itself?"
"Of course not, Phil. But what do you expect to feed your adopted deer on? It seems to me that a little fawn like that must prefer milk as an article of diet, and we have found no cows on the island—up to the present." Madge patted the top of the fawn's soft head while she teased her chum.
Phil was thrown into consternation. "Gracious, Madge, you are right!" she agreed. "I never thought of it. But you know we are still having oatmeal for our breakfast. I'll ask Miss Jenny Ann to let me give my share to the fawn. Before the porridge gives out I expect we shall be rescued, or my baby will be grown-up enough to take care of itself."
Phil pronounced the word "rescued" in such fashion that Madge stopped in her forward march to question her.
"Out with it, Phil! You have something on your mind," she declared. "You might as well tell me."
After Phil had finished her story of seeing the men the two girls agreed not to mention Phil's encounter in the woods to Miss Jenny Ann or to the other two girls until they had had more time to think things over.
"I love our woods and sometimes I think I would like to live here always, Phil," returned Madge, "but it is our duty to get away when we can. It may be best for you and me to search over this whole island until we find those two men again."
The door of one of the hunting lodges stood wide open. Phil put down her fawn on a mound of soft grass and flashed cheerfully in. "Here I am at last, hungry as a bear!" she exclaimed. "I'm so glad to be at home again."
Eleanor and Miss Jenny Ann were bending over the fireplace, stirring something savory in a big iron pot.
Lillian was putting the finishing touches to the small kitchen table, which had been transferred from the houseboat to the center of one of the cabin rooms. In the middle she had placed a great bunch of scarlet berries and wild sumach leaves. At one end was a dish of roasted chestnuts, cracked hickory nuts and walnuts. On the other, piled on a plate of leaves, were a few wild fruits that Eleanor had been able to find that morning.
The single dirty room which the houseboat party discovered had now been transformed. This lodge was now used for the living quarters of the houseboat derelicts, the other little house for their sleeping apartment. The hemlock beds had been swept away, and the whole place scrubbed as clean as possible.
The room was bright with the October sunlight. The walls were hung with trophies of the woods, branches of scarlet leaves and vines of wild clematis. In one corner of the room the big wood basket was filled with nuts of every kind, gathered after the first frost, the girls' sole provision against the winter. A string of fresh fish, Madge's and Lillian's morning catch, was floating about in a bucket of fresh water.
The girls gathered around the table. Miss Jenny Ann lifted up the great iron pot and poured a savory stew into a great bowl.
"Guess what it is, Phil?" cried Madge. The dish was filled with potatoes, brought over from the houseboat larder, and big pieces of a dark, rich looking meat.
Phil shook her head. "I can't guess. I'd rather eat," she replied.
"It's old 'Marse Terrapin.' Don't you remember him in the story of Uncle Remus? Lillian and I found him strolling along the shore. Who says we are not full-fledged Crusoes?"
CHAPTER XIV
CAUGHT IN A STAMPEDE
"Good-bye, Madge, dear!" sighed Eleanor mournfully.
"Say 'au revoir,' but not 'good-bye,' sweet Coz," sang Madge lightly.
She was strapping her school satchel across her back like a knapsack. The girls were attired in their shortest, darkest gowns, and ready for the road.
Miss Jenny Ann hovered near, her face very white and her eyes swollen. "I feel I am very wrong in letting you girls attempt it alone," she protested. "To think that I should have been overtaken with an attack of influenza just as we were about to cross the island is too awful! Don't you think you had better wait until I am well enough to go with you?"
Madge shook her bronze head firmly; Phil's black head followed suit.
"My dear Miss Jenny Ann," protested Madge, "the men Phil saw may have come onto this island simply to stay only a day or so. Unless we go in search of them at once, they may escape us altogether."
"Don't let anybody worry about us," Phil urged. "Madge and I will be as right as right can be. Suppose we find the island so large that we can not get to the other side and back in one day, what's the difference? We will hang our hammock in a tree and sleep like the birds of the air."
With a solemn face, that she tried to make smiling, Eleanor extracted a pale blue ribbon from her pocket and tied it around Madge's arm.
Lillian, with set lips, performed the same service for Phil, except that her ribbon was red.
When the two girls had finished their tasks Madge and Phil dropped to their knees and kissed the hands of their ladies.
