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Title: The Nowadays Girls in the Adirondacks
or, The deserted bungalow on Saranac Lake

Author: Gertrude Hall Brownell

Illustrator: Edward C. Caswell

Release date: May 13, 2025 [eBook #76084]

Language: English

Original publication: New York: Dodd, Mead & Company, 1915

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/76084

Credits: Aaron Adrignola, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The Internet
Archive)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE
NOWADAYS GIRLS IN THE ADIRONDACKS ***

THE NOWADAYS GIRLS IN THE
ADIRONDACKS

OR THE DESERTED BUNGALOW ON
SARANAC LAKE

By GERTRUDE CALVERT HALL

ILLUSTRATED BY
E. C. CASWELL

NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1915, by
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY

CONTENTS
I. The Nowadays Club
II. A Telegram
III. Preparations
IV. "Watch Your Step!"
V. In Syracuse
VI. The Missing Emerald
VII. Overboard
VIII. The Golf Ball
IX. Onward
X. A Night Out
XI. Trouble
XII. The Motor Boat
XIII. By Themselves
XIV. A Dismal Prospect
XV. A Lonely Night
XVI. The Loon
XVII. In Camp
XVIII. Canoeing
XIX. The Masquerade
XX. The Mystic Moon
XXI. The Mystery Deepens
XXII. Bad News
XXIII. At Saranac
XXIV. Worriment
XXV. Making Plans
XXVI. A Lonely Place
XXVII. The Deserted Bungalow

XXVIII. Missing
XXIX. A Sleepless Night
XXX. A General Alarm
XXXI. The Search
XXXII. Lost
XXXIII. Unexpected Help
XXXIV. Found
XXXV. Recovery

ILLUSTRATIONS
"We certainly are doing it in style!" murmured Hazel.
Sylvia presently found herself whirling through it with a Spaniard who
danced wonderfully well.
Sylvia and her chums were all in better spirits now that they were actually
on their way to see Roy.
"Look! Look!" Sylvia whispered.

THE NOWADAYS GIRLS IN THE
ADIRONDACKS

CHAPTER I
THE NOWADAYS CLUB

The chugging taxicab stopped in front of the apartment on Central Park,
West, and the uniformed door attendant bowed out of it, and into the marble
vestibule, a demure girl with rosy cheeks.
"Miss Pursell?" she asked, and there was that in her voice which made the
elevator boy look a second time; and he was not unused to seeing pretty
girls and hearing them speak.
"Third floor, miss," he said, with a quick touch of his hand to his much-
gold-braided cap. Then, as he clanged the steel-grilled door shut, he favored
the hall-man with a distinct wink, which Rose Bancroft did not see. But had
she seen it she would, perhaps, have given it little consideration, since it did
not concern her.
What did concern her was reaching her friend Sylvia Pursell as soon as
possible. There were more reasons than one for this, but perhaps the one
with which we may now concern ourselves was that Rose had been
travelling since early morning, having but just arrived at the Grand Central
Terminal from Syracuse.
Travelling in even the best-portered Pullman, in the middle of the "Chicago
Special," is very apt to grime one up, especially if the aforesaid one be
wearing a particularly light and dainty dress. So Rose, as she was shot
upward in the smooth-running elevator, wondered whether the coloured
maid at the Grand Central had made sure that there was no cinder dust on
the end of her nose.
"For," reflected Rose to herself, "if there is one thing more than another,
that makes a girl lose her smartness and dignity, it is a black spot on the end
of her nose."
And Rose had her special reasons for wanting to look at least "smart" when
she reached Sylvia's apartment. I'll tell you why later. She ventured to
glance into the bevelled mirror which made up the whole back of the car,

but the electric bulb was shaded with a rose-tinted glass, and while it made
a very pretty effect, still it was not conducive to illumination.
"I'm almost sure there's a spot," thought Rose, but she dared not raise her
veil to make sure. And just then the elevator lad, who had been favouring
his solitary passenger with more than one surreptitious glance, called out, in
a most respectful tone of voice, a voice not at all in keeping with his
previous facetious wink:
"Your floor! Miss Pursell's!"
"Thank you," said Rose, quietly, and stepped out.
A few moments later, Rose having been ushered into a pretty reception hall,
and thence to the drawing-room, she and Sylvia had their arms around each
other, and Sylvia was kissing her friend, regardless of whether or not there
was a spot on Rose's face—her nose or anywhere else.
"It was so sweet of you to come down from Syracuse, my dear!"
"Nonsense, it was just perfectly lovely of you to ask me. I am so
interested!"
"I thought you'd be! Did you have a tiresome trip?"
"Oh, not especially so. We were a little late, but made it up. Mrs. Blake,
mamma's friend, you know, came part way with me."
"That was nice. Janet, take Miss Bancroft's things, and then tell Perkins
we'll have tea in here."
"Yes, Miss Pursell."
"Are the other girls here?" asked Rose, as she made sure this time, by a
hasty glance in a well-lighted mirror, that there was not a spot on her nose.
"No, they're coming to-night, I presume. Hazel was away when my
telegram reached her, but she left Chicago last night, and ought to be here
now. I'm not so sure when Alice will arrive. You know her style."
"Indeed I do. If she doesn't arrive to-day, next week will do. But are you
really going to carry out your plan?"
"I most certainly am, my dear! I don't plan things and then not do them."

"Yes, I know, Sylvia, but this going off to the Adirondacks, all by ourselves
——"
"But we'll not be by ourselves. Aunt Theodora Leigh Brownley will
chaperon us, and——"
"You didn't leave out any of her name; did you?" and Rose laughed a merry
laugh, that sounded like the tinkle of ice in a strawberry-tinted pitcher of
lemonade on a hot day.
"She rather likes her whole title," answered Sylvia. "But you knew she was
going with us; didn't you?"
"I wasn't sure," and Rose turned at the entrance of the butler with the tray of
tea things as though she expected to see some one else.
"Oh, indeed mamma wouldn't consent to my making up the party at all until
I had arranged for a chaperon. Of course Aunt Theodora Leigh Brownley is
rather a handicap in ways, but she is so good, and she doesn't mind sitting
up until all hours at a dance."
"Oh, then we are going to dance!" and the eyes of Rose glistened, while her
breath seemed to come faster between her parted lips.
"Of course, my dear! There will be some men up there, I hope!"
"Oh, won't it be just perfectly all right!"
"I hope you'll find it so. Let me see—you take lemon?" and Sylvia paused
questioningly with a slice held over Rose's cup.
"Lemon, yes. And two lumps, please."
The tinkle of silver on eggshell china filled a pause, and then the girls
looked into each other's eyes. In Rose's was a question she wanted to ask,
but hardly dared. Several times it was at her lips, but somehow she forced it
back. And when she had made up her mind to ask it there came a ring of the
bell.
"Telephone?" questioned Rose.
"No, the entrance hall. I wonder——"
Sylvia paused, listening, and when she heard the unseen caller ask for her
she started at the sound of a drawling voice—a voice of Southern

unctuousness and richness. Then she arose from the little table, so
precipitately as almost to overturn it, though Rose saved it in time.
"Sylvia!" gasped Rose. "You——"
"It's Alice," was the excuse offered. "Here we are, Alice!" she went on, and
a girl—a tall, slender girl, with dark eyes, that sparkled from underneath
dark brows, and lighted up a face of pure olive-brown tint—fairly swept
into the apartment.
"Alice!" cried Sylvia, as she kissed her and then passed her on to Rose for a
like ceremony. "How ever did you get here?"
"Why, yo'all seem surprised," was the retort in that slow, unctuous,
Southern voice. "I hope I didn't arrive too early," and Alice Harrow flung,
rather than "draped" herself, as Sylvia would have done, into a chair.
"Early! It's early for you," commented Rose.
"I did get here sooner than I expected," Alice went on. "But I made up my
mind, if we were to carry out the rules of our club, that being ahead of time
was better than being late."
"Good for you!" cried Sylvia. "Tea?" she asked, indicating the little table.
"Land, no! It's too hot! Lemonade if you have it, with a bit of mint crushed
in it—not too much crushed, and a slice of real lemon floating on top. Then
just a suggestion of nutmeg. But if you haven't it, ice water will do as well,"
and she suddenly switched off, as she saw Rose gazing at her with rather
open-mouthed wonder.
"No, indeed. Janet shall make it at once!" exclaimed Sylvia.
"Well, are you surprised to see me?" demanded Alice, a moment later, when
the maid had left the room.
"Surprised isn't the word for it!" Sylvia said. "We were just talking about
you——"
"I wondered why my ears burned!" laughingly broke in Alice, who seemed
unusually bright and crisp for a native of the Southern clime.
"We were just saying that we feared you would be the last to arrive," went
on Sylvia, with a smile. "As it is you have reached here before Baby!"

"No! You don't mean it!"
"But I do, my dear!"
"To think of besting Hazel Reed! Oh, that's just splendid. I——"
Alice arose and was about to execute a few steps of a new dance, but, at
that moment, the maid came with the elaborately ordered glass of lemonade
on a little silver tray, and it was only by the most skilful turn, as though
extricating herself and her partner from a crowded corner of the ballroom
floor, that Alice saved herself from an accident.
"Oh, that's delicious!" she murmured, as she sipped the spiced, icy drink.
"Your butler must be a Southerner, Sylvia."
"We never knew it. But I'm glad you like it. Yes, you are here before Hazel,
though she may arrive any minute."
"And when she comes," said Rose, "the Nowadays Club will have a full
membership present. Then, I suppose, Sylvia will condescend to give a
more detailed explanation of the mysterious telegrams she sent us. All I
know is that we're going to spend the summer in the Adirondacks."
"Isn't that enough to know?" asked Alice. "Why seek to force the hands of
Fate?" and she reclined lazily in her chair, and languidly closed her eyes.
She opened them a moment later, however, and a bright, vivacious look
came over her dark face. She clapped her hands and cried out:
"Oh, girls, I must tell you! It's the greatest surprise. You know Minnie
Reynolds, that demure, mouse-like girl that was in our class?"
"You mean, Cheese?" asked Rose.
"Yes, that's what we called her—she reminded one so of a mouse, and
cheese always has that association for me. Well, Minnie has 'done gone an'
got he'se'f engaged,' as my old coloured mammy would say."
"Who's the fellow?" asked Sylvia. "Any one we know?"
Alice took a long breath, preparatory to answering, but just then the bell
rang again.
"Oh, if that should be Baby!" murmured Sylvia.

"It is Baby!" called out a breezy voice in answer, for the pretty hostess had
spoken even as the maid opened the door. "It is Baby! Who all's in there?"
she went on, eagerly, joyously.
"Hazel Reed!" murmured Alice. "She'll be furious when she finds I'm here
ahead of her. She can't call me the late Miss Harrow now."
"Oh, you're all here!" gasped the newcomer, as she swept into the room—
literally swept in, for her dress caught in a light chair that she dragged after
her.
"Hello, girls!" she went on. "Oh, Sylvia! Such a trip. Two accidents; the
taxicab driver nearly ran over an old man, I lost my purse—found it again
though, thank goodness. Mislaid your address and I've been telephoning all
over for two mortal hours. But here I am. Kiss me, everybody! Oh, but it's
good to see you all again."
There was a little cyclone of laughter, and then Sylvia, tinkling a spoon
against a cup to attract attention, called out:
"Girls, the Nowadays Club will come to order!"

CHAPTER II
A TELEGRAM

Hushed voices—voices that had been exchanging greetings and telling
experiences—followed the dramatic announcement of Sylvia Pursell. She
gazed at her trio of chums, who had seated themselves about the room, in
various positions of comfort.
"Pardon me, Madam President." Alice was on her feet. "But is this a regular
meeting, or a special session? I rise to a point of order."
"I rule that your point of order is not well taken, and for your information I
will say that it is a session most extraordinary, for we have to talk over our
plans for going to the mountains. That is if you girls are going?" and she
looked around at them, pausing at each face in turn.
"Going!" echoed Hazel, otherwise known as Baby, on account of her rather
diminutive size. But she was a lovely dancer.
"I should like to see any one try to keep me at home," Hazel went on, with
that breezy Chicago manner of hers that always made the boys look at her a
second time, first with surprise, and secondly with admiration. And then
they kept on looking, as often as they dared.
"Indeed we are going," declared Alice. "I have heard so much about those
wild and rugged mountains, and their grand scenery and——"
"The lakes—don't forget the lakes!" interrupted Rose. "I am just dying for a
chance in a canoe with——"
"'A book of verses underneath a bough,'" quoted Sylvia.
"She wants what goes with the book—a young man," declared Hazel.
"I do not!" stormed Rose, blushing so that her cheeks, which usually held a
most charming centre-tint, were now suffused with carmine.
"Oh, of course she doesn't," soothed Alice. "We forgot about Roy, and——"

"Alice Harrow, if you——"
"Don't mind them," advised Sylvia, but at the mention of the name Roy a
shadow seemed to pass over her face. "Let's get on with the meeting. The
Nowadays Club will kindly come to extraordinary order and we'll talk about
this Adirondack trip. I'm so glad you can all go. Now, first of all I want to
speak of——"
"Dresses! What about them?" broke in Hazel. "I simply must have some
new ones."
"New York is the best place in the world to get them, and in a hurry, too,"
said Rose. "I was going to have my dressmaker in Syracuse turn me out
some, but I decided to wait. We have a week or so; haven't we, Sylvia?"
"About that, my dear. And I'm counting on showing you everything worth
seeing in Manhattan in that time. You can order your gowns—the very
newest of the new——"
"Which just perfectly describes our club," murmured Hazel.
And since, perhaps, a little description of the club will aid my readers in
understanding the object of the four girls, I can find no better opportunity
than now of making them acquainted with it.
Sylvia Pursell, whose home was in New York City; Rose Bancroft, of
Syracuse; Alice Harrow, who came from an old Southern family, whose
estate was in the vicinity of Baltimore, and Hazel Reed, of breezy Chicago,
had been chums, roommates, classmates and various other sort of mates at
the fashionable boarding school of Miss Stevenson. They had "finished"
there, which means they had just begun, and during their final year they had
formed the "Nowadays Club."
It was unlike any other organisation, as far as the girls knew. There were no
dues, no initiation fees, no set or formal meetings, and no officers. Every
one was a president, and whoever cared to do so presided. Usually it was
Sylvia, but that was as circumstances dictated.
The object of the club was expressed in the name. The girls were "up-to-
the-minute" damsels, and they were devotees of the nowadays idea. That is,
they went in for all that was best of such of the newest matters as came to
their attention. As Sylvia said:

"We don't want to get into a rut!"
And most assuredly they were not in any danger of doing so. They at least
investigated everything new, from the latest dance to the newest motor cars.
For the girls were all of well-to-do, not to say wealthy, families.
They had formed the little club—membership strictly restricted to four—on
the spur of the moment, and it had interested them more than they had
expected it would. During the dance craze they invented new steps, some of
which were adopted by the dancing class which they attended. If the girls
had been in any other position in life than school—if, for instance, they had
been young business men—they would have succeeded admirably in at
least investigating all the newest fads and fancies, from efficiency and
system, to conservation and "turning around on a smaller margin," as the
trade papers call it.
But, as it was, the girls resolved that they would be real "nowadays" girls.
Of them it must not be said, "Oh, that's the way they used to do it." Rather
the tribute must be paid them that: "Well, that's the way it's being done
nowadays, but I suppose in a week or so something new will crop up, and
——"
Well, when it did Sylvia, Rose, Hazel and Alice would not only be ready for
it, but waiting impatiently.
And so, during their last year in the boarding school, they had formed the
little club. It looked for a time, when they had definitely decided on
different colleges, that the organisation would die a natural death. But it
only goes to show that real, vital things never die. They may change their
form, but they never wholly expire. They still exist.
So it was with the Nowadays Girls.
Sylvia was to go to Wellesley, Rose to Smith, Alice to Bryn Mawr, and
Hazel to Vassar. That much had been decided on, the parents having
something to say in each case.
At first, when the girls found they were to be separated, there were tears,
sighs and protestations. It seemed that they were to go on long journeys to
far countries. Then vivacious Sylvia came to the rescue.

"Look here, girls!" she declaimed at a session of the club held in her room
one night, "this college life is only for four years, and there are vacations.
Besides, the long-distance telephone is available. We may be separated in
body but we must not be in spirit. We must still be up-to-date—to the
minute and a few seconds past it. We won't give up our club. It shall be all
the stronger.
"And we must here and now resolve——"
"Hear! Hear!" half-grunted Hazel, in imitation of an Englishman, "highly
excited," at a banquet. "Hear! Hear!"
"We must now resolve——"
"Not to cast our ballots!" broke in Alice.
"This isn't a suffragist meeting," was Rose's rebuke.
"We must resolve," continued Sylvia, whom little could distract, "we must
resolve not to give up the spirit we have evolved for ourselves. We will
meet and get together whenever we can, after leaving here. We'll have
sessions in summer, of course, and spend all our vacations together, if
possible. The Christmas Holidays we may except, but the long vacation will
give the Nowadays Club even a better chance than we have had here. Now
what do you say? Shall we make it a promise?"
She paused to look at her chums. The idea seemed to fill them with
enthusiasm.
"I'm for it!" declared Alice.
"It's perfectly fine!" exclaimed Hazel.
"I'm just in love with the idea," Rose said. "I almost cried when I found we
were to go to different colleges."
"But it will be all the better for us," declared Sylvia. "For we can absorb all
that is best at each institution, bring it away with us, and pass it on to one
another. In that way we will each broaden——"
"I don't want to do any broadening," broke in Alice. "I'm getting too stout
as it is. I'll have to pick up a new step in the hesitation waltz, to make it
more difficult."

"I meant broaden our minds," Sylvia said, pointedly.
"Oh, that's all right," assented Alice. "Go on."
"That's all there is to it," Sylvia said. "We'll just resolve to meet as often as
we can, and be real nowadays girls. Separating now is only a preparation
for a newer form of life and healthy activity."
And so it had been decided. The pleasant days at Miss Stevenson's school
came to an end in the glories of commencement, with "sweet girl graduates"
galore. This was in late May, for as there were repairs to be made on the
buildings the term was somewhat shortened.
The Nowadays Girls had separated, with no definite plans for the summer
until Sylvia evolved those which, as our story opens, brought the four
chums together once more—Rose from Syracuse, Alice from Baltimore,
and Hazel from Chicago, she being the last to arrive, much to her chagrin,
for she upheld the liveliness of her own town as against Gotham.
In brief the plan was this. Sylvia had proposed a tour of the Adirondacks for
that summer, and there was an indefinite understanding that at each
succeeding vacation other famous American resorts would be visited. But
the Adirondacks was to be the beginning. The girls were to go to Fulton
Chain, in the lower Adirondacks, and progress as they pleased, and when
they pleased, stopping where fancy dictated, until they reached Saranac.
The four were to be accompanied by Mrs. Theodora Leigh Brownley, a
widow, whose husband had been a noted Confederate soldier. A small
property brought her in such a meagre income that she was forced to adopt
her young-womanhood occupation of teaching school, and she was one of
the best-beloved instructresses at Miss Stevenson's establishment. Mrs.
Brownley was called "Aunt" not only by courtesy, but through love, for she
was a charming character, and the girls were very fond of her, especially
our four. So much did they love her that when Sylvia had proposed the
Adirondack tour, and a chaperon had been decreed by Mrs. Pursell as
absolutely necessary, Aunt Theodora had been selected.
Mrs. Brownley had served as such before. In fact she made it a sort of
business to escort parties of young ladies from the school on summer
outings. She had made several trips to Europe as such a conductor, and
while rather grave and dignified, she could very easily adapt herself to

circumstances. Then, too, she was very glad of the added income which this
chaperoning provided. So every one was satisfied.
The trip had practically been decided on before Sylvia's friends had reached
New York, but after she had summoned them by telegraph, she wanted to
make sure that none of them had changed her plans.
"And I'm glad none of you have," she said, as the maid came in to clear
away the tea service, Hazel having been refreshed with a specially-brewed
cup. "I think we shall have a lovely summer."
"I'm positive of it!" declared Rose, with conviction. Again she looked
around, half expectantly, as a masculine step was heard in the hall. It was
only the butler, however.
"Miss Pursell," he said, in a low voice.
"Yes, James."
"A telegram."
Sylvia caught her breath rather sharply.
"Did any of you girls wire? Could it have been delayed and reached here
after you?" she asked, as she paused, hand outstretched, to take the telegram
from the silver server.
"I didn't," declared Rose, and the others shook their heads in negation.
With fingers that trembled Sylvia tore open the yellow envelope. Her eyes
rapidly scanned the few typewritten words on the sheet, and once more her
breath came in a gasp.
"No bad news, I hope," said Hazel, as she glided across the room and put
her arms about her chum.
"It—it isn't—good!" faltered Sylvia. "It's Roy—my brother—he—he's
worse!"
A startled cry came from Rose, who turned pale, so that only a small tinted
spot glowed in either cheek.
"Roy—ill!" she whispered.

