“And which way did they go?” repeated Miss Phillips.
“That there way—” replied the woman, pointing. “They carried their boat down past that there oak tree—you’ll find a stream there, if you want ter follow it. Good luck to you!” she concluded, as her visitors turned to go.
“Thank you,” said Miss Phillips; and she and Ethel went in the direction indicated.
CHAPTER XIII
PRISONERS
All Friday afternoon, Frieda and Marjorie watched eagerly for the return of their jailer, or for some trace of the scouts. But no one came near. By supper time they were worn out and disheartened. They knew that they must spend the night at the farm-house.
They were not, however, overcome by a sense of physical fear. The old people seemed slightly crazy to them, but harmless. They slept a little, late in the afternoon, and finally were awakened by their captor’s summons to supper.
Again they had a wonderful meal placed before them. The woman, it would seem, was ashamed of her husband’s actions, and was doing everything she could to make it up to them. In spite of herself, Marjorie felt a sort of liking for her.
“I suppose you may as well tell us your name,” remarked Marjorie, as she spread some delicious peach preserves upon the tempting hot muffin in her hand.
“Our name is Higgins,” replied the woman, lowering her eyes. “And yours?”