"Behold, Miss Jenny Ann, two true knights!" laughed Madge. "Phil and I are going out in search of assistance for our ladies, who are held prisoners by the waves on the shores of a desert island. Don't you mind; we are going to have a perfectly lovely time."
Madge and Phil were enchanted over the prospect of their adventure. They had had a long talk with Miss Jenny Ann about the two men whom Phil had seen in the woods. The houseboat party had reached a united decision. The men must be found. They must be asked to help the girls and their chaperon to find their way home again; or, at least, to tell them how they could manage to communicate with their friends.
Madge, Phil and Miss Jenny Ann decided to make the trip together.
Miss Jenny Ann felt as though she would have liked to be twins. One of her could then have stayed at home with Lillian and Eleanor, to help them guard their little home; the other could have gone forth on the expedition through the woods with the two more venturesome girls.
The five young women presumed that the men whom Phil had seen must have come ashore within a short time, or else that they lived on the other side of the island. It was possible that there might be a small settlement of people somewhere near the farther shore. In any case the houseboat crew must find out. They must try to get away from their island before winter came.
Madge and Phyllis had a glorious morning in the woods, one that neither of them would ever forget.
Madge and Phil Set Forth on Their ExpeditionMadge and Phil Set Forthon Their Expedition.
Madge and Phil Set Forth on Their Expedition
Madge and Phil Set Forthon Their Expedition.
The girls set out to travel directly south, guided by Phil's small compass. They turned aside only when the underbrush was too thick to allow them to pass through it. Madge had stuck her soft felt hat in her pocket. She had crowned herself with a wreath of red-brown leaves and sprays of goldenrod. She looked like a figure from the canvas of a great artist.
Phil, who was darker than Madge, might easily have passed for a gypsy. She was deeply tanned by her outdoor life, and her lips were stained with the nuts and berries that she had eaten in their journey through the woods.
Madge had not spoken of the scene with Flora Harris in Mrs. Curtis's dining room since she had landed on the island. Phyllis sometimes wondered if the cruel impression had faded from her friend's mind, but she never mentioned the subject to Madge.
That morning, after the two friends had chatted of many things, all at once Madge grew strangely silent.
"Phil!" she queried abruptly, "do you remember what Flora Harris said to me the night before our shipwreck?"
"Why, of course," answered Phil in surprise, "I could not forget. But I hope you have not been letting your mind dwell on such foolishness."
"I have never stopped thinking of it a minute, day or night," returned Madge quietly. "I don't mean that I have just thought about the insult to my father. Flora Harris told me that after my father was dismissed from the Navy in disgrace he went somewhere. She did not speak as though he had died. Do you know, Phil"—Madge spoke in low, hushed tones, though there was no one in the woods to hear her—"I have always thought of my father as dead. I know that Aunt Sue has always led me, perhaps unconsciously, to think so. But now I can not recall that she has ever really told me that he was dead. Phil, dear, do you think it possible that my father is alive?"
Phil was silent. What could she say? If she should agree, saying that Madge's father might be alive, it was to confess that Captain Morton had really suffered disgrace. Else why would he have disappeared and deserted his baby daughter?
"I don't know," was all she managed to falter.
Madge walked on quietly, with her proud little head held high. "If my father is alive, Phil, I don't care where he is, I shall find him, even if I have to look the wide world over. I know that he is innocent, but I can't tell you how I came by the knowledge. It is my secret."
Phil reached for her friend's hand, giving it a warm, firm pressure, then they walked on in silence.
All morning they had been tramping through woodlands. At noon they came to the edge of one wood. A clearing stretched ahead of them.
On the edge of this clearing they sat down to their luncheon. While the two chums were eating they heard the strangest and most peculiar noise either of them had ever listened to in their lives. It was the tramping and rushing of many feet, like a charge of cavalry. Once or twice before, since they had taken up their abode on the island, the girls had caught a faint, far-off echo of just such a sound. To-day it sounded much nearer.
"What was that?" demanded Phil quickly, raising her hand.
"It sounds like a cavalry charge," returned Madge, trying to smile, though feeling vaguely alarmed.
The noise swept nearer, like the rush of the wind. Then it stopped as abruptly as it had begun.