CHAPTER III
PREPARATIONS

Something like a portentous influence seemed to have fallen suddenly over
the little party of girls that had been making so merry but a moment before.
Sylvia read the telegram again.
"Any answer, Miss Pursell?" asked the butler. "I told the boy to wait."
"No, James. At least not now. I must talk with mother. This came to me—I
wonder why?"
"Perhaps your brother did not want to alarm your mother," suggested Alice.
"I suppose so—but——"
"I didn't know Roy was ill," said Rose, and there was that in her tone which
showed that she had a good right to know—a right that Sylvia seemed to
acknowledge, for she answered:
"We didn't write and tell you, dear, for we kept hoping that it would pass,
and that he would be all right. But it hasn't, and—oh, dear!" For a moment
Sylvia seemed about to give way, and Hazel tightened her clasp about her
chum.
"I—I'll be all right in—in a moment," said Sylvia. "It was just—just the
disappointment. I did hope he was going to get along at the sanitarium."
"Sanitarium!" fairly gasped Rose. "Is he—has he——"
"It isn't any real disease," Sylvia made haste to say.
"Why, he didn't even hint anything to me the last time he wrote," said Rose,
the colour gradually coming back to her cheeks. That she and Sylvia's big
brother, Roy, corresponded was no secret, since it was generally accepted
that they would become engaged some day. Just now the little affair was in
that most delightful of all states, one of perfect understanding.

"No, I fancy he didn't want you to know, my dear," replied Sylvia, gently.
"It was, at first, just a breakdown from overwork. You know," she went on
to the other girls, "after Roy graduated from Yale he was given a fine
position with the Hosmore Chemical Company, here in New York.
"Roy was just in love with his work, and so enthusiastic. I fear his very
enthusiasm told against him, for he had worked hard at college, and really
overtrained on the football eleven. But he was getting along splendidly,
until the breakdown came."
"A breakdown," murmured Rose. "He only wrote me that he was tired, and
wanted a rest, but that he would not take it until he had completed his
discovery."
"That's what did it—the discovery," sighed Rose. "Roy had some ideas
about a new chemical combination that was destined to work wonders. It
had something to do with colouring fabrics, I believe. He told me the
details, but I have forgotten."
"It was for dyeing silk," explained Rose. "You know since the European
war chemicals and dye-stuffs from Germany, the centre of the trade, have
been dreadfully hard to get over here. So Roy discovered a new way of
utilising some of the coal-tar products, and he hoped to make a big thing of
it."
"You know more than I do," said Sylvia, but there was not the least hint of
sisterly jealousy in her voice. "I believe it was that, though, which Roy was
working on. Well, he made his discovery——"
"How nice!" murmured Alice.
"No! It wasn't at all nice!" and Sylvia's voice took on rather a fierce and
indignant tone. "For poor Roy worked so hard over it that he suffered a
mental breakdown. It was complete, added to a sort of physical going to
pieces, and he couldn't remember the proper chemical combination—the
one he worked so hard over. It went from his mind completely and was as
lost to him as though he had never worked it out during long nights of
study. He tried and tried to recall it, and I suppose that did him no good,
mentally or physically. Then he gave up, and broke down completely. It was
terrible, but we hoped for the best. Then he went away——"
"Went away?" echoed Rose.

"Well, rather, he was sent. His firm was very nice to him, granted him a
leave of absence and all that, and even sent one of their young men from the
office away with Roy. Mother wanted to go herself, but the doctor said she
had better not."
"She must have felt that terribly," commented Hazel. "She was so chummy
with Roy, and he with her."
"Yes," assented Sylvia. "It was terrible. But mamma saw that it was for the
best. Papa simply could not leave. His business is so complicated since the
war, that he fairly lives at the office. So Roy went off with Harry Montray,
and he was more than kind to my brother and all of us."
"Harry Montray?" murmured Alice, questioningly.
"I don't believe you know him," Sylvia said. "He was a Stevens boy, and he
and Roy were real chums. I grew to like Harry very much in the short time I
knew him. He went away with my brother."
"But where?" asked Rose. "You haven't told me where yet?"
You notice she did not say "us." But the reason is not far to seek.
"Oh, I thought I mentioned it," said Sylvia. "Pardon me. Roy is at Loneberg
Camp, Saranac Lake."
"Saranac Lake!" cried Rose. "Why, that's where we——"
"Yes, that's where we are going," Sylvia took up the remark. "That was one
reason that made me keep to my original resolution to make the
Adirondacks our first outing objective. For a time, after we tentatively
selected that, I was inclined to change to Bar Harbor, or Martha's Vineyard,
but when I learned Roy had to go to the mountains for a complete rest and
cure, I was glad I had not made other plans. We can see him there, and we
may do him good."
"I am not so sure that, collectively, we shall help him to improve, as I am
that, individually, we may," murmured Alice.
"What do you mean?" asked Sylvia, her eyes opening wide.
"Say, rather, whom do I mean," retorted Alice, nodding at Rose, who was
reading the telegram Sylvia had handed her.

"Why," said Rose, not hearing, or perhaps not heeding, the remark made
about herself, "this message is from that Harry Montray."
"Yes," assented Sylvia. "He is looking after Roy. He promised to wire every
day as to how my brother was. Up to now Roy has been very well,
considering. He showed little improvement, to be sure, and worrying over
the forgotten chemical formula was not beneficial. But this is the first time
we have had really unpleasant news concerning him. I suppose that is why
Harry sent the wire to me. I think I must tell mother——"
"Don't!" interrupted Alice. "At least not yet awhile," she went on. "Your
mother will have enough to worry about, with a house full of company, and
this will only add to it. As long as it isn't dangerous, and as long as nothing
can be done right away, wait until to-morrow to tell her, Sylvia."
"I wonder if I ought?"
"I think so," agreed Rose. "We may have better news to-morrow. If we
don't, well, there will be time enough to get up there in a hurry, even if it is
necessary."
"I suppose so," assented Sylvia. "Yes, I'll not say anything to her about it. I
must bring her in to meet you. She is anxious to know you all, for she has
heard so much about you, and she has only seen your pictures. I'll just keep
the unpleasant news from her. I'll see if she is in her room," and Sylvia lost
no time in stepping to the private telephone with which the large apartment
was equipped.
"Will this make any change in our plans?" asked Hazel. "If it does——"
"Not in the least, my dear," answered Sylvia, as she was making the
necessary connection, a central being dispensed with. "We may go a bit
earlier, that is all."
"Couldn't we go direct to Saranac Lake?" asked Rose.
"We can, if we find it necessary," answered her hostess. "But it will rather
spoil our plans, and can do no good, I fear. The doctor said it would take
time for Roy to get strong enough physically so that his mental powers
would return. But if we get any more disquieting news we will go direct to
Saranac, and not make tours and trips along the route, as I planned. Hello!"
she interrupted, to speak into the telephone.

Mrs. Pursell was in her room, and said she would be in directly to meet her
daughter's girl chums.
"Hadn't you better tell your butler not to mention the telegram?" suggested
Rose.
"Perhaps I had," agreed Sylvia, slipping out, but returning in time to present
the three girls to her mother. Mrs. Pursell greeted them warmly.
"You are all just as I pictured you," she said. "Of course I have seen your
photographs. But I think I expected Hazel to be just a trifle smaller. I think
she isn't such a baby!"
"Well, that's what they all call me," sighed Hazel of the brown eyes. "I wear
high-heeled shoes, and everything to make me look larger, but I'm in
despair of growing taller."
"Never mind, my dear," Sylvia consoled her, "you are perfectly all right and
charming as you are. Mother, you will go with us to-night; will you not?"
"Where, daughter; to another dance? I think not."
"No, the theatre. I planned to have the girls see that new Shaw play."
"Oh, I adore Bernard Shaw!" exclaimed Alice. "He is so sarcastic when you
least expect it. He wakes you up—like a dash of cold water in your face."
"And about as unpleasantly, at times," commented Rose. "I like a different
sort of alarm clock."
"We can pick some other play," Sylvia said.
"Oh, no indeed! I like Shaw. It gives you something to think about
afterward, and that's what we need nowadays."
"Quite an idea, calling your club that," commented Mrs. Pursell. "But don't
count on me for the theatre, daughter mine. Go and enjoy yourselves. Father
will be home to dinner, so he telephoned."
"That's so nice of him. It's quite a concession on father's part to dine with us
these days," Sylvia went on. "So you girls must sufficiently express
yourselves as honoured. He'll probably lose I don't know how many
thousand dollars by being away from the office for even a little while—at
least he'll say so, anyhow," and she laughed.

The girls went to the play, and had supper at Sherry's afterward, Mr. Pursell
allowing himself to be made a member of the merry little party, that
attracted more than passing glances, for each of the four girls was
distractingly pretty.
"And now to pack and pack and then pack some more," said Sylvia, gaily,
the next day. "Oh, I forgot, you girls want to see about gowns. But you
won't need such elaborate ones. A couple for dances at the hotels, and the
rest—well, we're going to rough it, rather than otherwise. Now then——"
The butler knocked and entered.
"Excuse me, Miss Pursell," he said, "but you are wanted at the telephone.
It's long-distance."
"Long-distance," faltered Sylvia. At once the same thought came to all the
girls—Roy—up in the Adirondack woods.

CHAPTER IV
"WATCH YOUR STEP!"

Rose caught her breath sharply, as Sylvia swept, with a slithering of her
silken skirts, to the extension telephone in the reception hall. And even as
she prepared to listen and speak over the wire, the girl had a cautioning
thought.
"You didn't tell mother; did you, James?" she asked, in a whisper.
"No, Miss Pursell. The message was for you."
"I know. That's right. Still I thought——Hello!" she interrupted herself to
speak into the transmitter. "Yes, this is Miss Pursell. Oh, it's you, Mr.
Montray. Oh, yes, I——"
The door swung shut, closing Sylvia away from her chums, and they only
heard the murmur of her voice as she talked. Rose arose and paced
nervously to and from a certain window. She wondered if the message
concerned her.
Presently Sylvia rejoined her friends. There was a glow on her face, a happy
glint in her eyes, and something in her whole bearing that told them it was
good news, and not bad, even before she spoke. Gaily she cried:
"Roy is much better!"
"Oh, I'm so glad!" breathed Rose, and her complexion vied with her name.
"Were you talking to him?" asked Alice, as she turned an emerald ring on
her finger—an emerald that caused much wonder among strangers as to
where she had obtained it, for it was a most beautiful stone. But, perhaps
unromantically enough, a maternal aunt had bequeathed it to Alice.
"No, I wasn't talking to Roy, but to his friend, Harry Montray," replied
Sylvia. "He said he knew we would be anxious after the telegram of
yesterday, so, as he happened to be near a long-distance telephone, he called
up, instead of telegraphing. He wanted to explain certain things."

"About Roy?" asked Hazel.
"Of course, Baby! What else?" Sylvia's eyes opened wide.
"Oh, I didn't know," and she tried to seem indifferent.
"But tell us the news!" begged Rose.
"That's so. Don't keep her in suspense," suggested Alice, as she held the
cool emerald against her cheek, as Nero is said to have held one against his
eye, perhaps better to see, or, perhaps, to make him more dissatisfied with
life by imparting a green tint to the complexions of his flatterers.
"Yes, Roy is much better," went on his sister. "That little depression of the
day before seemed to be but a passing nervous spell."
"But is he better—all well?" asked Hazel.
"Oh, no, indeed, and he won't be for some time. But he is in no immediate
danger. Had he been, either mamma or papa would have gone up at once.
What he needs is complete rest and change, and he is getting both. It is only
that he cannot make his mind do what he wants it to, and bring back the
memory of that forgotten chemical combination. That is what is worrying
him, for there is a comparatively large fortune in it, both for himself and for
his firm.
"It is too bad he lost all memory of it, but it may come back to him. Until it
does, though, he will worry and fret, and that will retard his recovery, Harry
says. But he is growing stronger physically, and in another month or so
there may be a big change."
"That's good," murmured Alice, with a sympathetic glance at Rose.
"Perhaps when we go to see him that will at least cheer him up," said Hazel.
"I am hoping so," Sylvia agreed. "Poor Roy! he isn't having a very good
time. He just loves the woods, to hunt and fish and camp, but I imagine he
can't do many of those things now. Taking a rest cure is so——"
"Unrestful," put in Alice, as she caught Hazel by the shoulders and whirled
her about, forcing her over toward the piano. "Come!" she cried. "Away
with gloomy thoughts, since Sylvia has had good news! Let's try that new
whirl in the onestep. Don't you remember—the step backward, then
forward, a halt and a whirl—this way!"

Humming to herself she glided gracefully about the room.
"Oh, if you want to dance," said Sylvia, "let's go out to the library and take
up the rugs. We can start the 'canned music,' as Roy calls the phonograph,
and have some good practice. But really, though I hate to begin, I ought to
be packing!" and she sighed.
"And I ought to be shopping!" added Hazel. "But we've time enough. I am
easy to fit, and not fussy. On with the dance. Come, Rose, I'll lead you."
But Rose rather hung back, and there was a far-off look in her eyes.
"Are you worried, dear?" asked Sylvia, in a whisper, as Alice and Hazel led
the way to the library for dance practice.
"A little—yes."
Sylvia pressed her chum's hand.
"Don't be," she said. "I'm sure he will be all right."
"I hope so. But——"
The music of a catchy onestep floated in to them, and soon the girls were
gliding about the unrugged floor.
"Do the aëroplane," suggested Sylvia. "You know, the one with four steps
on one side, four on the other, then the walk-about and——"
"Oh, yes, I just love that. It's so restful!" cried Hazel.
The merry impromptu dance went on, and then Sylvia bethought herself
that she had not given to her mother the good news that had come by
telephone. When she came back, after having done this, the girls were
waltzing, Alice with a large vase as a partner, while Hazel had taken Rose.
"I want to get that 'marcel wave' down more smoothly," explained Alice.
"I'm sure they'll be doing that at all the hotels this summer."
They shopped that afternoon and the next and for several successive days.
Rush orders were given dressmakers. The town car was in constant demand
for visits to shops, and the apartment looked like "a May morning cyclone,"
as Sylvia expressed it, for there were gowns and hats on every chair and in
every corner.

"I thought you girls were going to do this thing simply, and rough it in the
mountains," said Mr. Pursell, as he "waded through" the filled-up hall one
evening.
"We are, Daddy mine!" laughingly answered Sylvia.
"This doesn't look like it."
"Oh, but you know nowadays, Daddy, it's awfully hard to be simple."
"Like being good, I suppose," he chuckled. "Well, I'm glad you're going—I
mean I'm sorry to lose the jolly company of you young ladies," he hastened
to add, "but I'm glad you're going up to see Roy. He needs it. I'd go myself
only I can't possibly leave. What was the report to-day, Sylvia?"
"Just about the same. He is fretting a little."
"Well, perhaps that's a good sign. They say when a sick person frets he's
getting better. Now, Sylvia, how about your trip? Have you it all planned
out? When does Aunt Theodora-and-all-the-rest-of-it arrive?"
"Don't let her hear you say that!" cautioned his daughter, raising an
admonishing finger. "She is very dignified at times, but jolly enough when
she wants to be. She'll be with us to-morrow, and we will start two days
after that. She may want to do a little shopping in New York, since she
won't get to Paris this year."
"Have you the train schedule?" asked Mr. Pursell.
"All complete," replied Sylvia, tapping a bundle of time-tables and railroad
folders. "We leave the Grand Central Terminal at 12:25, and we can reach
Fulton Chain at 11:05 the next day; that is if we don't stop off anywhere."
"Were you thinking of that?" asked Mr. Pursell.
"I wanted them to stop off at Syracuse," put in Rose.
"And we may," half-promised Sylvia.
"Do you know any of the University fellows?" Hazel wanted to know.
"Of course she does—scores of them," declared Sylvia.
"Then we stop off," decided Alice. "That settles it!" and the others laughed
at her vehemence.

Aunt Theodora Leigh Brownley arrived, and was made welcome by Mr.
and Mrs. Pursell. They made the gentle, dignified Southern lady feel at
home at once, and when Mrs. Brownley discovered, wholly by accident,
that there was living in the same apartment a member of an old and
distinguished family of Fairfax County, Virginia, the little reserve she had
shown melted at once.
"I can be quite reconciled to New York, and even to these semi-barbarous
apartment houses, if a Randolph can be comfortable here," said Mrs.
Brownley. "It is much nicer than I thought."
Then began a busy time, with the town car working veritably night and day,
taking the girls here and there, to fill engagements with dressmakers and
milliners, to shop, attend teas and what-not. But slowly the pile of pretty
things in the various rooms was reduced. Trunks began to fill, and finally
came the day when the Nowadays Club held a last informal meeting in the
home of Sylvia.
"We leave to-morrow," was the announcement of the president pro tem.
"Now don't any of you forget anything."
"Have you the tickets, Sylvia?" asked Mrs. Brownley.
"Indeed we have, Aunt Theodora."
"And you have definitely decided to stop off at Syracuse?"
"Yes, Rose wants us to, and we may not get another chance soon to meet
her people."
"Very well then, my dear, I shall take my afternoon nap, something I
deprive myself of when school is in session."
Aunt Theodora Leigh Brownley had a very comfortable habit of indulging
in a siesta when acting as chaperon. Perhaps she emulated those paragons of
chaperons, the Spanish duennas.
After a light and rather "flighty" lunch next day, the girls motored to the
Grand Central Terminal, and even in that vast extent of station with its
marble, its tiles, its hurrying, bustling throngs, its red-capped porters, and
its general air of caring for nothing and no one, the girls created no little
stir, as they marched in, two by two, with Aunt Theodora in the lead and
several porters bringing up the rear with handbags.

"We certainly are doing it in style!" murmured Hazel, to whom attention
was as the breath of life.

"WE CERTAINLY ARE DOING IT IN STYLE!" MURMURED
HAZEL.

"Of course! Why not?" demanded Alice. "After all, there is no place just
like New York for cutting a dash!"
"Well, don't cut up too much," advised Hazel.

Their train was being announced as they entered, and they passed out
through the iron-grilled gates to the parlour car, which glowed with many
electric lights, for it was dark out on that labyrinth of tracks.
The porters were tipped most graciously by Aunt Theodora, who received
the homage of doffed caps as only a Southern woman can, and then the girls
settled themselves comfortably for a long ride.
"Well, we are starting," said Sylvia, with a little sigh, as a gentle motion
was imparted to the long, heavy train. "We are off to the Adirondacks,
girls."
"And I wonder what we shall find there?" murmured Alice.
"Find? What do you mean?" asked Hazel.
"Oh, I don't know—exactly."
"I hope we find Roy better," voiced Sylvia.
"So do I," echoed Rose. But she smiled, for the early morning telegram, in
the form of a night-letter this time, had brought good news ere they had left
for the station.
But though Rose smiled, somehow, and in a manner for which she could not
account, she had a feeling of vague apprehension. And that this
apprehension had to do with Roy need not be doubted. It was a feeling as
though "something were going to happen," as we often tell ourselves. That
was as much of it as Rose could define.
But she managed to shake off a little of the feeling as the train came out of
the gloomy line of tunnel-walls and, beyond One Hundred and Twenty-fifth
Street, emerged into the open. True there was not much to see, but it was
better than nothing, or the stone walls.
Hazel went to the end of the swaying car for a drink of water—a thirst
having been engendered by an indulgence in candy—and on her way back a
sudden swaying of the coach threw her off her balance.
"Watch your step!" called out a young man, near whose chair she was
struggling. Hazel tried to, but could not, and the next moment she was
neatly deposited on the arm of—not the young man, but the arm of the chair

in which he sat. He put up his hand to Hazel's back to prevent her toppling
completely over, murmuring again:
"Watch your step!"

CHAPTER V
IN SYRACUSE

"Beg your pardon! Hope you're not hurt?"
It was the young man standing before Hazel, and bowing as he assisted her
in getting to her feet from her seat on the arm of his chair.
"I beg—your pardon," murmured Hazel, her face suffused with the blushes
that she could not keep back. "It was—it was——"
"I know, the train! They run a bit unevenly at times with these electric
locomotives. Perfectly excusable. Are you sure you're not hurt—sprained
ankle, or anything like that?" he asked, anxiously.
"Of course not," murmured Baby. She could see a changed look come over
the young man's face. He had taken her for a little girl, and he had found on
looking into her eyes that she could not be so classed, though she was
"Baby."
By this time Aunt Theodora had become aware of the little accident and
was walking down the aisle.
"Is anything——" she began.
"Nothing at all!" cried Hazel, quickly, and she gently disengaged her hand
from the rather too warm and ardent one of the young man. He had taken
her hand in assisting her to arise, and he seemed very willing to repeat the
ceremony. But Hazel knew how to put up the barriers, though she smiled
innocently enough at the youth.
"Why—why!" began Aunt Theodora, and Sylvia began to fear that
something unpleasant was about to transpire. But certainly it was not
Hazel's fault that a lurch of the train nearly threw her into the grasp of a
good-looking young man. And he had behaved very nicely about it, too. All
the girls agreed on that point when they talked the matter over among
themselves afterward.

