“I think I have a plan!” he announced.
“What?”
And then with their heads close together, still trying, through the growing darkness, to distinguish the points on the map, he outlined his idea. Ruth squeezed his hand ecstatically; she was very happy.
“Just the thing!” she cried. “And the place must be the house opposite this old mill—” she pointed to a cross on the map which was intended to indicate the latter—“because old Michael says that a half-crazy woman lives there all alone!”
Harold hesitated at these words; he was afraid to go too far.
“Have most of the scouts—and Marjorie in particular—pretty good nerves?” he inquired.
“Yes, indeed! All but Doris Sands. But I’ll see that she doesn’t become involved. Promise me, Harold, that you’ll never tell a soul!”
“Never!” he promised; and they continued to discuss the plan a little longer. At ten o’clock he put Ruth’s map into his pocket to take home and copy, and rose to go. Ruth put her hands on his arm, and looked straight into his eyes.
“It’s wonderful of you to do this for me!” she exclaimed.
“I’d do more than this, if I could, Ruth.”