Neither girl offered to stir from under the tree where they had halted in order to go on with their pilgrimage. The mystery of the noise that they had just heard made their adventure seem far more perilous. What on earth was it? What did it mean?
The atmosphere was clear. The travelers guessed they must have come to about the center of the island. It was a broad, open plateau, covered with grasses and wild flowers. Neither of the girls thought of how curious it was to find the grass cropped as close to its roots as though it had been cut down by a mowing machine.
Phil was walking slowly ahead. There was an opening through a double avenue of trees, and Phil wanted to find out whether they could get through the woods by this cut. For the moment Madge's back was turned to Phil. She was reaching up for a particularly splendid bunch of Virginia creeper that clung to a branch over her head.
Like a roll of thunder from a clear sky, or the rumble of heavy artillery, came the noise that they had heard before. It was indeed the rushing of many feet and it was coming nearer.
Phil ran toward a low-branched tree. "Climb the tree, Madge!" she cried.
But Madge only stared intently ahead of her.
Some distance ahead a single dark object made its appearance. It walked on four feet, had a thick, shaggy mane, and its long black tail swept the ground in a proud arch. Its coat was rough——
Madge clapped her hands. To Phil's horror her chum started to run forward, instead of taking refuge in a tree.
"It's only a strange-looking horse!" she cried in relief. Madge had never in her life seen a horse of which she felt afraid.
At almost the same instant, back of the single horse, which was plainly the leader of a drove, appeared another, then a dozen, twenty or thirty more horses. The entire drove was galloping recklessly ahead. It was the noise of their charge that had indeed sounded like a rush of cavalry.
The leader of the horses caught sight of Madge. What must it have thought? A human being had appeared out of nowhere in the midst of its haunts. The wild horse stopped short for an instant, then gave a long neigh to its companions. The other horses ceased their charge; they, too, sniffed the air with the same attitude of surprise and hesitation. Some of them pawed the ground in front of them.
Phil, from her position in the tree, could see everything that happened. She thought she was experiencing a nightmare, or else that she had beheld an apparition which had come out of the pages of her ancient mythology.
To Phil's amazement, Madge stood still during the brief instant when the horses hesitated. It was then she might have saved herself, but she lingered for an instant, then turned to run.
The leader of the drove of horses had made up his mind that he had nothing to fear from the wood-nymph that had tried to block his path. He tossed his shaggy head, giving the signal to his company. The entire troop started on a wild gallop through the avenue of trees. Madge was directly in front of their charge.
Blind fear overtook her. She ran without seeing where she was going. She knew she was about to be run down by a stampede of wild horses, and in her terror she stumbled, then fell headlong. She could hear the horses galloping straight on. There was no time for her to struggle to her feet. She lay face downward, expecting each moment to be trampled to death.
Phyllis took in the whole situation. From her safe vantage in the tree, even more certainly than Madge, she realized the fate that must soon overtake her chum.
Phil's tree was only a few yards from the place where Madge had fallen. Without an instant's hesitation Phyllis Alden dropped to the ground. She must have made one flying leap, for she landed in front of the little captain's prostrate body. If Madge were to be trampled to death, that fate should not come to her alone.
Phil had marvelous presence of mind. What she did she must have done by instinct. There was no time to think. She saw the flecks of white foam between the teeth of the horse that was leading the charge. As it bore down upon her Phyllis lifted up both arms. She gave a wild and unexpected shout, waving both arms frantically before the horse's face.
The horse paused for the fraction of a moment. Phil waved more violently than ever, shouting hoarsely and in more commanding tones. The horse was startled. He looked at Phil with his ears erect and his eyes restless. Then he deliberately swerved from the path that would have led straight over the bodies of the two girls, made a sweep to the right, and thundered on, followed by his drove of wild horses.
From her position, face downward on the ground, Madge had been acutely conscious of everything that had occurred. She seemed to have seen with her ears rather than her eyes. She knew that Phil had risked her own life to save hers, and that Phil's presence of mind had saved them both.
"It's all right, dear," remarked Phil coolly, when the horses had passed out of sight. But the hand she reached out to Madge to help lift her from the ground was trembling.
Once she was on her feet the little captain caught tight hold of Phil's arm.
"It was real, wasn't it, Phil? Wedidsee a drove of wild horses dash by us?"