"It's Jack Benton, isn't it?" demanded Aunt Theodora, as she extended her
hand to the young man in question.
Hazel gasped. This was condescension indeed on the part of their chaperon.
But, somehow or other, Hazel was very glad. She had evidently "fallen in"
with one of Aunt Theodora's acquaintances, and, in spite of her rather
conservative ways, Mrs. Brownley was quite cosmopolitan in many
respects, and had numerous acquaintances in various queer corners of the
earth.
"I'm Jack Benton—yes'm," and he clipped the last word with just the proper
accent to prevent it degenerating broadly into "ma'am."
"You don't know me, but your sister Ruth——"
"Oh, of course—Miss Stevenson's school—you're Mrs. Brownley—I met
you at the commencement. But—er—I didn't know you with your hat on, I
suppose—at least, that is—I—er——"
"Poor fellow!" murmured Sylvia, trying her best not to laugh, for Jack was
certainly embarrassed and making a "mess of it."
"Is this—er—your——?" Clearly he was at a loss how to classify Hazel.
And she, little minx that she was, said not a word to give him an inkling.
She might, indeed, have been Mrs. Brownley's daughter or granddaughter.
"But how could I speak, except to say 'beg pardon!' when I hadn't been
introduced?" Hazel asked the girls afterward.
"You couldn't of course—not with Aunt Theodora there," was the decision
of Alice, after a long discussion of the point in question, and you may be
sure the girls missed nothing in discussing the matter from all its angles.
"Sylvia—Hazel—all of you—you must remember Ruth Benton," said Mrs.
Brownley. "And to think of meeting you here. Is your sister with you?"
"No, I am travelling alone, though I expect a party of friends to meet me at
Albany. Some Yale fellows and I are going on a little trip up-state."
"How nice! I'm so glad to meet you again, Jack. These are some of my girls.
They know your sister slightly, though they were not in her class. Sylvia—
Miss Pursell—this is Jack Benton—Miss Hazel Reed——"

"We have met before," and Jack, of the laughing eyes, smiled at Hazel of
the brown orbs. The others were presented.
"I wonder if we are to call him Jack?" murmured Sylvia.
"I wish you would!" he said, quickly.
She blushed vividly—not thinking he had heard her.
"It's so much nicer," he went on. "Please, Mrs. Brownley—Aunt Theodora
—tell them to!"
"To what, Jack?" The chaperon had been speaking to one of the porters
about getting her a hassock.
"Tell them to call me Jack. Let's not be conventional—at least not on this
trip. Let's pretend it's a sea-voyage, and that this is a steamer. You know," he
went on, speaking to Hazel, but for the benefit of all, "that acquaintances on
shipboard don't count for anything—that is, I don't mean that—I—er—I
mean—oh, call me Jack!" he finished, as the only way out of the tangle.
"I don't see why they shouldn't," declared Aunt Theodora. "I intend to call
you that, as I call your sister Ruth. The young ladies have my permission.
Won't you join us in a cup of tea? We had a very early lunch."
Jack winced a little at the mention of tea. Sylvia could see that, and it
became another subject for discussion later.
"Delighted, I'm sure," he, however, murmured submissively.
"They're going to put up one of the little tables near our chairs," went on
Mrs. Brownley. "You can move down there. The car isn't crowded, and
there are some vacant places near us."
"Of course," he assented. "Then it's to be Jack—and—er—Hazel?" he
ventured, with another laughing-eyed glance at her.
"I—I suppose so," she murmured, though she did not seem much abashed.
"That's what Chicago will do for one," said Sylvia afterward.
"Oh, it's nothing of the sort!" cried Hazel, defending herself.
But they all ended by calling him Jack, and he addressed them by their first
names. After all they were but girls and a boy.

"Very nice people," said Mrs. Brownley, in an aside to Sylvia. "I have
visited them. Very cultured and all that. Nice to know."
Sylvia was sure of it, as she glanced at Jack. He was a clean-cut youth, with
perfect even and white teeth that made his smile most charming.
Soon they were merrily gathered about the tea table, sipping the fragrant
beverage, and nibbling toast and cakes. The girls had better appetites than
Jack Benton evinced, but then they had been so excited at the prospect of
starting that they had done little justice to the early luncheon Mrs. Pursell
had had prepared for them.
"You certainly have a fine trip ahead of you," Jack said, when the objective
of the Nowadays Girls had been revealed to him. "I was up in the
Adirondacks last fall, hunting, and it was delightful then. It must be more so
now, with the lakes, the fishing, the boating and all that. Wish I were going
along."
"Yes, it would be nice," murmured Hazel.
"I suppose you think he'll be there to pick you up every time you stumble
on the trail," whispered Alice.
Hazel did not answer, save by a look.
At Albany a group of college boys joined Jack. He introduced them to his
new friends, and there was a merry party that enlivened the coach for part
of the remaining distance.
The boys left the party at Herkimer, and there was where the girls would
have gone on to their trip to the Adirondacks had not they voted to visit
Rose at Syracuse. I have spoken of "stopping off" at the Salt City, but it
really was a going on, since they would have to come back to get on the
railroad line that would take them to Fulton Chain.
But they were in no haste, and, as Sylvia said, they might not be up that
way again, so it was only fair to take advantage of this opportunity of
stopping at the home of Rose.
"I hope I see you all again," Jack Benton had said, on leaving the party, but,
though he included all, he had looked last at Hazel, and had shaken hands
with her finally.

The girls, naturally, teased her about this afterward. But she only said:
"I don't care! He was awfully nice!"
And that was her only excuse.
Slowly the train rolled through the streets of Syracuse. Slowly because
there were so many grade crossings, and then came a whirling taxicab trip
to the home of Rose, where a warm welcome was extended to the
Nowadays Girls.
They remained in Syracuse for a week, paying a visit out to the salt works,
where the brine is pumped up from the depths of the earth, spread out in
shallow vats to be evaporated, leaving behind the saline crystals which,
after being treated, to clarify them, are ready for the market. The girls
secured some of the peculiar, brown crystals left in the bottoms of the
kettles. Sawed into blocks, they made odd and excellent paper weights.
It was a round of gaiety in Syracuse, for the University had not yet closed,
and Rose knew many young people. So they had all the dances they wished
for, with teas, theatre parties and other like forms of entertainment.
"And now really for the Adirondacks!" exclaimed Sylvia, when they were
again ready to make a start. She had received word that her brother was
doing as well as could be expected, though his fretfulness over his inability
to recall the chemical secret was having no very good effect.

CHAPTER VI
THE MISSING EMERALD

The Nowadays Girls arrived at Fulton Chain at 11:05 in the morning, and
stopped for lunch in a little restaurant before taking the branch train that
went to Old Forge. Their trip had been a pleasant one, though a trifle
tiresome toward the end. But already they were beginning to feel the
invigorating mountain air, and it seemed to bring new life to them.
They had been mounting steadily upward, and now were about eighteen
hundred feet above sea level. All about them, save for the little settlements,
and the open spaces where the blue-tinted lakes broke the continuity, was
the vast forest.
"Oh, can't you just smell the balsam!" cried Sylvia, as she breathed in deep
of the sweetly scented air.
"They say it makes one sleep," said Rose. "But who would want to sleep up
here?"
"No one," assented Hazel. "I just want to get out in the woods, or in a boat,
and live!"
"It is glorious!" declared Alice. "Just perfectly glorious!"
From Fulton Chain a little railroad ran the two miles, more or less, to Old
Forge. This was a village with a summer population of about two thousand,
and it was more up-to-date than the girls had expected to find it. The stores
were well stocked, and they learned that there was an ever-increasing trade
with summer campers and hotel folk. All about the vicinity were many
small lakes, the restaurant keeper told the girls, and on the shores were
many camping parties. There would be more as the season advanced.
"What are we going to do when we get to Old Forge?" asked Rose.
"Well, that's where we can have a choice of doing several things," Sylvia
explained. "You know Old Forge is the gateway, so to speak, to eight small
lakes, and they are numbered instead of being named. We can go by canoe

or guide-boat, through the eight lakes to Raquette, and so on, travelling any
way that suits us, to Saranac. What do you say to canoeing and carrying?"
"The canoeing sounds all right, but what is this carrying?" asked Hazel. "Is
it carrying-on?"
"That means you have to carry your canoe," answered Sylvia, with a laugh.
"Why can't you ride in it?"
"Because there isn't any water."
"But you just said there were eight lakes——"
"I know, but look here!" Sylvia spread out a railroad map on the now
cleared restaurant table.
"This is how it is," Sylvia explained, for she had made a study of it before
proposing the Adirondack trip. "From Old Forge, where we'll go soon, and
spend the night, we can canoe through the first four lakes, which are in a
sort of chain—like beads, I suppose. Or we can go on a steamer, or in a
guide-boat."
"What's a guide-boat?" asked Rose.
"A boat with a guide in it, of course," declared Hazel.
"Not exactly," explained Sylvia. "It's a sort of boat designed by the guides
up here. It's a little safer than a canoe, but almost as light, and you can row
it or paddle it, and it will stand pretty rough water."
"Well, that sounds interesting," observed Alice. "I'm rather inclined to a
guide-boat myself."
"The steamer seems rather attractive," suggested Mrs. Brownley, "but you
girls do just as you please. I've been in gondolas on the Grand Canal of
Venice, and I'm not going to hold back when it comes to an Adirondack
guide-boat!"
"Suppose we leave that question until we get to Old Forge, and look the
ground—or, rather, the water—over," suggested Sylvia.
"Good!" assented Hazel.

"It's twelve miles through the first four lakes," went on Sylvia, "and a
steamer doesn't seem necessary. Then, after we get to the end of the fourth
lake there is a carry of one mile to the sixth lake."
"Just what is a carry?" asked Rose.
"It's where you have to carry your boat, and everything in it, over dry land,
from one body of water to another," said Sylvia.
"Do they actually carry the boats—I mean—would we have to?" Hazel
wanted to know.
"We wouldn't. The guides, or boatmen, would do that, and they'd carry all
our luggage," Sylvia explained. "That's why they use canoes, and very light
boats, so they can easily be transported over the land trails. Well, as I said,
it's a one-mile carry from the fourth to the sixth lake."
"My, she's a regular guide-book," mocked Alice.
"What about the fifth lake?" asked Rose.
"The carry is around that. It's winding and twisting, and one can make
better time going on land. Besides, that little lake may be filled with stumps
—and alligators—for all I know."
"Alligators—ugh!" exclaimed Hazel.
"Nonsense! No alligators up here," laughed Rose. "This isn't the Everglades
of Florida."
"Go on. What else, Sylvia?" asked Alice.
"Well, you canoe, or boat, through lakes six and seven, and then comes
another mile carry to lake eight, and when you get to the end of that you're
ready to——"
"Have supper and go to bed," finished Hazel, with a laugh.
"Perhaps," admitted Sylvia. "Anyhow, from the eighth lake to Brown's Tract
Inlet, which is the southern end of Raquette, is a carry of a mile and a half."
"Going up!" called Alice, in imitation of an elevator boy.
"Well, that's the last carry for some time," said Sylvia.

"Thank goodness! It makes one tired to think of the poor men carting those
boats on their shoulders," cried Hazel.
"Well, now we're supposed to be on Raquette Lake," went on Sylvia, "and
that is quite a body of water. The book says there are brook trout, lake trout,
whitefish and bass in those waters, but I think they're not all in season now."
"I didn't know fish had seasons, like oysters," murmured Alice.
"Oh, indeed they do," Sylvia declared, "and we must be true sporting girls,
and observe the game laws, too, if we do any fishing. If we don't, well, we
may be arrested, that's all."
"I'll let the guide do my fishing," murmured Alice, with a look at her slim,
white hands, which were set off wonderfully well by the shimmering green
emerald.
"Now that's the programme for the first part of our trip," resumed Sylvia.
"We can make the lake journey in a day, if we want to, or we can stop off
here and there as suits our fancy. We want to get the best possible fun out of
this vacation, so I think it's nice not to have any set schedule, except as to
where we are going to spend the night."
"Yes, it is always best to arrange for that in advance," agreed Mrs.
Brownley. "I wouldn't want any of you to be sleeping out in an open camp
in these woods at night. We must bow to some of the conventions, even if
you are Nowadays Girls," she added.
They telephoned from Fulton Chain to the inn at Old Forge, and managed to
engage rooms. On the little short line of railroad they made the trip, arriving
late in the afternoon, and going direct to the hotel. Then, while waiting for
supper, they went out to look at the lake, at the end of which is located the
quaint and pretty village.
"Oh, it is just perfect here, just perfect," murmured Sylvia. "Aren't all you
girls glad you came?"
"Aren't we, though—just!" cried Alice.
"It was sweet of you to think all this out for us," said Hazel.
"Oh, I'm enjoying it as much as you, if not more," was Sylvia's rejoinder.
"What's the matter, Rose? Why aren't you talking?" she asked, in lower

tones, for Rose was looking silently out over the placid lake. "I imagine we
are thinking of the same thing," went on Roy's sister. "Never mind; we'll see
him soon."
"I hope so," was the low-voiced answer.
There was to be a public dance at the hotel that night, as a number of
summer tourists and campers had arrived on the same train with the girls.
Among them were several young men who looked with eager, but perfectly
respectful, eyes at the girls.
"I'm sure they can dance," sighed Hazel, "and I do so want a good partner. I
wonder if there isn't a public introducer here!"
"Hazel Reed!" gasped Rose.
"That's perfectly proper nowadays," protested the Chicago girl. "It's done all
the while, especially during the summer. I'm going to ask Mrs. Brownley."
Aunt Theodora considered the matter from several angles, and, after a talk
with the hotel proprietor and his wife, decided that the girls might properly
meet the young men. They were well known to the hotel-keeper, and many
others present, having been at the same camp for a number of years in
succession.
And so with little, delightful flutters of excitement and anticipation, the
girls opened their trunks and laid out some simple evening frocks for the
dance, which was to be semi-informal.
"Oh, they're playing that lovely Cecile hesitation," murmured Hazel, as she
and the others "floated" down to the ballroom, the dining-room having been
cleared for the occasion.
The girls found their young men partners no less eager than they
themselves, and soon the room presented a merry spectacle. It was the first
large hop of the season, rather marking the official opening, in a measure,
and the music was particularly good, for the musicians were some college
boys who had thus started to earn vacation money to help pay their
expenses.
"Oh, isn't it lovely!" whispered Alice, during an interval in the dance.
"Perfectly splendid!" echoed Sylvia. "Have you a good partner?"

"Oh, he dances like a dream!"
"Be careful you don't awaken and find it a nightmare."
"No danger. Oh, look! He's bringing some one up to introduce him, I do
believe. I don't care so much for him," and she indicated the youth, who
was approaching with her partner.
"Allow me," murmured George Watson, with whom Alice had been
dancing, and he presented another youth, who at once asked for a dance,
and was not refused, as Alice's partner had asked to take out Sylvia for the
next fox trot.
Alice's dislike of her newer acquaintance increased as the dance went on.
He was a good dancer, but he talked too much, and asked too many
questions, not altogether conventional. And he held Alice's hand in too firm
a grasp. She tried to impress her dislike on him without voicing it in so
many words, but he would not take a hint.
"That was fine!" he exclaimed, as they stood together in the middle of the
room, and applauded for an encore. "Wasn't it?" and he looked rather too
boldly into her eyes.
"The music is very nice—yes," she assented, a bit coldly. Then the strains
began again, and they danced off.
It was when Alice went with Sylvia to get a glass of lemonade, after the
sixth dance, that she made a discovery.
"Oh, my emerald ring!" she exclaimed, looking hastily down at the floor.
"It's gone—it isn't on my finger!"
"Are you sure you wore it downstairs?" asked Sylvia, knowing what a
commotion a report of anything valuable being lost occasions at a hotel, and
how much suspicion is cast thereby.
"Of course I had it. I remember that Mr. Watson remarked upon it, and
when I danced with the fellow he introduced—I think his name was Tupson
—the ring really hurt my hand, he squeezed it so!"
"Oh, Alice!"
"Well, he did! But my lovely emerald is gone, and it's worth I don't know
how much! I must speak to the proprietor right away."

"Tell Aunt Theodora first," suggested Sylvia. "But make sure it hasn't
slipped off into your glass of lemonade, or fallen into a fold of your dress.
Was the ring loose enough to come off easily?"
"Yes, too easily. My fingers seem to have shrunk, lately. I intended to have
the ring made smaller. But now it's gone. Oh, dear!" and there were traces
of tears in her eyes.

CHAPTER VII
OVERBOARD

There was a hurried search in the room where the girls then were, a search
that extended even to the pitcher of lemonade. But the gleaming emerald
was not found. Alice was becoming more and more upset every moment,
for, while the ring was hers, it was a very valuable one and she knew her
family would be most distressed at its loss.
"Oh, it must be found!" the girl cried.
Her chums were with her now. There was a little lull in the dance, and
refreshments were being sought.
"Whom were you with when you missed it?" asked Sylvia.
"I wasn't with any one exactly when I missed it, but I was dancing with that
Tupson fellow just before," and she related to Hazel and Rose what she had
previously told Sylvia.
"We must tell Aunt Theodora at once," was the decision the three girls
reached for Alice, since she was too nervous to decide for herself.
Mrs. Brownley raised her eyebrows in surprise when told of the
circumstance. She did not say, as she well might have done, at least in her
own opinion, that Alice should not have worn the ring in the first place to a
public dance, and in the second, she ought not to have danced with a young
fellow to whom she had taken a dislike.
But that was over and done with. The matter now uppermost was how to
recover the jewel, and that at the least cost of embarrassment.
"You don't dare ask him baldly whether he saw it, or felt it slip from your
finger," said Hazel.
"No-o-o-o," replied Alice, slowly, her eyes roving about the floor as if she
might see in some nook or corner the golden circlet with its wonderful
green stone.

"We must speak to the proprietor about it, and have him make an
announcement," decided Mrs. Brownley. "He can do that without giving
offence to any one. He can say that a valuable ring has been lost—dropped,
if you like—on the dancing-floor. No one can be offended at that, not even
the servants, and they are very quick to take umbrage at the slightest
imputation on their characters."
"That's very true," agreed Alice. "Yes, an announcement of that kind can do
no harm. Oh, isn't it horrid! And there's a lovely onestep starting now," and
in spite of her distress she could not refrain from humming some of the airs
in the medley the musicians were then playing.
"You girls stay here, and leave this to me," said Aunt Theodora. "I'll speak
to the proprietor," and she went out in her most majestic manner, fairly
sweeping her way along.
The music stopped with a crash, and the dancers out on the waxen floor
looked wonderingly one at the other.
"What is it?" was on the lips of all.
The Nowadays Girls looked out from the little room where they had been
refreshing themselves with lemonade. They saw the hotel proprietor
advance to the middle of the floor, and at once an excited whisper ran
around.
"They think he's going to stop the dancing, because—well perhaps because
it is too 'advanced' for this wilderness," whispered Hazel.
"Listen!" urged Rose.
The announcement was made, with the request that if the ring were found it
be left at the hotel office. Then the music began once more, and the dancing
was resumed.
"Come on, Alice, aren't you going out again?" asked Rose, for Alice sat
down in a chair, her face having lost all its brightness.
"Oh, I don't feel a bit like dancing. I must find my ring!"
The other girls were out on the floor now, near the doorway of the little
refreshment room. A group of young men, who had been telling their
companions what wonderful dancers our friends were, came fairly

swarming up to claim partners. Among them was young Tupson, and there
was an eager look on his face.
"I say, Miss Harrow!" he began, catching sight of Alice in spite of her effort
to draw back, "whose ring was lost? Not yours, I hope? Not that one with
the green stone?"
"Yes, that's the one," she answered. She almost hated herself for the ugly
suspicion that came unbidden into her mind.
"Why, I saw that on your finger just before we danced the last encore," he
said. "I'm sure you had it on then."
"Yes, I know I had it," Alice said, "but now it's gone."
"Oh, I say now, that's too bad! We fellows will help you look for it. I say
Watson, Craig—let's organise a searching party!"
"We can look while we're dancing; can't we?" suggested the youth who had
been whirling about with Rose. He liked her style and was anxious for
another turn on the excellent floor.
"It will be best to look when the dancers are off," said Sylvia. "Besides, the
ring might be stepped on, and how hard are emeralds, anyhow?" she asked,
generally. "Are they as hard as diamonds, so they can be stepped on with
impunity?"
"Oh, I shouldn't want my ring stepped on!" gasped Alice.
"I should say not!" chimed in Tupson. His was not a personality that
attracted any of the girls. It was what, slangily, might be called "fresh," yet
he seemed anxious to do all he could, and he totally ignored the suspicion
that might have attached to him, since he, admittedly, was the last one to be
with Alice before the ring was missed.
"I'll tell you what we ought to do, fellows," he went on. "Ask every one to
get off the floor for a while—the dancers, musicians, servants, every one.
Then we'll organise a committee, get brooms and sweep the place. That
ought to find the ring if it's here."
"That's the idea!" declared his friend Watson.
"It would be most excellent, I think," said Mrs. Brownley. "If it can be done
——"

"I'll see to it," went on Tupson, who seemed to have plenty of assurance. He
hurried over to the proprietor, talked with him a few minutes, and the latter
made another announcement. The floor was to be cleared to allow a search
for the ring, in order that it might not be stepped on.
A little later the corps of young fellows, armed with brooms, were carefully
going over the dancing-floor, while, from the porch outside, and from
adjoining rooms and halls, the dancers watched.
But the ring was not found, and Alice had much ado to keep from falling
the tears that brimmed into her eyes. The dance was resumed, though a little
spirit of depression seemed to have settled over it.
"Aren't you going out again?" asked Rose of Alice, when the former came
to a chair to rest after a rather strenuous fox trot.
"I wasn't—no—yes, I am, too! I'm going to be game! I'm not going to let
them see that I care. After all, it isn't so much the value of the ring, as the
associations connected with it. Mamma will feel dreadfully, of course, but
father couldn't bear emeralds. I loved it, though, it was so quaint, and——"
"It matched your hand so well," added Hazel.
"Oh, I wasn't thinking of that," Alice said.
And she did go out again and dance, not heeding the many eyes that
followed her, for it was whispered about that she was the owner of the lost
ring, and its value mounted by hundreds (in gossipy dollars) until it was
said to be worth a king's ransom.
Furtive looks were cast at the dancing-floor the rest of the evening, but the
emerald was not discovered, and Alice was again rather in the "dumps"
when she and her girl chums went to their rooms.
"Well, there's one thing sure," decided Sylvia, "we won't go on with our trip
to-morrow. I'll cancel that order for canoes and guide-boats. We'll stay here
a few days."
"Why?" asked Rose.
"Until we see if we can't find Alice's ring," was the answer. "It may come
back in some mysterious way. Jewels lost in hotels have a way of doing that
if you make fuss enough over them."

