As soon as Phil had her victim fast, she rushed back into the sitting room. She found Eleanor on her feet, engaged in untying the handkerchief from Lillian's face and cutting the twine that was bound about her swollen wrists.
"I've caught the enemy and he is ours," declared Phil cheerfully. "I have him tied to the side of the boat. I can't say how long it may take him to get away, and he may climb back on the boat and try to eat us up. But, at least, we can get ready for him."
The robber was doggedly working at the rope that bound him. "I am going to get back at you," he yelled savagely.
"Oh, why doesn't some one come?" cried Eleanor. "I am so afraid he'll get away."
There was a cheerful whistle at the top of the embankment. It turned to one of horrified amazement as the artist, Theodore Brown, took in the situation.
"What has happened?" he called out as he ran down the hill, swinging a small stick in his hand. "I heard your screams away over in the fields. What have you got there?"
Phil told the story, "What shall we do with our prisoner, Mr. Brown? We can't be bothered with him. We must get ready for our tea party," she concluded.
"I don't know what you wish to do with the young rascal," rejoined Mr. Brown, "but I know very well what I intend to do." The artist's face was set and stern. His eyes gleamed with righteous anger. Then he began calmly rolling up his sleeves. He went forward to the prisoner. "I am going to give you a taste of this," he declared, swinging his stick through the air. It hit Phil's captive with a swish, once, twice, three times. Mr. Brown was just warming up to his work.
"Leave me alone," the fellow howled. "Aren't you a coward to hit me when I can't get at you!"
"You were not troubled about being a coward when you tried to terrorize three girls and got pretty badly left," Mr. Brown answered coolly, giving the youth another cut.