Phil nodded calmly. "It was much too real for a few seconds," she rejoined. "Now I understand the far-off noise of the tramping of many feet that we have heard before. These horses must always stay herded together. When they are weary of grazing they make these wild rushes. How do you suppose they ever came on this island?"
Madge shook her head. She had no possible guess that she dared to make.
There is a story, which the girls heard long afterward, about this drove of wild horses, that even at the present time lives on an island not far from the Chesapeake Bay. Many years ago a Spanish family had their estate on this now deserted island. When they moved away they left their horses alone on the island. Forsaken by man, these horses returned to the wild, free state in which they lived before they were haltered, harnessed and trained by human beings to become their beasts of burden.
CHAPTER XV
BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
It was late afternoon of the same day. The two girls had made their way across the greater part of the island without finding a human habitation or seeing another human being. What had become of the men that Phil had seen in the woods?
How far the girls had traveled they did not know. The way may have seemed long, because there were no paths and they were entirely unfamiliar with the country. But Madge and Phil had made up their minds that there was nothing else for them to do. They must spend the night in the woods. It was out of the question for them to attempt to recross the island before daylight. Perhaps on their way home the next day they might have better luck in discovering the aid they sought.
Though neither of them would have cared to confess it to the other, they were tired. They had been walking steadily since early morning, and they had carried what were, to them, heavy packs.
Phil had a light woven-grass hammock in her bundle that had once been swung across the deck of the "Merry Maid." Madge carried a light, rubber-proof blanket, which was their sole protection against rain. Of course, the girls divided the burden of the food supply for their two days' march.
At last, out of sheer weariness, they dropped their packs under a tree and sat down to rest. They had hoped to have the satisfaction of reaching the opposite side of the island before nightfall. They longed to know if land could be seen from that side, or if passing ships could be hailed from the beach.
Madge's head was resting in Phil's lap when she heard a peculiar buzzing in her ears, which she thought must come from weariness. She sat up with a jerk.
"Don't stir," begged Phil. "You and I are too tired to move on now. I am sure I hear the noise of the ocean. We can't be very far from a beach. Surely, surely, we will find something, or somebody, on this shore."
Madge lay down again and for a few minutes neither girl spoke.
Phyllis was thinking of home. She was also wondering what young Lieutenant Lawton must have thought of her disappearance with his box.
The mysterious box was in the bottom of her trunk in their lodge in the woods. What a time she had had, dragging the trunk ashore, and then, piece by piece, carrying its contents to the lodge! Phil laughed. If Jimmy Lawton wanted his box kept safe, he had certainly given it to the right person. But if he happened to need the contents on land, at the present time, he would have to cry for it.
Phil gave Madge a little shake. "Come on," she commanded. "I have an idea that we had better go to the beach. I can't wait another second. I somehow feel as though we would find friends there. I can't believe that we are the only persons on this island."
Phil's hopefulness was inspiring. Madge sprang to her feet and the two girls hurried ahead, leaving their bundles under the tree.
The booming of the surf soon smote their ears, then the welcome splash and murmur of the waves. Like two little girls, Madge and Phil joined hands and ran down to the open shore.
Far and wide was a waste of water and a pebbly beach. It was lonely, far lonelier than their own shore. The "Merry Maid," riding out on the waves near the spot where they had first found refuge, had given their shore almost a homelikeness.
This beach was dreadful! Besides, it was getting so late. Phil's black eyes suddenly brimmed with tears of disappointment. Madge slipped her arm in Phil's and the two forlorn girls walked up and down the shore, looking in every possible direction for some sign of life.
A fish-hawk rose suddenly from the waves and wheeled over their heads. It uttered a hoarse cry of fright and dropped a good sized fish at the girls' feet. The fish had been too large for the bird to carry.
Madge picked up the fish, which had just been freshly caught out of the sea. "Phil," she said, smiling bravely, "if we are deserted by human beings, we are being fed from Heaven. Let us cook this for our supper. Come, let us go back to the woods, swing our hammock and prepare to make a night of it."
"Let's look just a little farther along," Phyllis begged.
The girls went a quarter of a mile farther up the silent shore, then turned into the woods.
Madge, who was a few rods in advance, gave a sharp cry of surprise.