"I was going to say that I would like to stay over," remarked Alice, "but I
didn't like to propose it, and keep you all back."
"It will not be any great hardship," Sylvia said. "It is lovely here, as it is all
over the Adirondacks, and we can play golf and canoe here for a day or so,
and have all the fun possible. I'll just tell the men we engaged that we have
postponed our trip for a week, perhaps less."
"I'm so sorry," began Alice.
"You needn't be," Hazel declared. "This is a lovely dancing-floor."
"And there is a nice golf course not far away," Rose added. "I can keep up
my game."
"Stay, by all means," agreed Mrs. Brownley. "You are out for pleasure, and
half of that consists in doing things when you want to, not when you have
to. And I do hope you find your ring, Alice."
The girls were sitting in the private parlour, with which their rooms were all
connected, hair down, in comfortable dressing-gowns, discussing a
thousand and one things just before retiring for the night, when there came
a knock on the door.
"Who is it?" asked Mrs. Brownley.
"The chambermaid. The lost ring has been found!" was the reply.
Electrified, the girls fairly jumped to their feet.
"My ring found? Where? Oh, where is it?" Alice cried.
"The proprietor has it down in the office," came from the voice on the other
side of the door.
"Oh—I——" Alice began.
"I'll get it," said the chaperon. She had not yet made herself "comfortable,"
and was soon following the maid down to the main office. There a much-
relieved proprietor exhibited the wonderful emerald ring.
"Yes, that is it," Mrs. Brownley said, for she knew Alice's jewel well. "Who
had it?"

"No one, Mrs. Brownley. That is, the one who had it didn't know he had it,"
and the hotel man smiled.
"What do you mean, sir?" and the Southern lady rather drew herself up in
wounded dignity.
"Why, it was this way. The young fellow with whom Miss Harrow was
dancing wore his trousers turned up at the bottom, in a style the young men
affect nowadays. Well, it seems the ring was found in the folded-up part of
his trousers. It fell out on the floor when he went to his room, and he
brought it here at once."
"Why, isn't that remarkable!" exclaimed Mrs. Brownley. "I have heard of
such things, but have never experienced them. But we are very glad to get
back the ring."
"And I'm glad you have it," the hotel man agreed. "I'll sleep better to-night."
Mrs. Brownley hurried back to the girls, who were anxiously waiting for
her, the ring and the explanation.
"Did you ever!" exclaimed Rose.
"How interesting!" was Hazel's contribution.
"Just like a story or a play," added Sylvia.
"I don't care how or what it was, as long as I have my ring back!" Alice
said. "And I can very well understand how it happened. The ring slipped
from my finger and lodged in the gaping, upturned fold of his trousers. It is
lucky it didn't fall to the floor, to be stepped on. Oh, I'm so glad you came
back to me!" and she kissed the green stone before she slipped the golden
circlet onto her slim finger.
"Well, don't lose it again, please," begged Aunt Theodora.
"I won't wear it while we're up here in the woods," Alice promised.
Young Tupper sought the earliest opportunity next morning to speak to
Alice. He described how he had found the ring.
"And I say!" he exclaimed, boyishly, eagerly, "I hope you don't think I did it
on purpose?"
"On purpose?" echoed Alice, her cheeks getting warm under his gaze.

"Yes, for a joke, you know."
"Oh, certainly not!" and Alice gave unnecessary emphasis to the words.
"Then you'll forgive me?"
"Of course! There's really nothing to forgive."
"Well, I'm glad of that. I say now, I hear you girls are to stay here for some
time longer."
"Well, we were going to, on account of my lost ring, but now it has been
found——"
"Oh, don't say that, or I'll be sorry I gave it back to you," he laughed. "But I
saw some of the guides, and they told me the men you had engaged to take
you through Fulton Chain had been disengaged, and had taken another
party up. So that meant you would stay, and——"
"I'm not at all sure what we shall do," said Alice, evasively. She wished
some of her chums would come along, but Tupson had her alone in one
corner of the big veranda.
"Well, if you do stay, even to-day, won't you let me take you out in my
canoe?" he pleaded. "I have a large one. It's perfectly safe."
"I—I'll see," Alice gasped. "Oh, Sylvia!" she called, pretending she had
seen her chum at the hall entrance, and she fled with a rustle of skirts.
There was a little conference of the Nowadays Girls that morning. Sylvia
had carried out her half-formed plan of the night before, and dismissed the
boatmen for an indefinite time. So the travellers decided to remain at least a
few days at Old Forge, and see the surrounding country.
"Then there's no reason why Alice can't have her canoe ride," said Hazel.
"We all know how she is pining for one."
"Baby, if you——!" began the annoyed one.
"Oh, well, I don't mind admitting that I have an invitation also," drawled
Hazel. "Now let's hear from the others."
It developed that each girl had been asked by her dancing partner of the
night before to come for a canoe ride on the first of the six lakes that
morning, and, with Mrs. Brownley's consent, they prepared to go.

It was a glorious day, and when the girls were comfortably seated in the
much-cushioned canoes, afloat on the blue waters of the lake, with the
forests and low mountains stretching off on either side, it seemed that they
had begun to spend a most ideal vacation.
The canoeists were to keep together in a little flotilla, and proceed up First
Lake for a short distance, go ashore and have a little lunch.
"Am I completely forgiven?" asked Tupson, of Alice, as he poised his
dripping paddle.
"Of course," she said, a trifle coldly. She did not want to encourage him too
much, even though he was a good dancer.
The little party indulged in quips and merry jests, shooting them back and
forth from canoe to canoe, as they advanced. They were skirting the
wooded shore when Sylvia proposed that they cross to the other side, where
she had been told there was a spring of refreshing water.
Headed by the canoe in which were Alice and young Tupson, the little
flotilla was paddling diagonally across the body of water, when there came
down it a big canoe, propelled by a number of young men, who seemed to
be training for some aquatic event. The water bubbled and boiled at the bow
of their craft.
"Look out for them!" called the youth with Sylvia. "They are regular speed-
maniacs!"
"Give them plenty of room," urged Hazel.
Just as the big canoe came opposite that containing Tupson and Alice, one
of the paddles in the racing boat broke. The youth who had been wielding it
pitched forward. The canoe slewed to one side, and shooting off its course,
headed straight for the craft in which sat Alice.
"Look out!" cried many voices.
Tupson tried desperately to do so, but there was not time.
An instant later his canoe tipped over, spilling both him and Alice into the
lake.

CHAPTER VIII
THE GOLF BALL

"Girl overboard!"
"Man overboard!"
"Back water there! Around with the boat!"
Thus came the cries from the big racing canoe. If the young men in it,
through their eager desire for speed, had been the cause of the accident,
they were at least willing and ready to do all they could to remedy it.
And they were in the best position for so doing, since they were nearest the
scene. Their big craft glided to the spot where the canoe floated bottom
upward, and there came a sharp command from the youth in the bow.
"Harris—Wing—get ready to dive!" he commanded curtly. "The rest of you
hold her steady."
The eight young men in the racing canoe were all in their bathing suits, and
in an instant two of them stood poised and ready.
"There she is! The fellow, too! In you go!" commanded the self-constituted
leader.
Two lithe figures, their arms and legs already bronzed by the early summer
sun, went down in clean dives, with hardly a splash. At the same instant
there were two spots where a commotion in the water showed the presence
of Alice and Tupson, coming up after their first immersion.
Now Alice was a good swimmer—in fact all the Nowadays Girls were—
and she had held her breath as she felt the waters closing over her. And
when she struck out and came to the surface she was ready for the next
move in the emergency.
But even a good swimmer is hampered by wet and clinging clothing,
particularly a girl or woman, and Alice felt a momentary fear, that passed

almost as soon as formed, for she saw a bronze-faced young man striking
out to aid her.
"Put your hand on my shoulder," he advised her, in calm, even tones.
"Oh, I—I can swim all right," Alice assured him. She did not want him to
think that she would frantically clutch him about the neck, or do any of
those things that persons, unable to swim, are apt to do when they fall into
the water and see a rescuer coming. "I can swim," she repeated, "it is only
that my skirts are so wet and clinging."
"I understand," he said. "You're all right!"
"Is he—he?" asked Alice, and then she had to turn her face away from a
little wave that splashed up at her. The other canoes, with their frightened
occupants, were drawing near.
"Your friend is being taken care of," her rescuer said. "He doesn't seem to
be able to swim as well as you."
"Oh, I do hope you will save him!" she cried, at the same time thinking how
strange it sounded to hear Tupson spoken of as her "friend."
"He'll be all right. Wing has him safe, and Wing knows how to handle his
kind. Now shall we right your canoe, or will you come in ours?"
"It looks to be easier to get into yours."
"Yes, it's much larger and steadier. Over this way."
He guided her, keeping her up by placing one of her hands on his shoulder.
Alice could feel the strong, rhythmic ripple of his muscles as he struck out
for the big canoe, not far away.
"Lift her in!" commanded the youth in the bow.
"If you don't mind," Alice said, calmly, for she had full control of herself
now, "I'll just hold on to the stern and let you paddle over toward the shore.
I'm not a bit cold, and it isn't far."
"Well, just as you like," assented the leader. He divined her reason for not
wanting to clamber into a boat, all dripping wet as she was, when the boat
was filled with eager-eyed young fellows.
"Wing has his man—guess he had to hit him," some one said.

Alice, clinging to the stern of the big canoe, saw another bronzed swimmer
approaching, supporting on one arm the limp form of her former
companion.
"Oh, I hope he isn't hurt," she gasped, in much anxiety.
"Don't worry," her own rescuer said. "Wing has served as a lifeguard at
Atlantic City. He knows what to do."
Tupson was not much stunned by the blow Wing had been obliged to deal
him to prevent the frantic clutch that might have meant a death-hold for
both of them. A little later Tupson was hoisted into the big canoe, which
was paddled ashore, towing Alice and Harris, who stoutly insisted on
remaining near her.
Very much bedraggled, and not a little embarrassed, Alice was helped on
shore near a small summer cottage, the owner of which at once sent his wife
to look after the unfortunate one. Alice was taken to the house, her
companions following. Tupson soon recovered, and was not a little
ashamed of himself.
But the fault lay with the broken paddle of the big canoe, and while that
was an accident, it might not have occurred had not the boys been speeding
in their craft. They expressed their regret and did all they could, bringing
ashore the overturned canoe, righting it and putting it in the sun where it
would dry.
Meanwhile Alice was being provided with an outfit of dry garments by the
owner of the cottage, and a messenger was despatched to the hotel, not far
away, for some of her own clothes. Reassuring word was also sent to Mrs.
Brownley, for fear she would hear an exaggerated report of the accident and
worry unnecessarily.
"And now that I'm clothed, and in my right mind, let's continue the trip,"
suggested Alice.
"Do you mean it?" asked one of the boys who, with Tupson, formed the
escort of the Nowadays Girls.
"Mean it? Of course I mean it! Why not? I'm all right, and if Mr. Tupson
——"

"Oh, I'm game!" he declared. "I'm ashamed of not behaving better in the
water, but I lost my head. I was worried about you," he said to Alice.
"Thank you," she graciously replied. "Then let's go on."
Tupson was sufficiently dried out, and the trip was resumed. Fortunately the
lunch was not in the overturned canoe, and the impromptu picnic was
successfully carried out.
The little accident provided a fruitful subject for conversation at the hotel
that afternoon, when the porch was filled with animated rocking-chairs and
their gossipy occupants. The girls were rather the heroines of the occasion,
especially Alice, and she was formally waited upon by the eight canoeists,
who said they regretted that their desire for speed had caused annoyance to
any one. Their apologies were graciously accepted.
"How much longer are we going to stay here?" asked Rose that night.
"Getting anxious to get to Saranac?" questioned Hazel.
"Well,—yes," was the frank answer. "But if we are going to stay another
day or so, I'm going in for a bit of golf. I can borrow a set of clubs here, and
the links are good, though rather small."
"Have a game, by all means, if you like," assented Sylvia. "We'll make up a
foursome. I'll take Rose."
"How nicely she says it!" laughed Alice. "Very well, we're not to be
frightened; are we, Hazel? Are you in form?"
"Oh, we'll accept the challenge. Let's go out and have a look at the course."
They found it a fairly good one, and a game was soon arranged.
"My! Look at those girls!" exclaimed an elderly lady on the hotel porch, as
she saw the four departing with caddies at their side, carrying the bags.
"What's the matter with them?" some one asked.
"Why, the things they do—first they're dancing, then they're canoeing—and
incidentally upsetting, next they're off golfing. I wouldn't be surprised to see
them in an aëroplane next."
"Nor I," assented her companion. "They certainly are up-to-date girls. But
they are delightful, and they are real girls, not powdery imitations."

"Humph! The cat!" exclaimed a tall, willowy young lady who overheard
this. She kept very much in the shade, and her nose looked as though she
had dipped it into a flour barrel and then forgotten to take it out.
"Fore!" called Rose, who led off in the golf game.
She grasped her driver firmly, settled herself on the bare, clay-covered tee,
and drove off with all her force.
"Crack!" went her driver against the white ball.
"Oh, Rose!" cried Sylvia. But it was too late.
Across behind a bunker, toward which Rose drove, a young man walked,
and a moment later the girls saw the white golf ball strike him on the head.
He fell as if shot, dropping out of sight behind the long, grassy hill that
formed a hazard on the links.

CHAPTER IX
ONWARD

"Oh—oh, Rose!" gasped Hazel. "You—you've done it!"
"What has she done—killed him?" gasped Alice.
"Don't say such silly things!" chided Sylvia. "Come on and see!"
She darted forward, the short, golfing skirt she wore being no hindrance to
her speed, but quick as Sylvia was, Rose was off ahead of her. She had cast
her driver aside, and her face was now rather pale. The caddies followed,
giving voice to various expressions.
Rose was first to reach the bunker. She found a very much dazed youth
sitting up, holding a cap in one hand, while with the other he was rubbing
his head.
"Oh! are you—hurt?" Rose gasped, kneeling down beside him.
"Just a little—little knock," he answered, cheerfully—as cheerfully as
possible under the circumstances. "Who—who did it? Oh, it was a golf ball.
I see," and he looked at the checkered sphere of white gutta percha that lay
in the sand on the far side of the bunker.
"I did it," confessed Rose. "I called 'fore!' but I didn't see you until after I
drove off. My friends called to me, but too late. I hope you're not badly
hurt?"
"Hardly at all. My cap is quite thick. But it serves me right, anyhow. I ought
not to have crossed the course. Now you girls are even with me," and he
started to rise.
"Even with you?" repeated Sylvia, as she held out a brown and muscular
hand to help him to his feet, for he seemed dizzy and weak.
"Yes. I'm the chap whose paddle broke in the canoe the time it ran into one
that one of you girls was in. You've paid your score!" and he smiled, grimly.

"Oh! As if——" began Rose, now blushing to match her name.
"Of course I was only joking," he said, quickly. "Thank you," he went on to
Sylvia. "It did knock me out a bit. I thought it was a lightning stroke,
though I hadn't seen any clouds before I crossed the links."
"Oh, are you sure you're all right?" asked Rose, anxiously, while the circle
of caddies stood in an outer ring, grinning sympathetically.
"Oh, yes, as right as ever," he said, saying nothing about the ache of his
head. "Serves me right for crossing where I'd no business to. I'll go back,
and you can go on with your game."
"Are you sure you're all right?" insisted Sylvia. She recognised the youth
now as one of the party that owned the big canoe.
"Positive," he answered, with a cheerfulness he did not altogether feel.
"Allow me to restore your golf ball," he went on, picking up the one Rose
had driven. "It doesn't seem to be harmed any," he went on, whimsically. "I
think you ought to be allowed to take that shot over again. The ball was
travelling pretty well when I interfered with it, and I'm sure you would get a
better lay than this," and he indicated the sand.
"Yes, drive over again," suggested Alice.
The young fellow bowed pleasantly, winked at the caddies and walked back
in the direction whence he had come when his course was so suddenly
interrupted.
"No more crossing of golf courses for me!" he said, emphatically.
The girls insisted on Rose taking her drive again, and she went far beyond
the bunker. Then the others, in turn, drove off from the tee, and the game
was on.
Never was golf played under more ideal conditions. True, the girls had
played on better and larger links, but this was a new locality for them, and
every now and then they would pause to gaze off at the distant mountains,
to look down at the little blue lakes or take deep breaths of the balsam-laden
air.
"Oh, it's too nice, almost, to play golf," sighed Sylvia. "I want to be in the
woods—just in the woods."

"You'll be in the ditch in a minute, if you don't watch where you're driving,"
declared Alice. "Come on, play the game."
The girls were evenly matched, and even the caddies became interested in
the impromptu contest.
"Say!" declared one youngster, "they are the real article all right. They sure
can swing the clubs!"
It was his best and most sincere compliment, and Rose, whose second long,
lifting drive had called it forth, smiled in a gratified way. She preferred a
tribute such as that to one more or less half-hearted from some older and
more sophisticated admirer.
Sylvia and Rose won by a small margin, much to their delight, especially
Rose's, for she was an enthusiast, though the other girls were good players,
too.
"Well, now for some tea, and then we'll freshen up for the dance to-night,"
suggested Hazel, as she removed her yellow chamois gloves. "I feel just
like a dance!" and she curved and pivoted over the grass.
"We certainly are having a fine time here," declared Sylvia, "but we must
not forget our plan to go on to Saranac. I know Roy will be anxious to see
us, now that he knows we are coming. And I do so want to see him, and
know that he is getting better."
"We all do, my dear," said Alice.
"There was no word to-day; was there?" asked Rose.
"No, I told the folks at home to relay the messages here every second day,
as we could not tell just where we would be. But what do you girls say now
to starting on through the Chain to-morrow, or next day?"
"Whatever you say," said Hazel. "They told me at the hotel there was good
fishing around here, in some of the Fulton Chain lakes, and I'm anxious to
try."
"Let's go fishing before we start on our trip!" proposed Rose, and Sylvia
assented.
The next day they engaged boats and guides—two boats for four of them,
and began to try their luck.

The girls at once won the admiration of the fishermen, for neither Sylvia,
Rose, Hazel nor Alice was afraid to bait her own hook, and they could
remove the fish once they had landed them.
"Oh, what luck!" cried Rose, as she hooked a large lake trout. She played
her catch well, and brought him exhausted to the side of the guide-boat, to
the envy of her companions.
But Sylvia was not far behind, with a good-sized bass. The season had
opened only a few days before, so that the fish had not been thinned out.
Alice and Hazel had fair luck also.
"Well, those girls certainly can do anything!" declared one of the members
of the porch rocking-chair brigade as the four came back with strings of
fish. "I wonder their folks allow them to rough it in this fashion."
"Why, they are with that delightful Southern lady," said a companion. "She
is chaperoning them."
"Humph! I don't call it much chaperoning when she sits on a porch all day
reading, and lets the girls go off with the fishermen."
"The fishermen around here are the finest men you could meet," was the
quick answer. "I and several of my friends have been out with them. They
are real gentlemen!"
"Humph!" sniffed the other. "They don't look it!"
There was a last dance at the hotel, a dance that brought forth many
expressions of regret from the young men who had enjoyed the company of
the Nowadays Girls.
"Will you stop here on your way back?" had been an oft-repeated question.
"Perhaps," Sylvia said, with a smile.
Once more they were going onward. They engaged guide-boats and guides
and started up the Fulton Chain for Raquette Lake, where they intended to
spend some time.
"And there we'll get a motor boat," said Sylvia, "and do a bit of exploring."
"That will be jolly!" cried Rose.

With their luggage, they took their places in the guide-boats, and the start
was made. It is twelve miles from Old Forge to the head of Fourth Lake of
the Fulton Chain, where the first carry must be made. They had made an
early start, and intended to have lunch in the open at the beginning of the
carry, which they reached in due course.
"All out!" cried Sylvia, as the boats grounded on the shore. "All out, and get
ready for lunch!"

CHAPTER X
A NIGHT OUT

Three men had been engaged to take the party of girls and Mrs. Brownley
through the Fulton Chain of lakes. As has been said, the journey may be
made in a day, enabling one, with proper equipment and by using due
speed, to reach Raquette Lake in time for a late dinner. This had been the
plan of Sylvia and her friends.
They had planned to stop for lunch en route and, accordingly, had brought
with them materials for a satisfying meal. One of the three men was a camp
cook, and to him was entrusted the work of getting the meal ready. The
other two men were guides or boatmen in whose craft the trip had thus far
been made.
"Now if you'll get lunch ready we'll be ready for it as soon as we hear you
call," Sylvia said to the chef.
"Are you going away, miss?" he asked, pausing in the work of taking from
the boat various cunningly stowed-away packages.
"Just for a stroll in the woods," she told him.
"Well, don't go too far," he advised her. "If you don't know the trails you
might get confused, and have trouble findin' your way back. And if you
expect to get to Raquette Lake to-night we can't lose much time."
"Oh, we'll not go far," Rose said.
"No, indeed!" chimed in Hazel, as she gave a surreptitious glance into a
mirror hidden in the flap of her handbag, and gave her nose an equally
secret "dab," though why she should, up in that wilderness, she herself
could not have said.
"Too hungry to go far," added Alice.
"Why, can one become lost in these woods?" asked Aunt Theodora.

