“Hang it all!” she exclaimed, apparently 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,” decided Ruth, pretending to be very solicitous 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 pretense at fixing an imaginary nail in her shoe. The operation, however, seemed to be quickly 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!”