There, ahead of her, appeared most unexpectedly a small house, not a great deal larger than their own lodge. But it was very differently built. The door of this house had great bars across it; the windows were securely fastened. The walls were fortified with heavy beams of wood. The house looked deserted. Yet in front of the barred door stood a bucket of fresh water and an ax lay on the ground, with some chips of freshly hewn wood near it. Also the girls noticed that the way up to the door had lately been trodden by heavy feet.
Without asking anybody's permission the girls drank long and deeply of the fresh water. Then they knocked on the fast-locked door. There was no answer. They banged again. Madge tried to shake the door. A heavy chain rattled on the inside.
"The house must be empty, Phil," she suggested. "The men you saw must have been here and gone away again. Perhaps they will be back soon. We had better return in the morning to see."
Phil gave a farewell shake to the door.
A voice called out unexpectedly: "Stop shaking that door and come in. What is the use of your trifling with me? Have you lost the key, so that you can't get in? It would be good of you to leave me here to starve."
Madge and Phil felt their knees shaking in sudden terror.
"We are strangers; we haven't the key to your house," answered Phil. "We wished to ask you for help."
A dreary laugh answered the girls. "You must be joking," the voice said. "But if you are human, you will help me get out of this hole. I have been imprisoned for I don't know how long. Oh, it is a long story. Once I am out, I can explain everything to you. I promise not to harm you."
"Why do you wish to get out?" demanded Madge, trying to gain time until she could master her amazement.
The voice inside laughed less hoarsely. "Oh, I want to get out to breathe, to get away from this beastly hole and to attend to my own affairs. I could go on giving you reasons all night. But please hurry. Batter down the door! I don't see how the house has ever happened to be left unguarded so long. You are young boys, I suppose. Your voices sound like it. If you'll let me out, I'll do anything in the world for you," continued the prisoner, "only, make haste!"
"What shall we do?" whispered Phil.
"I don't know," returned Madge. "I am afraid there is a crazy person shut up in this house. Perhaps the men you saw were his keepers."
"But he talks as though he were sane," argued Phil.
"Crazy people often do," retorted Madge. "I've readthat!"
"Madge, let's open the door," entreated Phil. "The voice doesn't sound as if the man were crazy. Think how dreadful if some one is really shut up here on this deserted island against his will!"
Madge hesitated. "It will be dreadfully foolish of us, Phil, to open the door. There is no telling what trouble we may bring on ourselves."
"For the love of Heaven, please open the door. I swear to you that there is no reason in the world why I should be kept imprisoned here. If you will only help me to get away, I can prove it to you." This time the voice pleaded desperately.
Phil seized the ax. "We can run for our lives once the door is open. I believe we have been sent to save this person."
"All right, Phil. I won't turn coward unless you do." Madge picked up a sharp stick to pry under the door.
Phil had struck her first blow when Madge, whose ears were open to every sound, cried sharply: "Stop! There is some one coming. Do let's run!"
Phil dropped her axe as softly as possible. Then she and Madge took to their heels. They ran through the thicket of trees, back behind a dense growth of underbrush. They had never run so fleetly or so silently before. A single glance had revealed the figures of two men approaching the prison-house from the beach. Not for worlds would the girls have been discovered hammering at their door. They had crossed the island to ask for succor. They needed friends. Suppose these men had seen them trying to break into their house? They might have been taken for common thieves. Madge and Phil were quick to repent of their foolishness. They had not come forth on their long pilgrimage to save a man locked up in a hut; they had come to find aid for Miss Jenny Ann and the other girls.
It was almost dark when they made their way back to their packs, which they had left under a tree. They made a fire, fried their fish, and ate their supper.
Then they swung their hammock in the branches of a great, low-armed sycamore tree. Neither was afraid, though the night was dark and they were far from their lodge, which to-night seemed like home. They were too weary to lie awake. By the time the stars were out they had crawled into their hammock together and covered themselves with their blanket. All night long they slept serenely, the good fairies keeping watch over them.
CHAPTER XVI
THE DISAPPOINTED KNIGHTS
Not long after daylight the two girls were out of their hammock bed. But they waited until a reasonable hour before they approached the house in the woods to ask for assistance. Then they walked back to the place cautiously and quietly. To their relief they saw an old gypsy woman stirring something in a pot by an open fire. A young boy was busily cleaning some fish.