"Yes, indeed, lady!" exclaimed one of the boatmen. "I knowed a man who
started to walk from one tree to another while he was waitin' for his coffee
to boil, but when he got back the coffee pot had melted!"
"Indeed!" exclaimed the chaperon, with a lifting of her aristocratic
eyebrows. "Did the fire become too hot?"
"Well, not exactly, lady, but you see the man got lost, and was gone so long
that the coffee boiled away and the bottom of the pot melted. I'm only tellin'
you that, so you won't go too far."
"There's no danger," Sylvia said, with a laugh. "We'll keep on the trail. And
I think we'll have tea, instead of coffee," she added to the chef, for a tea
outfit had been brought along, and one of the men was lighting the alcohol
stove which was not only to boil water for the beverage, but also to warm
some of the numerous viands. Solid alcohol was used as fuel.
Indeed the Nowadays Girls had gone carefully into this matter of sojourning
in the Adirondacks, and while they expected to spend most of the time at
well-known hotels or in camp resorts, they were also provided for some life
in the open, either in tent or cabin, and they had purchased the very latest in
outfits.
"No smoky wood fires for us, except when we've had our meals and want to
sit around it and be romantic," Sylvia had said, and the others had agreed
with her. Consequently they had a small camping outfit with them that for
compactness and convenience would be difficult to surpass.
So while the girls and Mrs. Brownley started off to admire the beauty of the
woods and the end of Fourth Lake nestling amid the trees, the cook got
ready the meal. He was an expert in his line, and after he had set the kettle
over the flame of the nickled alcohol stove he found a good place to set the
table on the ground, spreading the cloth over a layer of flat balsam branches
which gave forth a most appetising odour.
The boatmen prepared to set off with the craft on the one-mile carry to
Sixth Lake, the fifth, as I have explained, being omitted from the water
route in covering the chain, since it was so winding that nearly twice the
distance would have had to be covered if they kept to the boats.
There was not a little luggage to be transported, in addition to the boats, and
the men would be kept busy. The heavier baggage had been sent on ahead

to the town of Raquette Lake, located on the lower end of that body of
water, just beyond the point where Brown's Tract Inlet joins it.
"Oh, did you ever see a more perfect place?" demanded Alice, as she came
to a pause in the woods, and gazed about her.
"It's just grand," agreed Rose. "It makes one just glad to be alive; doesn't it,
Baby?" she demanded of her diminutive chum, who was thoughtfully
gazing off into the depths of the forest.
"What is it? Oh, yes, of course!" was the rather hasty answer.
"She hasn't heard a word we've said!" laughed Alice. "Never mind, Baby.
We all know what you are thinking of, at any rate," and playfully she ruffled
the hair of the smaller girl.
"Oh, don't!" was the protest.
"What matter? No one to see you here, Baby, except the boatmen, and they
don't count."
"Oh, but we must always look our best, even before servants, my dears,"
remonstrated Mrs. Brownley, gently. That was one rule she insisted on.
Négligée had in this lady one of its most deadly enemies.
"Oh, well, of course, I didn't mean just that," apologised Alice.
They strolled on through the dense woods that came to the very edge of the
trail. Now and then the silence was broken by the crashing down of some
old tree, or the fall of a dead branch. Again, birds would give voice to their
chirping notes, and the flutter of their wings would be heard. Occasionally,
from some lonely and unseen pond, would come the call of the loon, that
strange and often solitary bird whose cry has such a weird sound, especially
if heard at the dead of night. Again would come the distant voices of
boatmen, or of camping parties, en route even as our friends were.
"And to think," said Sylvia, softly, "that up there," and she pointed to the
north, "Roy is in these same woods. I wonder what he is doing?"
"Getting well and strong, I hope," said Mrs. Brownley, cheerfully.
"I hope so, too," murmured Rose.

They returned to the place where they had left their boats to find a simple
but perfectly-prepared meal awaiting them. Spread out on the snowy cloth,
set off wonderfully well by the border of underlying layer of green balsam
boughs, were the viands they had brought. The kettle sang cheerfully on the
alcohol stove and there was an omelet, so light that it seemed a breath
would flatten it out like a griddle-cake.
"Just in time, ladies," the chef remarked. "The omelet is all ready to serve."
Such appetites as the girls brought to the feast!
"There won't be much left to take over the carry," observed Sylvia. "Pass
the olives, Rose dear. That is, if Alice has left any."
"Left any! What do you mean?"
"Oh, we all know your fondness."
"There's an unopened bottle," remarked Hazel. "I had some extra ones put
in."
"Bless you, my dear!" murmured Alice. "They are so tasty, especially in the
woods."
The luncheon went on amid merry quip and laughter. When it was over the
men had their meal, and one of them offered to walk on ahead with the girls
and Mrs. Brownley, and show them the trail to Sixth Lake. It was quite
plain, through the woods, for it was much-travelled, but the guide was not
going to risk his reputation by having any of his party stray off into the
forest, and have it be said of him that he did not look well after his patrons.
The chef and the other guide remained behind to bring on the luncheon
articles. The boats and baggage, having been safely transported, awaited the
arrival of the girls at Sixth Lake.
"About what time do you think we shall get to Raquette Lake?" asked
Sylvia of the man in her boat, when they were once more under way.
"We ought to be there about seven o'clock, miss. That is, if nothing
happens," and he gave a hasty glance at the sky.
"If nothing happens! What do you mean?" demanded Mrs. Brownley.

"Well, it's nothing to be alarmed about, but I think we're going to have a
thunderstorm," he remarked. "That might delay us, for sometimes it rains so
hard that it's hard to see where you're rowing, and we may have to stop on
shore until it's over."
"Are there any places to stop?" asked Sylvia, determined to make provision
for the worst, if necessary.
"Oh, yes, there are open camps, and some closed ones where we could put
up if we couldn't reach Raquette Lake. But we'll try to get you there. Pull
hard, boys," he called to his companion and the chef, who was also taking
his "spell" at the oars of the light guide-boats.
But it was evident to the girls themselves that they were not going to escape
the storm. To the low and deep rumblings in the west, there succeeded
louder-voiced mutterings of some unseen god of the weather. The black
clouds were slashed open now and then by vivid streaks of lightning, rose-
tinted and pink, and again of a flashing electric blue-green in colour.
"We're going to get it!" murmured one of the men.
The girls looked anxiously toward the shores of Seventh Lake, on which
they then were. The water was about a mile in width here, and they were in
the middle.
"We'd better put in!" called the leading boatman to the others. "I thought we
could make Henderson's, but we can't! Lively now!"
It became darker and darker. The thunder was coming more and more
frequently, and the darkness that had suddenly fallen over the brightness of
the day was relieved at intervals by the hissing lightning.
"Here it comes!" cried one of the guides.
An instant later the lake seemed to boil with the violence of the rainfall. The
girls and Mrs. Brownley, having been warned in time, had put on
mackintoshes, but the men scorned anything like that, and did not stop to
don any extra garments.
They pulled desperately for the shore, and reached it in the midst of a
driving downpour.

"Over this way," directed the leading guide, as the boats grated on the shore.
"There's a shack around here somewhere."
He led the way, and a little later they all stood under a rude shelter that was
sufficiently water-tight to keep off most of the rain. The things in the boats
had been covered with pieces of canvas.
"Oh!" screamed Rose as a particularly vivid flash and a crash of thunder
came almost together. "That struck near here!"
"I guess it did, miss," was the cool answer of the guide called Jimmie.
"Did it hit a house?" asked Alice.
"No, some tree I reckon," said the guide who had been addressed as Jake.
"Lots of times trees get struck up here. We don't mind it much."
"Shall we be able to go on?" asked Mrs. Brownley, anxiously.
"Well, if this rain lets up we can, easy, or we could manage to keep goin' in
the boats, anyhow, if you didn't mind it," Jake answered.
"I think it will be better to wait," suggested Sylvia. "I don't like being on the
lake in an open boat during a storm."
"Nor I," added Hazel.
"But it doesn't seem as though it would ever stop," broke in Alice,
dubiously. "It's raining harder than ever."
"What shall we do if we can't go on?" Rose wanted to know.
"Well, we'll have to stay here—camp out or do something," Sylvia said.
"You spoke of a camp, or something, near here?" she went on questioningly
to Jimmie.
"Yes, miss. There's a good cabin not far from here. It's hired out to parties,
and it's well furnished. If that isn't in use you can stay there if you don't
want to go on."
"But what about places to sleep, and things to eat?" asked Mrs. Brownley.
"That's all provided, lady. There's grub—that is, food—at the cabin, and
plenty of beds, such as they are. Not feathers, of course, but——"

"Oh, we don't in the least mind roughing it," put in Sylvia. "In fact, I think it
would be rather jolly than otherwise."
"So do I!" exclaimed Alice. And as Hazel also joined in, there was nothing
for Rose to do but agree. And so, as the rain showed no signs of slackening,
it was decided to spend the night out in the little cabin, to which the guides
offered to lead the party. And a little later they set off through the woods in
the downpour.

CHAPTER XI
TROUBLE

"Why, this isn't half bad!"
"No, indeed! I think it's real cosy!"
"And what a lovely open fireplace!"
"A fire wouldn't be at all out of the way now. I'm thoroughly drenched,
girls!"
Our four friends thus expressed themselves in turn as they stood in the little
log cabin to which the guides had conducted them through the storm. They
could hear the rain beating down on the slab roof, hear it pattering on the
leaves of the trees that surrounded the place, and they listened to the sigh of
the wind as it lashed itself to fury in a semblance of a hurricane.
"It's better than I expected, my dears," said Mrs. Brownley, after a quick
survey of the small bedrooms opening from the main apartment.
"Then we'll stay here to-night," decided Sylvia. "That is, if we may?" she
added to the guides.
"Oh, yes," said Jimmie, quickly. "You see, we have charge of this place—
me and my partner. We let it out when any one wants it, and it's lucky it
didn't happen to be engaged just now. You can stay here and welcome."
"We'll pay the usual price, of course," said Sylvia, quickly, "and be glad of
the opportunity. You spoke of something to eat?" she went on.
"Yes, I guess it's pretty well stocked with canned stuff. We might catch a
few fish, even if it does rain. We can bring up your things from the boats,
and the bunks are made up fresh."
"That's a comfort," sighed the chaperon. "We'll stay here, girls. And be glad
of the opportunity. It will be an experience."

"But won't they worry at the Antlers?" asked Rose, referring to the hotel
where they had engaged rooms for their stay at Raquette Lake. "They
expect us, and know we are coming up the lake. If we don't arrive——"
"I guess I can manage to telephone 'em by nightfall," put in one of the
guides. "I'll tell 'em you are storm-bound."
"Then it will be all right," Rose remarked, with a sigh of relief. She really
could not bear to think of going on the lake in the storm.
"I'll make a fire on the hearth," the chef said, and while he busied himself at
that the other two guides set off to bring up the baggage from the boats.
Mrs. Brownley and the girls proceeded to make themselves comfortable,
and to wait for the blaze to dry some of their damp garments and their
shoes.
Tramping along the wet and soggy trail, burdened with the baggage from
the boats, the guides came back to the cabin. But it was a more cheerful
place than when they had left it, for now a fire was merrily crackling on the
hearth, and the faces of the girls and that of Mrs. Brownley had lost much
of the worried, nervous look. They were quite content to spend the
forthcoming night where they were.
A hasty search through the cabin had revealed a sufficient quantity of food,
together with what was left from luncheon, to make an evening meal and
breakfast. Then, too, the discovery that the place contained several "cute"
little bunks, with inviting sheets and plenty of coverings, added to the
feeling of comfort.
The guides had announced that there was another shanty nearby where they
were in the habit of sleeping when stopping in the woods overnight with a
party that occupied the main cabin. They would use the annex on this
occasion.
And so, with supplies from their baggage to draw on, and with the prospect
of a meal whenever they wanted it, our friends resigned themselves to the
situation. And it was not such an unpleasant situation, after all. In fact it was
really cosy to listen to the crackle of the fire on the hearth, and contrast it
with the patter of the rain outside.
Clearly it would have been out of the question to have gone on in the storm
in open boats. This they all decided when one of the guides went out to find

the nearest telephone to communicate with the Antlers. He managed to
discover one after an hour or two.
By this time an early supper had been served, and the girls and Aunt
Theodora prepared to spend the evening as best they could in the cabin, for
it was out of the question to do anything else than sit around and talk.
They found some old magazines, but the lights were none of the best for
reading, so they gave that up, and sat in front of the blaze, seeing pictures in
the flames, and telling fortunes.
The guides had retired to their own cabin, not far away, and from it, now
and then, could be heard guffaws of laughter which served to relieve the
quietness of the woods, that was broken, otherwise, by only the patter of the
rain.
It was close to midnight when the girls went to their beds, for they did not
feel sleepy, and preferred sitting up to tossing restlessly on the narrow
bunks. They occupied three rooms, Rose and Sylvia being in one, Hazel and
Alice in another and Mrs. Brownley in the third, all opening from the main
apartment, or living-room, of the cabin.
Just who first heard the call and the following rap on the door is uncertain.
They all seemed to awaken at the same time, and Sylvia demanded:
"What is it? Who's there?"
"What's the matter?" asked Rose, nervously.
"Some one outside knocking and calling," said Sylvia. "Listen, Rose!"
There came a pounding on the door, and a voice called:
"Open and let us in. We're in trouble!"
"Trouble?" voiced Sylvia, half frightened.
"Yes, we've lost our way. There are ladies here!"
"Oh, do let us in!" besought a tearful voice that was unmistakably feminine.
"What—what shall we do?" faltered Rose.
"Wait a minute!" came in the calm tones of Mrs. Brownley.

CHAPTER XII
THE MOTOR BOAT

The chaperon, who had hastily donned a dressing-gown and warm slippers,
made her way to the locked and barred door.
"What is it?" she turned to ask Sylvia, who, too, had arisen, and hastily
garbed herself in whatever was nearest to hand.
"Some one knocked, and——"
She was interrupted by the very thing she was explaining—a rap on the
stout slab door.
"Is any one here?" a voice demanded. "We see a light, and there is a lady
here—two ladies and——"
"Oh, please let me in!" begged a half-sobbing voice. "I am wet through, we
are lost and—and——"
"One moment," Aunt Theodora said, firmly. "Let the ladies advance, and
the gentlemen retreat."
It was as though she had said: "Advance, friend, and give the countersign!"
"Henry, you go away," said a voice on the other side of the door. "Suzanne
and I will go in."
"But what is to become of me?" was the answer. "What will Ritz and I do in
this wilderness?"
"We shall settle that later," went on the woman's voice. "Go away. I
understand why they do not want you to be in sight when they open the
door. There are ladies in there!"
"Oh!" There was a world of comprehension in his exclamation.
"I'm going to open the door," said Mrs. Brownley. "You ladies are welcome
to such shelter as we have. How many of you are there?"

"Two women and two men," a feminine voice answered.
"The two men will have to go elsewhere. We have only ladies in here," said
the chaperon, as she fumbled with the fastenings of the door. Under the
watching eyes of her own four young ladies, she swung back the door. A
gust of rainy wind entered, blowing ashes from the half-dying fire all about.
From the darkness, into the mellow glow of the hearth-blaze and the gleam
from the night-light, stepped two women from whom dripped much water.
One appeared to be the mistress, the other a maid, and the former, fairly
staggering in, let fall a light valise while, throwing up her arms in a tragic
gesture, she exclaimed:
"Oh, what a honeymoon!"
For a moment Mrs. Brownley, and the girls as well, had a wild suspicion
that they had admitted a lunatic, for the woman's appearance was
sufficiently wild. But a second glance served to show that the disorder of
her hair and clothing was due to the storm, against which she had evidently
been struggling for some time.
Her companion stepped farther into the light, and Mrs. Brownley quickly
closed the door. The maid, for such she evidently was, had a larger valise.
She gave a quick glance around, and a smile came to her face, dimpling her
rosy cheeks and rippling through her snapping black eyes.
"Ah, madame! we are all right now!" she cried, gaily enough. "Suzanne will
look after you, if these gracious ladies will tell us where to find a room. We
are safe now, madame!"
Once more the other woman—no, hardly a woman, for she was but a girl in
years and appearance—flung her arms wide with rather a stagy effect and
again cried out:
"What a honeymoon!"
"Honeymoon!" echoed Mrs. Brownley. "Do you mean to say you——"
"Yes, we are on our honeymoon!" was the answer. "Oh, isn't it—isn't it just
—romantic!" and instead of bursting into tears, which might reasonably
have been expected, she gave forth a peal of laughter, showing two rows of
perfect, white teeth that gleamed against the dark olive tint of her face, her

cheeks showing dusky red under the influence of the heat, as she came in
from the chilling rain.
"Did you ever spend the first night of your honeymoon tramping through
the woods in the rain?" she asked, appealing not only to Mrs. Brownley, but
also to the interested girls, now staring at the newcomers with various
questions in their eyes.
"I never did," said the chaperon, with the accent on the personal pronoun,
"and as for my friends——"
"They are not married—I understand. But, oh! You must think we are crazy
to come in on you in the middle of the night. Let me explain."
But before she could do so there came another knock on the door, and a
man's voice, an anxious man's voice, demanded:
"Are you all right, Natalie? Can you remain there for the night? Are you
comfortable?"
"It's my husband!" she spoke the words with an embarrassed little laugh.
"He—he——"
"He can stay with the guides, over in the other cabin," said Mrs. Brownley.
"We can put you and—er——"
She hesitated.
"Suzanne is my maid," filled in the bride, Natalie.
"We can give you a room, you and your maid," went on the chaperon. "And
if you are hungry——"
"I am—famished. We've been lost in the woods—oh, ever so long! Bob
doesn't know a thing about the woods, nor do I, though he thinks he does
because he went camping once," and she laughed merrily, as though it were
a great joke—all of it, rain included. "So we got lost when he insisted on
making the trip up the lakes without a guide," she went on. "He has his man
with him—the man and Suzanne are engaged," she added, "so you see we
are quite a wedding party. But, oh, what a way to spend a honeymoon!" and
again she laughed.
"Isn't she sweet?" whispered Rose to Sylvia.

"She's a bit hysterical, I think."
"Oh, Sylvia, how can you?"
"I mean she's a bunch of nerves, and no wonder, after what she has had to
go through," Sylvia retorted. "Poor thing, we must get her warm and dry,
and make her some tea. I'll get on some real clothes."
"So will I."
Again came the summons at the portal.
"Are you quite all right, Natalie?"
"Yes, Bob, dear!" She whispered the last against the wood of the
unsympathetic door, and turned a blushing face to those in the cabin. "I am
perfectly all right. It is a charming place. I hope you find as good. You
couldn't possibly come in here. It is entirely—out—of—the question!" and
she laughed merrily.
"I don't mind, sweetheart, as long as you are all right, and have Suzanne
with you. I can sleep in the woods."
"Oh, Bob!"
"He won't have to!" said Mrs. Brownley, practically. "The guides will look
after him and his man. Now then, Miss——"
"Mrs. Parson," was the correction. "Since this morning—or was it yesterday
—I've lost track of the time."
"It's morning now," Alice said, with a glance at her watch.
"Then it is since yesterday. Oh, but it is so sweet of you to take us in this
way! Bob, you're to go to the guides' tent, or cabin or whatever it is," she
called through the door.
"All right, they're here now, at least some men are calling to me to come to
them," Bob said. "I dare say I shall be all right. Good night, dear!" The last
was whispered.
"Good night," she blew a kiss from the tips of her dainty fingers. "He is
such a dear boy!" she added, but it was not said in the least gushingly.

"Well, better get on some dry clothes, if you have them," said the chaperon,
as outside the cabin could be heard the tramp of feet and the voices of the
guides as they took charge of the other wayfarers. "If you haven't——"
"Oh, we have, thank you, plenty. Suzanne!"
Mrs. Parson seemed to be used to being waited on, and her maid took from
the valise some dry garments, and retired with Natalie, as the girls liked to
think of her, to the other bedroom. She presently came into the main
apartment, clad in a gorgeous Japanese kimono, with heavy gold butterflies
and cranes scattered profusely over it.
"I'll have tea in a minute," Sylvia said, lighting the little alcohol stove.
"I beg of you to let me do it," Suzanne said. "I am used to this."
"Yes, Suzanne will make it," said the bride. "Then I'll tell you all that
happened. You must think we are a couple of loons to come to you in this
way."
"Indeed we are refugees ourselves," said Sylvia. "We were caught in the
storm on our way to Raquette Lake and had to come here."
"Oh, are you going to Raquette Lake? That's where we are going to stop—
at the Antlers!"
"So are we!" chimed in Rose.
In a moment it was as though they all had known the bride for some time.
She was a charming person, democratic, though refined, and she soon
sketched for them as much of her history as was necessary to divulge under
the circumstances.
She had been often to the Adirondacks before with her parents and, not
wanting the usual honeymoon, had stipulated that after the ceremony she
and her young husband should be allowed to slip away to the lake region,
where she had spent so many happy years.
"And it would have been all right but for the rain, and if Bob had been
content to take a guide. But he wouldn't," she said.
"Consequently, when the rain came and we went ashore with the canoe, we
lost our bearings. I simply would not go back in the boats, and so we started
out through the forest. We carried our luggage, with the help of Suzanne

and Ritz, but at last we could go no farther. Then we saw your light and—
well, here we are!" she finished, with a pathetic little gesture of her hands.
"And very welcome," said Mrs. Brownley. "We can all go on together in the
morning."
"Oh, that will be perfectly splendid. I just love company!"
"Even on a honeymoon?" asked Sylvia, with a sly smile.
"Even on a honeymoon. Bob does, too. He's such a dear boy—a regular
boy!" and she laughed merrily. Somehow it was good to hear Natalie laugh.
"The tea is ready," Suzanne said. "Will you not all have some?" she asked,
for deftly she had found cups and saucers, the condensed milk and sugar,
and set them out.
"I'll not sleep a wink if I take tea now," Mrs. Brownley said. "There is some
malted milk in my bag. I'll just make a hot cup of that and——"
"Permit me, madame!" interposed the maid. "I shall have the pleasure," and
she began making the beverage for the chaperon.
There came another knock on the door, as the tea was being sipped, and a
voice demanded:
"Are you sure you are all right, Natalie?"
"Quite, Bob! Go away now, that's a dear. Are you provided for?"
"Oh, yes, we have a bunk and the men are making coffee and frying
bacon!"
"Ugh! Bacon at this hour of the morning!" gasped the bride, with a shrug of
her pretty shoulders. "There, Bob, run along," she advised.
Somehow the girls, their chaperon and the bride, with her maid, got back to
their beds, but it is safe to assume that no one slept much more that night. In
the morning the rain had ceased, and though the woods were very wet, there
was a promise of their speedy drying, for the sun rose bright and warm.
"Oh, isn't it just glorious!" cried Natalie, as she stood in the doorway and
waved her hand toward the guides' camp. "I wouldn't have missed this
experience for anything. It is one honeymoon of a thousand!"

