“Well, don’t eat all the peaches!” called Ethel, as they started off.
But Ruth was not yet satisfied; she had no intention of going to the farm herself. She knew she must, in some way, contrive to substitute Frieda for herself. Before they reached the bank, she stopped short.
“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?”
“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!”
Accordingly, they passed around to the rear of the house. Peering through the screen door of the kitchen, they beheld an attractive interior--neat and clean and well kept. At the far corner, beside the stove, they distinguished the stout figure of a woman bending over a pan. Marjorie knocked timidly.
“Come in!” called the woman, cheerily. Then, turning around, she opened her eyes wide in amazement at the sight of the two young girls.
“How do you do?” said Marjorie pleasantly, as she and Frieda entered the big room. “We belong to the girls who camped last night a little way up the stream, and we want to know whether you will sell us a dollar’s worth of peaches. They looked delicious.”