The explorers walked directly up to the boy, who did not turn or take the slightest interest in their approach. But when Phyllis touched him on the arm he whirled about, dropped his fishing knife, and gave a queer, guttural call.
The old gypsy woman came toward Madge and Phil, looking alarmed, but brandishing a long stick.
"I don't wonder you are surprised," apologized Phil. "But, really, we are not ghosts; we are human beings. We have been shipwrecked on this island for two weeks and you are the first human beings we have seen. Can you tell us how we can get away?"
Still the boy stared and the gypsy woman made menacing gestures. The boy was about sixteen. He had handsome features and wavy black hair, but a strange, half-stupid expression.
"Why don't one of you speak?" demanded Madge in her impatient fashion. "We wish to know who lives in that house over there? Go and tell them we wish to speak to them."
The boy put his fingers on his lips, moving his hand curiously in the air. Then the girls understood. The gypsy boy was deaf and dumb.
It was vexatious to have struggled across the whole island, to have been nearly trampled to death by a drove of wild horses, only to discover a crazy person shut up in an old house, a deaf and dumb boy and a stupid old woman keeping guard.
Madge's sense of humor came to their rescue. She threw back her head and laughed. As her merry laugh rang out the back door of the house was burst suddenly open. A savage-looking man dashed out. "Who's there?" he demanded angrily. "I thought I heard strange voices."
The man ran down the few steps that led to the yard, staring at the newcomers as though he had seen an apparition.
Phyllis bowed to the man politely. Madge smiled at him with engaging frankness. But he paid no attention to their friendly overtures. He raged, stormed and talked to himself. Neither would he listen to Madge's explanation of their appearance.
"Won't you please be good enough to tell us how we can get away from this island?" Madge finally demanded in desperation. "We are very anxious to get back to the mainland, so that we can let our friends know where we are."
"I'll tell you how you can get away from this house in double-quick time. Be off with you!" roared the man. "What do you mean by turning up here and scaring a man out of his wits? We thought this island didn't have a soul on it but us."
"What are you doing here?" asked Phil quietly.
The man turned red and stammered. He was too stupid to think of a prompt answer.
At this moment a man who had all the appearance of a gentleman appeared at one side of the house. He bowed pleasantly to Madge and Phil, but did not try to conceal his amazement at seeing them.
The girls were equally nonplussed. They certainly had not been prepared to meet a gentleman in this oddly assorted company.
"I overheard your story," he remarked pleasantly. "You will forgive the surprise of my servants at your unexpected presence. We presumed we were alone on the island. It is supposed to be entirely uninhabited, except in the hunting season. The place is so desolate that I brought this gypsy lad and his mother over to look after my man and me. I am sorry that I can not offer you any assistance in returning to your homes at present. My boat brought me to this island and left me, as I wish to be entirely alone."
"How funny!" exclaimed matter-of-fact Phil. "I should think you would be awfully lonely."
"I am—I am recovering from an attack of the nerves, due to overwork," replied the stranger suavely.
"And are you all alone in the house, except for your servants?" questioned Madge, with her most innocent, far-away expression.
"Yes," replied the man in the same moment, fixing his cold, blue eyes on Madge and Phil. "I am entirely alone in the house except for my man. The gypsy woman and her boy Jeff live in a tent a little distance off. I am sorry you have had your long journey across the island for nothing. The boy will show you a shorter way back. Rest assured that as soon as my boat comes for me, I will communicate with you. Until then it is wisest for you not to return to this side of the island."
The stranger spoke to them with perfect courtesy, but they knew that he would admit of no trifling. If they had heard a sound in the house that was not meant for their ears, they must pretend to be deaf.
The man summoned the deaf and dumb lad by a gesture. He talked to him on his fingers for a few minutes. The boy grinned and nodded, as though he thoroughly understood.
"I have told this fellow to show you a short cut across the island," the stranger said politely, turning to the girls. "He is ready to start—at once."
The man's eyes narrowed. There was no mistaking his meaning.
It was in vain that Madge and Phil insisted that they could find their way home without assistance. The obstinate man declared that they would be safer with an escort. What could the girls do? Nothing but make a foolish scene, and they were too wise for that.