"I hope she doesn't intend to have that many," remarked Hazel, who was a
bit peevish. She could not stand the loss of sleep. It made her cross, as it
does some babies. But she was soon herself again.
Bob and his wife proved the most delightful of acquaintances. He was in
fine spirits, even following the rather depressing experience of the night
before, and after breakfast it was arranged that the two parties should go on
to Raquette Lake together.
"I'm going to take no more chances of being lost in the woods," said the
bridegroom.
"You learn your first lessons well," observed Mrs. Brownley.
"Oh, but I didn't in the least mind being lost!" laughed Natalie. "See what
charming friends it brought us, Bob."
"Indeed I would do it over again if I had the chance," he said, gallantly,
bowing to the girls and Aunt Theodora.
"I like him!" whispered Rose to Sylvia.
"You mustn't!" was the caution.
"Not enough liking to work harm," was the laughing retort.
Once more they were on their way up Seventh Lake. The carry was
successfully made, and then came the trip of a little over a mile on the final
body of water in the Fulton Chain.
A land journey of a mile and a half brought our friends to Brown's Tract
Inlet and in due time they were floating on the beautiful waters of Raquette
Lake, over which they were rowed to the village itself, at the terminal of the
Raquette Lake Railroad.
The Antlers, about a mile from the railroad station, was soon reached, and
there our friends and the bridal party were made doubly welcome, for there
had been not a little worriment on the part of some friends of the latter who
expected them, but to whom no word could be sent.
"How long are you going to stay here, my dears?" asked Natalie, who was
made almost one of the Nowadays Girls.

"It is uncertain," Sylvia said. "We are gradually making our way to Saranac,
where my brother is ill."
"Oh, I am so sorry!"
"But he is doing as well as can be expected, so we are not hurrying."
"I see. You are getting in as many experiences as you can, for that quaint
little club of yours. It is such a clever idea, my dears! Positively I intend to
adopt something like it myself when I get back. I am so glad you are going
to stay here. Do you golf?"
"They do everything. I've found out all about it!" interrupted Bob Parson.
"They tennis, fish, motor——"
"Oh, do you motor?" interrupted Natalie. "I mean boat, of course, for the
roads aren't anything to boast of up here. I do wish we could arrange for a
motor-boat trip."
"I think we can," Sylvia said.
"How?" asked Alice. "First we've heard about that, El Capitan!" and she
stiffly saluted, military fashion.
"I've just been talking it over with Aunt Theodora," Sylvia went on. "I saw a
lovely motor boat out on the lake and inquired about it. Seems that it was
engaged by a party and they had to give it up on account of a change of
plan. So it's for hire and I've planned to engage it for a week at least, and
two if we want it."
"Oh, you dear!" cried Rose. "To think of motoring for a week on this lovely
lake!"
"When may we start?" Hazel wanted to know.
"As soon as we like. Aunt Theodora has practically agreed, if we can find a
reliable man to take with us."
"At your service!" said Mr. Parson, with an exaggerated bow.
"Do you know anything about motor boats?" demanded Natalie, rather
suspiciously for a "newlywed." "The last time I was out with you——"
"De mortuis nil nisi bonum!" he said, softly.

"Oh!" gasped Rose, "did some one——"
"The boat died," he replied. "I ran it into a pier and it sank. But I do know
something about motors."
"Oh, it isn't that so much," Sylvia put in; "I think Aunt Theodora wants a
man along just for looks!"
"Once more, at your service," bowed Mr. Parson. Even Alice, who was,
perhaps, hypercritical, admitted that he was good-looking.
"Then let's make up a motor-boating party," proposed Natalie. "My husband
and I will be charmed to go with you girls. Can you run a boat? Of course
you can," she answered her own question promptly.
"We have," said Hazel, modestly. Indeed all four were experienced in boats
as well as in automobiles.
"Come down and see the Clytie," suggested Sylvia. "She's a beauty!"

CHAPTER XIII
BY THEMSELVES

The motor boat was made fast to a small private dock which stretched out
into Raquette Lake. Sitting in the craft, as the girls and their newly wed
friends, the Parson bride and groom, approached, was a man of sour, not to
say forbidding countenance. He was whittling a stick, snipping the curling
pieces of wood off with a formidable-looking knife, and letting them fall
into the placid waters of the lake, whence they were blown away by little
puffs of wind.
"Who is he?" asked Rose of Sylvia in a whisper as they came to the edge of
the dock and looked with longing eyes—all four of the Nowadays Girls—at
the boat.
"He's the skipper, caretaker, pilot, captain, whatever is the proper title for a
man in his capacity on a motor boat."
"He looks like Charon," murmured Alice.
"Hush! He'll hear you, and he's very sensitive," admonished Sylvia.
"Do you know him?" Hazel wanted to know.
"I've talked with him. Don't you dare call him Charon, Alice. He'll begin
inquiring who Mr. Charon was, and when we explain that he was the dog-
faced ferryman of the underworld, why then he'll up and act mean. So don't
make such allusions, if you are wise."
"Charon wasn't dog-faced," announced Hazel.
"Wasn't he? At any rate he wasn't a desirable acquaintance for a summer
motor-boat cruise, so kindly cease to remember."
"In other words—forget it!" exclaimed Rose.
"What are you girls talking about?" demanded Natalie, with one of her
merry laughs.

"Oh, just nonsense!" said Sylvia. "But how do you like the boat?"
"It's a beauty!" exclaimed Alice, with sparkling eyes.
"And so complete!" declared Hazel. "May we really charter her?"
"I think it can be arranged," Sylvia answered. "We'll go aboard."
Meanwhile the sour-faced man was stolidly whittling away on the piece of
soft pine wood. He seemed to put a deal of vindictiveness into his cuts and
slashes, as though he were taking revenge on some enemy.
"Good morning," called Mistress Sylvia, with a bright and cheerful smile,
while her companions, including the bride and groom, formed a little group
back of her. "A beautiful day, isn't it?"
"For them as likes this weather," was the growled response, and the man
never looked up, but went on whittling. Rose saw that he was cutting out a
dagger—prophetic implement, perhaps.
"Oh, I think it's perfectly delightful," went on Sylvia.
"You do have such charming days up in the Adirondacks," added Alice,
determined to do what she could to help Sylvia chase away the gloom from
the dour one's countenance, for such, so Alice made a guess, was the intent
of her chum.
"The sunshine is—er—so—er—sunshiny!" said Rose, a bit lamely.
"And the water is so wet!" finished Hazel, with a frank laugh.
The man looked up, for the first time, and grunted:
"Ugh!"
"How are you this morning, Mr. Wrack?" went on Sylvia.
"Oh, 'bout as well as I'll ever be, I expect," he said, dismally. "This bright
sun hurts my eyes, and I'll be havin' hay-fever soon, I expect, which is one
reason why I like rainy days best. The dust from the flowers don't fly so
then, and I don't have to sneeze so often. But now, havin' to stay here with
this boat until the land knows when, I don't know what will happen," and
once more he cut savagely at the bit of wood, making the shavings fly.

"That's what we came to see you about," said Sylvia, sweetly. "We are
thinking of hiring it."
"You be? Good!" The man seemed to undergo a Jekyll-Hyde
transformation. His face lost the sour look, and he straightened up, throwing
the half-completed dagger overboard. "I hope you do," he went on. "Since
the party that did engage her disappointed me I haven't known what to turn
my hand to. Will you really take her?"
"If we can come to terms," said Sylvia. "Our chaperon says we may plan a
motor-boat trip. I have told her of the Clytie, and now we have come to see
about it."
"Oh, I'll treat you right, lady. I'll treat you right!" exclaimed Mr. Wrack. He
seemed a different person.
It developed that he was not the owner of the craft, but had been engaged to
pilot it about Raquette Lake for a party of summer visitors, who chartered
the boat from the owner, who had engaged Mr. Wrack. But the plans of the
party could not be carried out, for a reason that would not interest us, and
there was the prospect of the boat's being idle all summer.
"And I'd have been idle too," Mr. Wrack said, "for it's gettin' late in the
season to hire out a motor boat and pilot to any advantage. But if you'll take
her and me it won't be so bad. I'll make the price right. Mr. Harrison, who
owns the Clytie, left her to me after them other folks backed out."
Sylvia and her girl chums were very practical if they were girls with the
latest ideas in regard to fashion, dances and other amusements. They had
liberal allowances, and they knew how to make them cover their needs. So
it was not long before they had struck a bargain with Mr. Wrack. Aunt
Theodora was again consulted and gave her consent, and it was arranged
that they were to have the entire use of the boat for two weeks at least, and
longer if they desired.
The Parsons were included in this bargain, and as they were to remain at
Raquette Lake until late fall they had an option on the craft after our friends
should have finished with her.
"And you go with the boat," said Sylvia to the sour-faced man, sour no
longer now that he realised he would have employment. He did not even
mention hay-fever, and he looked at the sun occasionally. "What I mean,"

went on Sylvia, "is that you'll run the boat for us when we want you to, and
when we don't, we'll run it ourselves."
"Can you?" asked the pilot, doubtingly.
"Try us and see!" exclaimed Alice.
"Let's go for a run in her," suggested Hazel.
And so they started off. The girls' admiration for the Clytie increased as
they made a closer inspection.
"She certainly is a beauty!" declared Rose.
"Indeed, yes!" agreed Sylvia. "Self-starter, reverse gear, double ignition
system, weedless propeller, electric lights and lots of room."
"Why, we could sleep here and cook here," added Alice.
There was a half-cabin, with bunks that made seats during the day. There
was also a little alcohol stove and a tiny galley fitted with a small collection
of cooking utensils.
"She was built to allow folks to spend a night or two out in her," said Mr.
Wrack, as he sat at the wheel.
"Let me steer," begged Sylvia, and, having explained some of the
peculiarities of the lake, and what danger-spots to avoid, the pilot did so.
The Clytie was of very light draught, to enable her to go in shallow water.
By turns the four girls operated the boat around the sunny waters of the
lake, running over to Big Island and back again. Mr. Parson also showed
that he knew how to handle the craft, but Natalie showed no desire to do so.
"I'd be sure to turn the wheel the wrong way, and send you all to the
bottom," she declared.
"The bottom isn't far off right here," observed Mr. Wrack. "It's mighty
shallow hereabouts."
The Nowadays Girls proved that they could manage a boat, to the not
unexacting requirements of the pilot, after which he "took it easy" and let
them do as they liked. They soon mastered the mechanical details.

A day or so after having chartered the Clytie, during which time Mrs.
Brownley had made several trips about the lake, Sylvia proposed that she
and her chums, with the Parsons, go for a trip by themselves—that is,
without Mr. Wrack.
He was satisfied to allow this, as he realised that the girls were expert
enough to look after themselves. So the trip—an all-day one, lunch to be
taken on Osprey Island—was planned.
But at the last minute Aunt Theodora developed a headache, which, she
well knew, would not be benefited by going out on the water in the sun.
"Oh, isn't it too bad!" exclaimed Sylvia. "Then——"
"Yes, you may go, my dears," said their kindly chaperon. "I know you can
look after yourselves, and it's broad daylight. There are many craft on the
lake, too. Just run along and have a good time. I'll be all right. I'll just lie
down and rest."
And when Sylvia went to call for the Parsons, Natalie had most
unaccountably forgotten the engagement, and she and her husband had gone
off together in a canoe.
"Well, did you ever!" exclaimed Rose.
"Let's go by ourselves," suggested Hazel.
"We could get Mr. Wrack," said Alice, hesitatingly.
"No, I told him we wouldn't need him, and he went over to Forked Lake to
see some friends. So if we go, we'll have to go by ourselves."
"Then let's go that way—just ourselves!" proposed Alice. "We have the
boat, the lunch and everything. Let's go, and perhaps we may have an
adventure!"

CHAPTER XIV
A DISMAL PROSPECT

Cheerfully chugging along was the Clytie. I say cheerfully, for the
rhythmical sounds of the exhaust, gentle enough in themselves thanks to a
good muffler, were accompanied by snatches of song from one or another
of the four girls who variously placed themselves about the craft. Sylvia
was at the wheel. Rose lolled on a locker near her, regardless of the sun that
was adding a tint of brown to the red in her cheeks. Alice had sought the
seclusion of the cabin for a time, to readjust her wind-blown hair, and Hazel
was boldly perched well up in the bow, sitting tailor-fashion, like some
modern figurehead. She laughed gleefully when spray splashed up from the
waves into her face.
"Oh, it is glorious! glorious!" she chanted in time to the throb of the motor.
"Watch-girl, what of the outlook?" called Alice from the cabin. "Dost see
anything of that adventure yet?"
"No," answered Hazel. "I see a canoe with two young men in it
approaching, but they don't look at all romantic."
"Sheer off! Sheer off, Sylvia!" ordered Rose. "We are dedicated to romance
with a big R to-day. Nothing else will tempt us."
"I'd rather have a sandwich with a big S," said the steers-girl—or let us be
real feminists and say steersman.
"You did put the lunch aboard; didn't you?" asked Rose, a "horrible
suspicion gnawing at her vitals," as she confessed afterward.
"It is in the starboard locker," affirmed Sylvia.
"Right-O, my hearty!" sung out Hazel. "I saw you put it there!"
And so they chugged on, now and then saluting some other craft, canoe or
guide-boat, and an occasional motor boat, but the latter were rather few.

Steamers plied the waters of Raquette Lake, and they answered the three
tooting whistles of our girls in friendly salute.
"Alice, just look and see if the oil cups are full," begged Sylvia, as they
worked successfully through a little swell and wash raised by a passing
steamer. "I think the engine is getting too much, judging by the odour of the
exhaust. If they're more than half empty screw down the feed a bit."
"Aye, aye, captain!" came the nautical return, and presently Alice, who had
inspected the engine, carried in a forward compartment, reported that she
had refilled the cups, and adjusted them so they would not feed too much
lubricant to the cylinders.
Then she filled a tiny wash basin in the cabin, and washed her hands with
violet-scented soap.
"I can't bear the smell of oil when I'm going to eat," she said, in
explanation.
"But you're not going to eat right away, my dear," said Sylvia. "We aren't
going to have lunch until we get to Osprey Island, and that won't be until
noon." For they had gone in rather a round-about way, passing on the far
side of Big Island to make the trip seem more worth while.
"Oh, well, I'm ready for lunch whenever it's ready for me," Alice said, as
she pushed back the skin from the half-moons on her shapely fingers, thus
manicuring them, though they seldom needed it.
The girls took turns at the wheel, for each one was experienced in this. The
Clytie was a perfect boat, and answered her helm well.
"It would have been nice if Natalie and her husband had come along," said
Rose. "I do enjoy her so much."
"He's nice, too," added Alice.
"Of course."
"But it's nice to be by ourselves, once in a while," suggested Sylvia. "I
wonder how we are living up to our canons, girls?" she asked.
"You mean—up-to-dateness?" questioned Hazel.
"Exactly."

"Well, I think we can't be found fault with," was the opinion of Hazel.
"There is certainly nothing slow about this!"
"Oh, I didn't mean it that way," said Sylvia, hastily. "Speed isn't
everything."
"It is when one is motoring or boating," declared Hazel.
"A pity we couldn't run our cars up here," put in Alice, for there were
automobiles in the family of each of our friends—more than one in some
cases—and the girls were expert drivers.
"This is no place for cars," affirmed Sylvia. "Perhaps on our outing next
season we may go where we can use them."
"Or to some place where we can have a motor boat of our own," put in
Alice. "Wouldn't that be just lovely? To have a craft of our own, and go on a
long cruise!"
"It would," assented Rose. "But this is very nice, and remember that this is
our first outing. Do you intend to do this every year, Sylvia?" she continued.
"If we can, yes. Of course we can't tell what new friends and associations
we may meet with when we start in at the different colleges this fall, but I
think we shall be able to keep to our original plan, and have a 'get-together'
session every summer to talk over nowadays matters, and take our part in
them."
"Bravo!" cried Hazel. "No new college friendship shall lure me away from
this, my first love—or, rather, my three best loves," and she pointed her
finger in turn at each of her chums.
"Is Saranac Lake like this?" asked Rose, and immediately she blushed.
"Oh, look at her!" cried Alice, tantalisingly. "She can't stop thinking of Roy
even now."
"I don't want to," answered Rose, more coolly than one would think from
the way she looked.
"Good!" Sylvia complimented her. "Dear Roy! I do hope he is making
progress. I ought to get a letter or telegram to-day. I expect it when we get
back."

"There are three Saranac Lakes," said Hazel, who had apparently been
"reading-up" on the subject. "They are Upper, Middle and Lower. But none
of them, at least to look at on the map, is as large as this one, though Upper
Saranac has a very long shore line, because it is so cut up and twisted.
There is about forty miles of shore line here at Raquette."
"This lake suits me," murmured Alice, in lazy comfort.
"Oh, but I'm sure we'll find Saranac lovely," Hazel went on. "It's about fifty
miles from here, and they say there are more than sixty other lakes and
ponds which can be reached by short canoe trips from Saranac, that is, the
upper lake, which, of the three, is the one nearest us."
"It must be pretty wet there," ventured Sylvia.
"It is, more water than land. I wish we could take the Clytie up there, but I
don't suppose we can. Roy would appreciate this."
"No, it's hardly feasible. We couldn't carry her over land," Sylvia said.
"Just where is Roy?" asked Hazel.
"At the Loneberg Camp, not far from Saranac Inn. Oh, I am so anxious to
see him," his sister went on, "and yet I don't want to get there too soon, for
if he is on the verge of recovery the doctor said it might give him a setback
to have the sudden joyful surprise of seeing us girls."
"Yes, we're beautiful enough, collectively, if not individually, to make a
well youth faint, to say nothing of an invalid," declared Alice, with dry
humour.
"Well, let's enjoy life while we may," suggested Sylvia. "Poor Roy!" and
she sighed. "I hope he is having a good time."
But, had she only known it, Roy was having anything but a pleasant time
just then. He was not at all himself.
Osprey Island was reached in due season, and finding a secluded spot, the
girls moored their boat, went ashore and had lunch. Tea was made over the
alcohol stove on board, and they sat about in the shadowy woods in
delightful picnic fashion.
"Let's take a run over to Indian Point," suggested Hazel, when the lunch
was over, and they were thinking of starting back toward the hotel.

"Shall we have time?" asked Sylvia, with a glance at the sun, which was
already well down in the west.
"Oh, it's only about a mile from here," pleaded Hazel, pointing off to the
west toward a body of land extending out into the lake, Indian Point being
the name given it.
"Well, all right," assented Sylvia. "We can make a quick run back. Come
on, let's start."
They went ashore at Indian Point, but they lingered longer than they
thought, for the sun was in a glory of red, golden, purple and violet clouds
when they went down to where they had left the boat.
"It will be quite dark when we get back," said Sylvia, "and we have to dress
for dinner and the dance."
"And I'm not going to miss that dance for anything!" declared Alice. "That
tall fellow has a new step in the fox trot that is simply delightful. Let's
hurry."
But that was easier said than done, for when Sylvia stepped into the craft,
and confidently shoved over the self-starter, there was only a groaning
protest and the motor did not respond.
"Oh, I do hope we don't have to start by hand!" sighed Alice. "It is such a
heavy engine."
"Well, it looks as though we should," said Sylvia, grimly, when, after
several trials, the motor still refused to start. Clearly, or, rather, unclearly,
something was wrong. It was not a very cheerful prospect. In fact it was
most dismal, with night coming on, the girls some distance from their hotel,
alone and with a "cranky," not to say unstartable, motor boat.

CHAPTER XV
A LONELY NIGHT

"Can't you make it work?" asked Hazel, when Sylvia had spent some time
over the self-starter.
"I can't," was the answer, and Sylvia tried to keep from her voice any trace
of anxiety or peevishness. But really she was tired and nervous.
"Let me try," suggested Alice, who was quite strong. "If I can't make the
starter work I can turn the flywheel over by hand."
The self-starter operated on a storage battery, something like the mechanism
of an automobile, but not as easily. But while the starter itself whirred
around, the gears meshing in those of the flywheel with which it was
connected by a jack shaft, there was no response in the motor itself.
"There doesn't seem to be a spark," said Sylvia, as she watched the effect of
Alice's operations.
"Yes, there's a spark all right," declared Rose, who had her eyes on one of
the patent spark plugs that had an upper chamber in which an auxiliary
jump spark could be seen leaping from one platinum point to the other.
"The spark is there, but it doesn't seem to fire the charge in the cylinder.
Maybe there's no gasoline."
"Oh, yes, there is. I tested the tank only a few minutes ago," Sylvia said.
"Perhaps it's the carburetor," suggested Hazel, after a pause.
"Don't you dare say that!" cried Rose. "Once you start to change that
adjustment it's all up with us. We'll be here for the night."
"Don't!" begged Baby, with an apprehensive glance at the now fast-
darkening woods. They were on a lonely part of Indian Point.
"Oh, we'll get off somehow," Sylvia declared. "I wonder if there are any
men about on whom we could call for help. I hate to think of trying to start
the motor by hand."

"And that's what we'll have to do, soon," declared Alice. "The storage
battery is almost run down."
This was only too true, since they had used much of the energy in trying to
make the auxiliary motor of the self-starter do its work. And without the
main motor running no more electricity would be available to recharge the
storage cells.
"Well, here goes for a little gymnasium work," Alice said, rolling up her
sleeves.
"I'll see if there's a man, or, perhaps, some campers about," volunteered
Sylvia, "then I'll come back and take my share."
Again and again Alice, in the rather cramped quarters in which the motor
was housed, tried to start it. But though she could disconnect the self-starter
gears, and turn over the flywheel, there was no answering explosion even
then.
"It's the ignition," declared Sylvia, who came back in the gathering twilight
to report that she could find no one to help in the comparatively short
distance she went away from the others.
"Maybe it will start on the batteries," suggested Hazel.
"We've tried that," declared Alice.
"Well, try again," urged Sylvia. "We must do something. This is a terribly
lonesome place, and I, for one, don't want to have to stay here all night!"
"I should say not, most decidedly!" exclaimed Hazel. "I—I'll swim back
before I'll do that."
"Well, we certainly won't walk," said Rose, with determination. "We could
manage to sleep aboard the Clytie!" she went on. "We could take a stone for
an anchor, and shove the boat out in the lake, away from the shore."
"You seem to have it all thought out," commented Hazel. "Why away from
the shore?"
"Then no—er—no snakes could crawl aboard!"
"Don't!" begged Alice, looking up with grimy face and hands from her labor
over the motor. She wore gloves, but they did not much protect her, as they

were splitting at the seams.
"Oh, we'll get off some time," Sylvia said. "Here, let me have a try, Alice."
She took her place at the wheel and worked hard and faithfully. But though
the motor coughed, sneezed and gave other evidences of senile decay, there
was no healthy "wuff!" of a genuine explosion.
"There! That sounded like something!" cried Rose, suddenly, following a
continued whirling about of the flywheel on the part of Sylvia.
"What sounded like something?" demanded Hazel.
"As if one of the cylinders had voted to go to work. Let me relieve you,
Sylvia."
"No, if there's a hopeful sign, the best thing to do is to keep on before the
cylinder gets cold."
Again she worked at the motor, and then, to the joy of the girls, it suddenly
started off with a succession of heavy throbs as though it had intended to do
so all the while, but had waited until sufficiently coaxed.
"There!" cried Sylvia, in relieved tones as she stretched out on a cushioned
locker to ease the pain in her back. "Let her run now until she gets good and
warm before throwing in the clutch."
"What was the matter?" asked Rose.
"Don't ask me, my dear. I think it was the timer, but I don't want to make
any rash assertions for fear some other part of the mechanism will feel
slighted and refuse to work until its claims have been recognised. So don't
ask me."
"But it's working now!" Rose cried. "We'll get back in time for——"
"The dance!" finished Alice. "Shall I throw in the clutch now, Sylvia?"
"Yes, we'll take a chance."
There was a grinding, groaning and squealing sound as the clutch slipped
into place. The water under the stern of the boat boiled and bubbled.
The Clytie started forward and then suddenly brought up with a jerk that
jarred the girls.

"Oh!" screamed Hazel.
"What is it?" demanded Rose.
"It's just as well to loosen the mooring rope when you want to start," said
Alice, dryly. "It's rather too much to ask a boat of this size to pull up a big
tree by the roots," and she pointed to where the rope from the ring bolt of
the forward deck was still tied to a tree on shore.
"I'll loosen it," offered Sylvia, and the motor was thrown out of gear to
enable her to do this. Then, once more they started off, and steered the boat
out around the head of Indian Point, for they had gone ashore on the side
nearest to Sucker Brook Bay.
"I do hope it runs all right the rest of the way home," murmured Alice.
"Hush! Don't say a word! Knock wood!" Hazel advised her, in a mocking
whisper.
It was now dark enough to call for the lighting of the lamps on the craft, and
the signal ones, fore and aft, and the red and green ones on either side were
set aglow.
"But we won't light the cabin ones yet," Sylvia decided.
"Why not?" demanded Alice. "I want to get some of the grime off my
hands. Otherwise I'll have to wear gloves at the dance, and I despise them
on a warm night."
"We won't light the lights in the cabin until the storage battery has had a
chance to pick up some current," Sylvia said. "You can just as well wash in
the dark, and we may need current for the self-starter before we get home."
"I certainly hope not!" cried Hazel. "We've had trouble enough for one day.
We won't get in until after dinner now, and those waiters are so fussy about
serving anything after hours."
"Oh, well, we can tip them," said Sylvia. "I'm afraid we are going to be late,
but we are running as fast as we dare in these waters. I don't know them at
all."
They had reached a section of the lake around from Indian Point, and were
heading down between the shore and Osprey Island when the motor
suddenly ceased humming and throbbing.

"There!" cried Sylvia, tragically.
"Don't say I told you so," begged Alice.
"Head for shore, quick!" cried Rose to Hazel, who was steering.
"Why?" asked the latter.
"Because we don't want to drift all over the lake, and we have momentum
enough to land now. Quick! Head for shore!"
Hazel did so, and the Clytie just managed to poke her nose gently against
the bank in the fast-gathering darkness. Alice and Sylvia were working
frantically to start the motor again, but it would not respond.
"Well, what are we going to do?" asked Sylvia, when they had swung
broadside to the bank. "It seems we can't get going again."
"Oh, must we stay here?" demanded Rose, with a glance at the dark and
silent woods, while the lonely night settled down all about them.

CHAPTER XVI
THE LOON

"We'll stay here long enough to get the motor started again, and then we'll
go on," declared Sylvia, with a confidence she did not altogether feel. In
spite of her common sense and her "nowadaysness," she felt an almost
overpowering sensation of fear. It was as if the darkness were pressing
down on her like some black pall—a blanket, smothery and choking.
Yet it was but the ordinary darkness of the woods. But it was an intense
blackness, relieved only by the stars, and only a few of them, for the night
was somewhat cloudy.
Those of you who have never been in the woods after dark have no idea
how black it can be at night.
In every city, and in most small towns and villages, there are some lights
that burn all night. So that, even if you are not actually at the source of
illumination, you can see a sort of diffused glow that, in a measure, cuts the
blackness. But it is not so in the woods.
The very darkness of the tree trunks seems to add to the blackness of the
night, as though they had absorbed what little light the sun might have left.
And if, perchance, you come upon a clump of white birches when travelling
along a woodland path after night has fallen, they only seem to accentuate
the darkness, standing out as they do like attenuated ghosts.
"Oh, I can't bear it!" went on Rose, with a little shiver. She cuddled close
against Hazel. "I can't bear it!"
"Don't be silly," was the retort. "The dark can't hurt you."
"No, but to stay in—in those woods!" and Rose waved an unseen hand at
the forest, to the very edge of which the Clytie had drifted with the last of
her momentum after the stopping of the motor.
"We don't have to stay there, we can sleep on the boat and anchor it out in
the lake," said Alice. "What are you doing, Sylvia?" she demanded.

"I'm going to try to start the motor," was the answer. "One of you girls get
the boat hook and turn us around. I don't want to collide with the bank."
"No danger of that," declared Hazel. "She won't start, and if she does—
wait, I'll throw out the clutch."
This she did, while Alice took the boat hook, and Sylvia proceeded to
operate the self-starter again. The batteries had been recharged somewhat
while the motor was going, operating the small dynamo, or magneto, and
there was available an electric current for some little time.
Sylvia threw over the operating switch. There was a grinding of gears as the
powerful little mechanism operated the propeller shaft, but the motor proper
remained mute. Once again there seemed to be trouble with the ignition
system, though the spark plugs showed, in the upper chamber where the
auxiliary spark-gap was located, that there was current flowing somewhere.
"But it doesn't reach the ignition chamber and explode the gas," said Sylvia,
in disappointed tones, as, again and again, she threw over the self-starter
switch.
"Let it go," advised Hazel.
"What?" Sylvia cried.
"I say let it go. Don't try any more. It won't work. The engine needs
overhauling, and there's no use wasting all the power in the storage battery.
If we do we won't have any for lights, and we don't want to stay here in the
dark."
"Mercy, no!" exclaimed Rose, shivering again.
"There are oil lamps," murmured Sylvia, as she looked at the self-starter
again, as if she contemplated trying that once more.
"Oh, but they are so mussy," complained Alice. "Do leave some current in
the battery for the incandescents. It will be something, anyhow, as long as
we have to stay here."
"Oh, do we really have to stay here?" wailed Rose. "Can't we paddle
home?"
"No oars," said Sylvia, briefly.

"And just where is home?" asked Alice. "Who knows?"
"Why—why—you can't see anything!" declared Hazel. "Look!"
"What's the use of looking if you can't see anything?" demanded Sylvia, just
the least bit crossly. And no wonder, for she had laboured long over the
motor, and fruitlessly.
"Oh, but we seem to be surrounded by darkness!" went on Hazel. "There
isn't a patch of light anywhere but up above," and she motioned to one or
two faintly-shining stars.
"We've drifted around some point of land, and we're in a little bay," was the
opinion of Alice. "Two ends of land overlap. We can go out the way we
came in, if we could only get the boat started."
"I don't like running in these unknown waters after dark," said Sylvia.
"But what are we to do, my dear?" asked Rose. "Can we stay here?"
"Can we stay anywhere else?" was the instant question. "We might as well
make the best of it, I think, and get comfortable. We have something left to
eat, we can make tea—or coffee if we brought any with us—and there is
room to sleep, after a fashion."
"But not with the boat so near shore," insisted Rose, for the bow of the
Clytie was scraping along the wooded bank in response to some slight
current of air or water.
"No, we can anchor out a way," admitted Sylvia. "We'll have to go ashore,
though, and get a stone for an anchor."
"Oh, what will Aunt Theodora think and say? What will the folks at the
hotel think? They'll be worried to death, send out a search party for us,
rouse the lake. It will be terrible!" cried Rose, in dismay.
"No more terrible for them than for us," retorted Sylvia. "This is none of
our doing. We'd be only too glad to get back if we could. But we can't make
the motor 'mote,' and it would be foolish and risky to get out in the middle
of the lake, and be stalled there. We are much better off here."
"I suppose we could manage to call for help, or make our way to some
camp or cottage," suggested Hazel.

"I'd rather not," Sylvia said, more calmly than she had yet spoken. "If we
call for help, the chances are we wouldn't be heard. This seems to be a
deserted part of Raquette Lake. Then, too, we'd only strain our voices, and
get hysterically nervous if we didn't get an answer."
"What about shoving the boat along the shore, and close to it, with poles?"
suggested Alice. "We could do that, and perhaps get to some camp that
way."
"We might," assented Sylvia. "But do we want to reach the camp of some
men or boys in the middle of the night, all tired out and dishevelled from
our efforts in poling the boat? I, for one, don't. I prefer to stay here, in our
own boat, where we can lie down in some sort of comfort, at least. We can
manage to get enough to eat with what we had left over from lunch. I vote
we stay here!"
"But what will people say?" asked Hazel.
"What can they say? I guess it isn't the first time a motor-boat party has
been stalled by a balky engine. People can't say anything."
"I shan't mind it if they do," declared Alice. "Nowadays girls are accorded
many more privileges than in former years."
"Even to staying out all night without a chaperon?" demanded Rose.
"When it can't be helped—yes!" said Sylvia, half defiantly.
"Well, it certainly can't be helped, in this case," declared Alice.
"Poor Aunt Theodora!" murmured Hazel. "She will be distracted!"
"Nothing of the sort!" exclaimed Alice, in her most convincing tones. "She
knows we can take care of ourselves."
"That's what I say," added Sylvia. "She knows we are in a good safe boat.
Too safe!" she added, with a short laugh. "It won't even go, like the old
lady's goat in the nursery rhyme. And we are all good swimmers. She may
worry a bit at first, but she has had experience with too many schoolgirls'
escapades to fret long."
"This isn't an escapade!" declared Rose.
"What is it, then?"

"It will be an experience before we have finished," said Hazel, with a short
laugh.
Somehow the girls could laugh a little now. The feeling of gloom and terror
was wearing off.
"Well, the first thing to do is to go ashore and find a stone for an anchor,"
said Sylvia, getting practical suddenly. Not that she had not been so before,
but this was adapting practicality to new conditions. "We won't need a very
heavy one, as there is little wind, and we won't drag much. We want to
anchor only a very short way from the shore."
"What next?" asked Hazel.
"Next we'll find something to eat, and get comfortable for the night."
"I never could go to sleep," remonstrated Rose, with a premonitory glance
over her shoulder at the blackness that seemed to grow more and more
intense every moment.
"Well, if you sit up long enough you can go to sleep," suggested Sylvia.
"Now I'll light a lantern, and we'll go ashore for the stone."
The boat was pushed around with the pole to enable a safe landing to be
made. The rope was carried ashore and made fast to a tree branch, to insure
the Clytie against drifting off while they were hunting for the rock-anchor.
Then, with one of the oil lamps, which were used for signals in case the
electrics gave out, the four girls went ashore. They easily found the proper
stone near the water's edge, and making fast the rope to it, pushed the boat
out a little way from the bank, and dropped the anchor overboard with a
splash that awoke the echoes in that silent place.
"And now for supper, tea, dinner, breakfast, or whatever we choose to call
it," suggested Sylvia, who seemed to have taken command of the situation.
"What shall it be—tea or coffee? We have both," she added, for a hasty
search among the lunch baskets had disclosed that fact.
"Coffee!" voted Rose. "It will help to keep us awake, and I don't want to
close my eyes."
"Don't be silly!" scoffed Sylvia. "Be a real member of the Nowadays Club!"
"All right, I'll try," was the rather faint answer.

The alcohol stove, which burned the new solid fuel, was set going, and
water, in a tiny kettle, was put on to boil. The girls busied themselves
setting out the dishes and food on the folding table which was set up in the
centre of the cabin, the seats, which later would become bunks, being
ranged on either side.
"Now, could anything be more cosy than this?" asked Sylvia, when the
kettle was humming.
"It is nice," assented Hazel. "If only Aunt Theodora knew we were here and
all right, I would not worry so——"
Hazel's remarks were interrupted by such a wild, weird cry, bursting out on
the silence of the night, echoing and reverberating in the air all about them,
that the girls involuntarily uttered screams, and huddled together in the
cabin of the boat.
They stared at each other with fear-lustred eyes, and when Rose dropped a
cup, letting it slip from her nerveless fingers so that it crashed into pieces on
the cabin floor, it was rather a relief than otherwise of the tension.
Again came that wild, weird cry, something like the laugh of a maniac, or
the defiant yell of a maddened beast. It started with a low cadence, rose to a
shrill scream, and died away like the last blast from some siren whistle.
"What—what in the name of mercy was that?" gasped Hazel.
"Maybe—maybe some one—calling for us," whispered Rose.
"No human being would call that way," Alice declared, haltingly.
Again came the cry, eerie and nerve-racking. It seemed to be nearer the boat
now.
"Perhaps campers trying to scare us," stammered Hazel.
"No one—man or boy—could yell that way," said Sylvia. "It must be——"
A third time came the cry—banshee-like in its weirdness. It was followed
by a splash in the water, seemingly at the very bow of the Clytie.
"Oh!" screamed Rose, shrilly.
"Be still!" commanded Sylvia, and she laughed.

"She—she's getting—hysterics! Oh, dear!" half-moaned Alice.
"Nonsense!" and Sylvia was laughing harder than ever. "It's only a loon!"

CHAPTER XVII
IN CAMP

For a moment Sylvia's companions did not respond. They gazed at her as if
wondering whether she had really said anything, or as if they did not know
whether or not to believe her if she had made any utterance.
"What—what did you say?" asked Rose, at length.
"That was a loon," Sylvia went on. "A big bird, you know. They are great
swimmers and divers, and they have the most awful screech you ever
heard."
"Well, if that was a sample of it, I can well believe it!" said Hazel.
"Are you sure it was a loon?" asked Alice.
"Positive," declared Sylvia. "I knew what it was after I heard the third cry
and the splash in the water."
"It must have been quite near our boat," ventured Rose.
"It was," went on Sylvia. "That's what made it sound so weird and
terrifying."
"It sounded like a lost soul," murmured Hazel. "Not that I know what sort
of cries are emitted by lost souls," she hastened to add, "but that is how I
should describe it. I hope the loon doesn't come back and serenade us
during the night."
"Don't you dare suggest such a thing!" exclaimed Rose. "It was like some
one crying out in a horrible nightmare."
"I don't believe it will come back," Sylvia declared. "Sometimes there will
be only one loon in a place, but if there are more, one calls to another and
they make a terrible racket. I was camping with my father once, and that
happened. I was a little girl, but I have never forgotten the loons. This one
was probably after a fish. You know they dive into the water, and actually

swim under it to get the fish they pursue. They are wonderful swimmers and
divers."
"Well, I hope that one keeps on swimming and diving and that he'll be too
busy to do any more yelling this night," said Hazel. "Ugh! He gave me the
shivers."
"And I broke a cup," added Rose.
"Never mind, we have enough left for coffee," Sylvia remarked. "I guess
the water is boiling now. Pass the sandwiches, girls, and see if there are any
olives left."
"A whole big bottle, of lovely stuffed ones!" Alice reported, taking it out of
a locker. "Where's the corkscrew?"
It was found, the simple meal was set forth on the table, and the girls
gathered around it to eat, but not without little, nervous glances over their
shoulders now and then, at sounds in the nearby woods.
But gradually this feeling wore off, and the girls were more like themselves.
That was one admirable trait of the Nowadays Girls: they could adapt
themselves to almost any circumstances. They were very democratic,
though that quality was not called for so much in this instance as was good,
sound common sense.
"There, I feel a whole lot better," remarked Sylvia, as she pushed back her
plate.
"So do I," added Hazel.
"And I'm not nearly so frightened," declared Rose.
"That's a blessing," Hazel said.
"Oh, you were just as alarmed as I was, Baby," retorted the Syracuse girl.
"But, really, I wouldn't mind hearing that loon call again."
"Well, I certainly would!" Alice exclaimed. "Don't you dare invite him to
call," and they all laughed.
The girls sat about the cabin, closing the sliding doors for comfort since the
night air was chilling. They turned off all but one of the little incandescent
lights, so the storage battery would last until morning. They left a single

lantern burning outside on deck, "to scare away snakes," as Rose jokingly
put it.
In spite of the determination of each one not to go to sleep, Nature was
stronger than the will of any of the girls, and at times each one felt herself
nodding and dozing.
"I don't care!" Sylvia finally declared, with a sleepy yawn. "I am going to
lie down. We'll all feel better in the morning, and there is nothing in the
world to be alarmed about here. Let's 'turn in,' as the sailors say."
After a little hesitation, the other girls did likewise, and soon all four were
peacefully slumbering on the seat bunks.
The rest did make them feel much fresher the next morning. They were
awake early, to find the day a most glorious one, and there was coffee
enough left for a refreshing cup.
After that they took turns in trying to start the motor. But the storage battery
was used up without success, nor were their efforts at turning the flywheel
over by hand any more successful.
"Well, we can pole ourselves along shore, and help will be easy to get in
daylight," said Sylvia, cheerfully. "Come on, girls!"
They poled their way out of the little bay, where they had spent the night,
and gradually worked their boat along the shore. They had not gone far
before they heard a hail. It came from a large motor boat, containing several
men, who had the look of typical Adirondack guides.
"I say, be you the lost young ladies?" was the cry.
"I think so. We were lost," Sylvia responded.
"Well, we're lookin' for you," the spokesman went on. "Lot of parties out
from the Antlers. What's the matter?"
"Engine trouble," replied Sylvia, succinctly.
"I thought Aunt Theodora would start a search for us," remarked Hazel.
"It's a wonder she didn't come herself," Rose said.
"We'll give you a tow," went on the man at the wheel of the big motor boat.
"We're only one of several searchin' parties. The lady you're with is out,

too."
"I thought so!" Rose exclaimed. "Dear Aunt Theodora! Oh, but wasn't it
awful of us to stay out all night!"
"I don't see how we could help it," Sylvia declared. "We certainly couldn't
walk through the woods at night."
A little later they were being towed back to the hotel by the searching party,
and had related to the kindly guides their experiences. Before they reached
the dock another motor boat had sighted them, and came up at full speed.
"There's Aunt Theodora," called Sylvia. A handkerchief was vigorously
waved, and four others answered it.
"Oh, girls, I was much worried about you!" the guardian said, kissing them
all around. "Yet, somehow, I knew you would be all right. However, I
organised searching parties, using all the boats I could commandeer, and
they've been out all night. Didn't you hear them whistling and calling?"
"All we heard was the loon," said Hazel.
Once again they told their story, and a little later they were back at their
hotel.
"Was the dance nice?" asked Hazel, when she and her chums had changed
to fresh garments.
"They didn't have it," Aunt Theodora said. "Every one was distracted about
you, and a number of young men declared they would not dance while you
were lost. They went out in a boat after you, and they haven't come back
yet. I must say it was very nice of them."
"What? Not coming back?" asked Sylvia. "That isn't a bit nice. We want
them to dance with us. Though it was a tribute to—shall I say our
popularity?—to call off the hop."
"Hope they have it to-night," murmured Alice.
The young men returned, rather weary and forlorn, but the news that the
lost ones had been found reached them before they arrived at the dock, so
they came up singing and rejoicing.
That night the postponed dance was held.