Before Phyllis turned to leave the place she took one long, intense stare at the house ahead of her, which, she was now convinced, imprisoned some innocent person. She said nothing to the man in charge of it. But, in Phil-fashion, she set her lips firmly together. If the man had known Phyllis Alden better, he would not have smiled in such a relieved fashion when his unwelcome visitors disappeared.
With their backs to the ill-omened house, and their faces set toward the lodge, Madge and Phil felt their hearts lighten. So far they had failed miserably in their quest for help, but now these pretended knights were to return to their ladies and make their report. What bliss to be in their own little snug harbor again! "Snug harbor" was Phil's name for their lodge in the woods.
The girls walked on happily. They could talk as they chose, with a deaf and dumb boy for a guide.
"Who do you suppose is hidden in that house?" asked Phil nervously. She could not get the subject off her mind.
Madge was far less interested, so she smiled. "You have always thought that I had an excellent imagination," she teased, "but, really, this is asking too much of me! Perhaps the man in the house is crazy; perhaps he is heir to a large fortune, and the other wretch is trying to keep him out of it. There may be a thousand reasons for his being there. Oh, dear me, I am tired! If only this boy weren't deaf and dumb we might get some information out of him. I am glad that we are going home by a shorter route."
"I hope it is shorter," interrupted Phil. "Certainly it is entirely different from the direction we took yesterday. We have not passed a single familiar object since we started."
So far the girls had meekly and unquestioningly followed their guide. Now a doubt assailed both of them at the same time. Could it be possible that the lad had been sent to lead them out of their way? It dawned on Phil that the boy had probably been told to take them home by some route that would confuse them in case they ever desired to return to the secluded house.
But it was perfectly hopeless to try to argue with a deaf and dumb boy. The lad traveled at such a pace through the woods that the two girls had difficulty in keeping up with him. Madge now ran ahead, catching the boy by the sleeve. She tried to spell the word, "Home," on her fingers. Then she shouted at the top of her lungs, "Are you taking us home the right way?"
The boy grinned and bowed his head. He shot his fingers in the air and began a rapid-fire conversation. Madge and Phil watched him, feeling utterly helpless. The sign language had not been included in their education. There was nothing for them to do but continue to follow their leader.
Two hours more of travel and the wayfarers did not seem to be any nearer home. Not a solitary familiar tree or bush appeared to welcome them.
The knights were weary and disappointed. With what high hopes they had set out on their travels! With what low spirits they returned home! They were too tired to see where they were going, and they stumbled blindly on, over tangled roots, around clumps of trees, through open bits of woodland, too fatigued to protest or to ask questions.
Phil stole a look at her compass. It pointed southeast. Phil recalled that she and Madge had traveled almost due south the day before in order to reach the opposite side of the island. They should now be going north. There was now no possible doubt. They had been led astray. Phil would have liked to burst out crying. Instead, she declared miserably, without the least attempt at cheerfulness: "We are lost Madge! We have been fooled and tricked. The boy is not taking us across the island. He has been leading us on a wild-goose chase all day. I am not going to follow him another step."
"I am afraid we are too tired, now, Phil, to find our way home by ourselves. Yet think how terrified Miss Jenny Ann and the girls will be if another night passes and we do not return!"
Madge happened to glance up. The deaf and dumb boy was grinning at them with an expression of utter derision. He stuck out his tongue.
The little captain's cheeks flamed. As usual, anger inspired her to action. She sprang to her feet. "Don't you worry, Phil Alden," blazed Madge. "This wretch of a boy is going to lead us home by the very quickest route—and don't you forget it."
"What are you going to do?" queried Phil languidly.
Madge marched directly over to the boy; seizing him by both shoulders, she shook him with all her might. The boy submitted. But when Madge had finished he refused to stir. He picked up a stick from the ground and began to whittle it calmly, emitting a guttural, choking laugh.
Madge struck the lad sharply with a little stick she had picked up. At least he would understand what she meant by that kind of conversation. Still the youth whittled serenely. Then she put her hand in her back coat pocket, taking out a small, dark object. It was a small pistol. Very quietly she opened and loaded it. Then, with her pistol primed, she pointed it at the obstinate boy. "Forward, march!" she commanded.
The lad's glance shifted. He started to run. Madge shot into the air. The boy hesitated. Then he raised both hands. He had given up. A minute later he set off, beckoning to Madge and Phyllis to follow him. He had decided to take them home by the right path.