"Oh, but weren't you girls frightened to death, staying out all alone that
way?" asked Natalie, during an interval between dances.
"Not after we had gotten used to it," Sylvia said. "It was rather a lark."
"No, it was a loon!" corrected Alice, with a laugh.
"Say, little one, I think you're dancing too many dances with one partner,"
commented Rose, turning to Hazel.
"How can I help it? He asks me before any of the other fellows have a
chance—not that I want them, for he dances beautifully," said Hazel, with
an assumed innocent air that became her well.
"Hopeless!" murmured Sylvia.
Then the music began a dreamy hesitation.
So delightful did the Nowadays Girls find their stay at the Antlers that they
decided to prolong their visit another week. Sylvia received a message,
saying that her brother was doing as well as could be expected, and this
somewhat cheered her and Rose.
"And now what do you say to a few days in camp?" asked Mrs. Brownley,
when she and her charges had returned one day from a long motor trip.
"Camp?" exclaimed Hazel.
"Yes. Mr. and Mrs. Parson are talking of going off to the woods to live in a
tent, near a small lake not far from here, and they asked me if I thought you
girls wouldn't like to join them. What shall I say?"
"Please accept for us," said Sylvia. "That is, if the others agree. It will give
us a taste of real wilderness life. So different from hotel existence."
"But we can't have any dances," objected Alice.
"Oh, we can get along without them for a little while," Rose said.
"Well, if you can exist without a onestep, I'm sure I can, or a half-and-half,
either," declared Alice. "Ho, for the camp!"
"Do we have to do our own cooking?" asked Hazel.
"No, I believe they are going to take a cook along."

"So much nicer," murmured Sylvia, "though I have cooked in camp, and
over an open fire. But I can't say I like it. When do we go, Aunt Theodora?"
"In a day or so. I'll go and tell Mrs. Parson you will accept their kind
invitation."
So it was arranged. And a day or so later the little party went over to Shedd
Lake, about four miles from Raquette Lake, there to live under canvas for
perhaps a week.

CHAPTER XVIII
CANOEING

Camp Natalie it was named, in honour of the bride, though she blushingly
protested. But Sylvia and her chums insisted, and the name was built up in
bark letters on a board, and suspended in the little open glade in front of the
tents, which faced the blue waters of the lake.
The camp was a most complete and modern one. A man had been engaged
to look after the putting up of the tents, and the arranging of all matters, so
that the fun-lovers had really nothing to worry about. And the man had done
his work well.
There were five canvas shelters in all, besides a small additional one near
the cook tent, where slept the buxom woman who presided over the dishes,
pots and pans.
A large tent that could be made open to the glorious breezes, or closed in
case of stormy weather, served as the dining-room. The cooking was done
in another tent, with a real stove, burning coal that was transported to camp
in a wagon. For there is nothing more exasperating than to cook over a
wood fire. Either it is too hot, or it has expired before the cook is aware of
it, and has to be brought hastily to life again to the detriment of the viands.
So coal solved the problem.
Then there were three sleeping tents, with ample accommodations and the
most modern of cots. In fact it was a most comfortable camp, and the
Nowadays Girls, as well as Natalie and her husband, pronounced it to be
perfect.
After setting the camp to rights, which was no small task, even though the
cook and her husband, a guide, helped, there followed a somewhat lazy
period. The girls went for strolls in the balsam-odorous woods, or sat on the
shores of the little lake, looking at the view. Sometimes, when Rose was
particularly pensive, Hazel or Alice would ask:
"Can't you stop it?"

"Stop what?" she would ask, sometimes before she thought.
"Thinking of Roy."
"Oh!" and she would blush rosy-red.
"Well, I don't blame her for thinking of him, if he's as nice as his picture
indicates," said Natalie—for so all the girls called her. "I shall like him
myself!"
"Oh!" exclaimed Hazel.
"In a perfectly brotherly way," Natalie added, calmly. "In fact I almost think
of him as a brother already."
"He is awfully nice," declared Alice. "He is such a dear boy, and it was too
bad that this trouble had to come to him."
"I do hope he will get over it," Natalie said.
"We all trust so," replied his sister. "It means so much to him in his success
with that chemical firm. Roy really overworked, trying to solve some
chemical problem, and that brought on a breakdown. Only that the doctor
thought it best for us to keep away from him a little while, I should be with
him now."
Rose did not say so, but doubtless she, too, wished she could help to
minister to Roy. For between the two was a bond of more than mere
friendship. And presently Rose went off by herself in the green and silent
woods.
"Poor girl," murmured Natalie. "I know how she must feel. Bob was ill
once——But there, you don't want to hear about the troubles of an old
married couple!" and her merry laugh rang out.
There were glorious days in the woods, at Camp Natalie. The girls went
fishing a number of times, and explored little-travelled trails through the
forest. But they did not go far enough to get lost, and Mrs. Rachlin was
almost as expert in the woods as was her guide-husband. She led forth the
little parties, after her work in camp was done, and many were the hidden
mysteries of the forest that she laid bare.
Aunt Theodora, too, enjoyed this life in the open.

"I think, really," she said, in her precise little way, "that this is more
educating than some trips to Europe. One gets so tired of following in the
beaten paths, even of knowledge. This is positively a revelation."
"I am so glad it isn't boring you," said Sylvia.
"Boring me! My dear, I would never be bored where you girls were!"
"Which is very nice for you to say, at any rate," laughed Hazel.
"Oh, I mean it!" declared "Guardy!" as the girls affectionately called Mrs.
Brownley at times.
"Positively I'm ashamed of my appetite!" said Hazel, after one meal. "But,
really, I never ate anything that tasted so good as the food does here. I think
it must be the air."
"Or the cooking!" added Alice.
"The cooking certainly has much to do with it," declared Sylvia. "Mrs.
Rachlin gets up some wonderful dishes. I really don't see how she does it
with the limited means at her disposal."
"Oh, I'm used to rough cooking," said the person under discussion. "You
girls are easy compared to lumbermen, and I've cooked for them when my
husband has been in charge of a gang. They certainly can eat!" and she
shook her head in remembrance.
The delights of the water added to the pleasure of the girls and their friends
at Camp Natalie. They had sent for canoes, which were brought over on a
wagon, and one day they set out to explore a small but rather rapid and
turbulent stream connected with Shedd Lake.
The four Nowadays Girls, in two canoes, went off by themselves, for Mrs.
Brownley would not trust herself in one of the frail craft, and Natalie and
Bob voted for a quiet and rather solitary stroll through the woods.
"Now do sit quiet, Rose," begged Sylvia, who was in the bow of one craft,
while Rose was in the stern. Hazel and Alice were in like positions in
another canoe.
"Sit quiet! Don't I always?" Rose demanded.

"You do except when you see an old stump or floating log and think it's an
alligator!" Sylvia chided.
"As if she didn't know, by this time, that alligators are unknown reptiles in
the Adirondacks," laughed Alice.
So they started off in the canoes, threading their way in and out along the
winding stream, now floating lazily under some overhanging boughs, and
again moving rapidly down some little stretch where the waters bubbled
and foamed over the stones in such a manner as to have that particular
section designated as "rapids."
"Look out, girls!" Sylvia called back to Alice and Hazel, whose canoe had
dropped astern. "Here's a bad passage just ahead."
"All right. We see it!" answered Hazel.
"Now do sit steady, Rose!" pleaded Sylvia.
"Steady it is!" Rose answered, plying her paddle carefully.
Whether she disobeyed the injunction, or whether she gave a wrong turn to
the broad blade, will never be known, but just as the canoe was in the midst
of the swirling water there was a sudden scream from Rose, echoing ones
from Hazel and Alice, and the craft containing Sylvia and her chum rolled
over, spilling them both out.

CHAPTER XIX
THE MASQUERADE

"Steady! Back water!"
It was Hazel who gave the command, and the momentary feeling of panic
that had swept over Alice passed.
"Over that way!" Hazel went on, nodding to indicate that she meant to steer
their canoe toward a bit of still water, an eddy formed under an overhanging
bank of the stream.
"All right!" was the tense reply of her chum, and a moment later the light
craft shot past the rolling overturned one of Sylvia and Rose, and was in
quiet water.
Meanwhile, after the first sudden plunge into the stream—a plunge that
deprived them of their breath for an instant—the two girls who had been
spilled out regained control of themselves.
The Nowadays Girls had the almost invaluable faculty of remaining cool, or
quickly becoming cool in emergencies.
This had been proved in a number of instances in times past, when they had
been in no little danger. Once there was an incipient fire at Miss Stevenson's
school, and the alarm drill was called for. It remained for our four friends
and a few others, to lead to safety the majority of the school, and for this
bravery there had been no small thanks and honour.
So now, in this time of danger, the two girls who were in a place of safety
remained calm and collected and were ready for rescue work. Fortunately,
however, the water of the stream was not deep. It could hardly be so and
fuss and foam over the rapids in the way it did. So Rose and Sylvia, after
having been rolled over and over a number of times, during which period
they clung to the paddles, found themselves in comparatively still water,
and struck out for shore.

It was then that the wisdom of Hazel and Alice showed itself, for they were
at the bank, waiting for their companions. There was no need for them to
leap in to the rescue, for they saw that Sylvia and Rose were both
swimming well, in spite of their wet and clinging garments. Their dresses
were light summer ones, which were not much more hampering than
bathing suits would have been. And they wore light, rubber-soled boating
shoes.
"Catch hold!" cried Hazel, flinging to Rose, who was in advance of Sylvia,
a long rope they carried in the canoe for mooring purposes. The coils
straightened out, and the end of the line fell near the swimming girl.
"All right!" Rose answered, as she caught hold, and a moment later she was
being pulled toward the bank, suspending her swimming strokes, for she
was a little exhausted, not only by her efforts, but by the rolling and
tumbling process to which she had been subjected when the canoe upset.
"We'll be ready for you in a moment, Sylvia!" called Hazel.
"Don't worry, I can touch bottom," was the reassuring answer, and, to prove
it, Sylvia stood up, a dripping and dishevelled figure, but a smiling one,
nevertheless. It took more than a ducking to disturb Sylvia Pursell.
Rose, who had taken a little different course from that followed by her
companion in misfortune, now found herself in water that was not so deep
but that she could stand up, which she did, still keeping hold of the rope.
"Well," said Sylvia, finally, after she had caught her breath, and wrung
enough water from her fallen hair so that it ceased to run in little rivulets
down her face. "Well!"
"Most decidedly—well!" exclaimed Alice. "A very wet well indeed! How
did it happen?"
"Don't ask me—ask Rose," laughed Sylvia. She could laugh now, though it
had seemed serious enough for the moment.
"It wasn't my fault," her companion asserted, smiling across the water that
separated them. Behind them foamed the little rapid, filling the air with its
insistent murmur.
"I guess we didn't make allowances for the speed and strength of the
current," Sylvia said. "It seemed to grip the canoe in a moment."

"By the way, where is the canoe?" asked Hazel.
They looked down-stream, and saw their boat apparently moving by itself
over the tops of the low bushes. It was turned upside down and was bobbing
about in a most unaccountable manner.
"Look—look at that!" fairly gasped Alice, from her position on the bank.
"Why, what does it mean?" asked Hazel, faintly.
The four girls watched the canoe with increasing astonishment. It seemed to
be moved by spirit hands, gliding, upside down, over the tops of the bushes
in a curious undulating fashion.
"Could it have struck a rock, and bounced out on shore?" asked Rose.
"If it struck a rock with enough force for that, it would be in pieces, instead
of whole, as it seems to be," Sylvia answered.
"But isn't it remarkable?" murmured Alice.
"To say the least—yes," agreed Rose.
Then, as the girls watched, the canoe seemed to sink down in the bushes, as
a magician causes a certain card to appear from the centre of the pack, and
to descend again.
"This must be seen to," Sylvia declared, with energy. "We can't have any
white magic like this going on without making an investigation. Come on,
Rose."
She started wading toward shore.
"Better wait until we pull Rose in, and then we'll fling you the rope,"
advised Alice.
"Oh, I don't need the rope, I can walk without that," declared Rose.
"Better not try," suggested Sylvia. "There may be some deep holes between
here and shore. Keep hold of the rope, then I'll use it. And after that we'll
see if our canoe has taken unto itself wings and flown away."
There was no need for the line from shore, as it developed, and soon Rose
and Sylvia, after safely wading to the bank, joined their more fortunate
companions. Alice and Hazel made fast their canoe, and Rose and Sylvia

wrung as much water as possible from their skirts, then all four started
toward the place where the canoe had been observed to so oddly nestle
amid the underbrush.
The girls found a fairly good path along the shore, and following this, they
turned in and out, as the trail led, bending itself to the curves of the stream,
until they suddenly emerged into a small clearing.
And there, sitting by the canoe, which had been turned in a most favorable
position so that the sun might dry it out, was a bronzed young man who was
gravely contemplating his wet and dripping legs that were clad in khaki
trousers.
"Oh!" exclaimed Sylvia, faintly, as she saw the young man slowly turn his
head in the direction of the sound caused by the girls pushing their way past
the bushes that overhung the trail.
"So, that was what made the canoe behave in such a mysterious way!"
murmured Hazel.
"He must have pulled it out of the water," suggested Alice.
Rose stood looking at the young man, saying nothing.
As for the youth himself, he rose to his feet, thereby disclosing the fact that
he was rather tall. He wore no hat, but a half-military salute toward his
brown, curling hair made up for what doubtless would have been a
deferential removal of his head-gear had he worn any.
"Are you looking for a lost, strayed or otherwise missing canoe?" he asked,
at the same time motioning toward the one on the grass near him.
"Yes, that is ours," said Sylvia. "We had an upset in the rapids."
"I guessed as much," the stranger said. "I was about to go in search of the
owners, fearing some accident might have happened, but you have saved
me a journey. Perhaps I can be of some assistance?"
"Thank you, I believe we are all right now," Sylvia said. "We held on to our
paddles. We——"
She started forward, as though to prove her claim to the canoe by exhibiting
the paddles, but Rose pulled her back.

"Don't go!" came the half-frantic whisper. "You're a sight, and so am I! Let
Hazel and Alice walk ahead. They aren't dripping wet and their hair isn't
hanging seven ways for Sunday. Let them go ahead!"
"Oh!" exclaimed Sylvia, comprehendingly. "Yes, I guess you're right, Rose.
We don't look exactly presentable."
The young man had waited inquiringly as this little discussion was in
progress, and if he understood the nature of it he gave no sign.
Concealed by the friendly and effectual screen of bushes the change was
made, bringing Alice and Hazel into the vanguard, and letting Sylvia and
Rose take up a position in the rear. A hasty glance over the trail they had
come showed no enemy at their backs, and they were sufficiently guarded
by underbrush on either side of the path to prevent a flank attack.
"I'll put the canoe back in the stream for you, in a few minutes," the young
man went on. "I was letting the water drain out of it. I was fishing just about
here," he said, "when I saw it coming down-stream. I guessed what had
happened and waded out to get it. Then I put it over my head and took it to
shore."
"Oh! That was what made it look so funny!" exclaimed Hazel.
"Funny?" the young man questioned.
"We could only see the boat from where we were," explained Alice, "and it
looked as though it were floating on top of the bushes, upside down."
"Oh, I see," he went on, comprehendingly. "You couldn't see me because
my head was under the canoe, and you couldn't see the rest of me because
the bushes formed a screen. Yes, it must have been rather odd."
"It was," said Sylvia, and she could not restrain a merry laugh.
"Oh!" exclaimed the young man, and it seemed as though the laugh had
come in answer to some question he asked himself. And the question might
have been in regard to the disappearance of the two wet and dripping girls
he had first observed, for Alice and Hazel were now in front of Rose and
Sylvia.
"It was very good of you to save the canoe," Hazel said. "It might have been
dashed to pieces on the rocks."

"Oh, it was past the danger spot when I got it," the youth said, with a smile
that seemed to illuminate his brown face. "Don't credit me with too much. I
just grabbed it as it was floating past."
"I'm afraid we spoiled your fishing," said Alice, at the same time voicing to
her chums a hoarsely whispered aside to the effect: "Why don't you two do
something? Going to leave it all to Hazel and me?"
"What shall we say?" demanded Rose.
"Oh, say 'pleased to meet you,' if you can't think of anything else," retorted
Alice.
"Are you sure I can't do anything for you?" the youth asked, as he prepared
to put the canoe over his head and shoulders, in the most approved guide
"carry" position, and start for the water with it. "I'd like to help you."
"Thank you, we are all right," Alice said. "We are going back to camp."
"Oh, then you are camping here?" he asked, and Rose said afterward that
his voice had a "hopeful" sound.
"Just for a little while," Hazel answered, waving her hand indefinitely
toward the woods.
"Ah, I see. I'm a camper also," he added, but he gave no further information
about himself.
"If I might suggest," he said, as he shouldered the light canoe, "it might be
better for me to take this for you past the rapids. They are rather hard to
traverse up-stream, and they are high from the rain. You won't have any
trouble once you get past the rough place, however. Let me put the boat in
the water for you a little farther up."
"Oh, that is entirely too much trouble!" protested Sylvia.
"No, indeed!" he said, quickly. "I'm glad to be able to help you."
The girls turned to go back along the trail they must follow in order to get
past the rapids. This turn brought Sylvia and Rose in the rear, and directly
behind them was the youth with the canoe.
"Oh!" exclaimed Rose, as she thought of her dripping garments and
dishevelled hair. It was the very thing they had sought to avoid.

"He can't see us with the canoe over his head," declared Sylvia. "If we
change now he'll laugh! Go on!"
And go on they did.
The other canoe was found safely floating in the deep eddy where it had
been moored, and a little later the one that had overturned, now righted and
comparatively dry, was put in the stream at a point past the rapids.
"Now I'll carry the other one there for you, and you won't have much
trouble paddling back," the young man said. And in spite of the rather half-
hearted protests of the girls, this he did.
By this time the warm sun and the wind had done much toward drying the
garments of Sylvia and Rose. And they had managed to put up their hair in
some sort of fashion that, though they did not realize it, was wonderfully
becoming.
"Now I think you'll be all right," the young man said, when the four girls, in
the two boats, were ready to paddle back.
"Yes, indeed. And thank you so much!" said Sylvia, warmly. Her thanks
were echoed in a chorus by the others.
Again with that graceful, half-military salute toward his bared head, the
bronzed youth watched them paddle away. And it was not until they were
around the bend of the stream that Alice exclaimed:
"Oh, we never asked his name!"
"Nor told ours!" added Hazel.
"Why should we?" demanded Sylvia.
"Oh, I don't know," was Hazel's slow retort.
They paddled slowly back to camp, where Mrs. Brownley was not a little
exercised over the upset.
"It was nothing!" Sylvia said. "We get used to such things nowadays."
This was really the only little accident that marred the camping outing, and
that did not so much mar it as it marked it. Two or three days afterward the
girls went canoeing, and successfully passed the rapids. But they saw
nothing of the young man. Indeed, though the eyes of all four roved through

the woods and along the wilderness trails, not one would admit that she was
looking for anything or any one in particular.
Then came the day when they went back to the Antlers. They had spent a
glorious week in the woods.
As the campers reached the porch, to be made welcome by their hotel
friends, they saw a group gathered about the bulletin board.
"I wonder what that means?" asked Rose.
"Let's look," suggested Sylvia.
They found it was an announcement of a masquerade dance to be given two
nights hence.
"Oh, we simply must go to that!" cried Hazel.
"Surely!" agreed Alice.
"But what about costumes?" asked Rose.
"We'll make our own. Masks will be easy to get, I fancy," Sylvia said.
"We'll make inquiries."
They found that masks of various sorts were easily obtainable, and some
costumes also, though most of the ladies were going to make their own, out
of simple materials.
Preparations for the masque fête went merrily on, and none took more
interest in it than our Nowadays Girls.
"The usual penny," said Rose, suddenly, one day, as the four sat in Sylvia's
room, sewing. Rose looked at Hazel as she thus challenged her.
"Penny? For what?"
"Your thoughts, of course. You're in a brown study and the shade doesn't at
all match your dress."
"Oh, I was thinking——" Hazel stopped suddenly.
"She was thinking of the young man of the woods," declared Sylvia, with a
laugh.

CHAPTER XX
THE MYSTIC MOON

Softly the musicians played behind a bank of palms. Softly shone the
mystic moon outside, brighter even than the lights of the ballroom, for they
had been turned low, since it was not yet the hour to trip the light fantastic.
The melody came only in haunting strains, a ripple from the piano as the
player tried the keys in some snatch of a onestep, the half-sobbing voice of
the violin in a haunting, dreamy waltz, the mellow trill of the flute, and the
more military sound of the French horn. The musicians were making ready.
Now and then, through the corridors of the hotel flitted strange figures.
Figures whose faces were concealed by masks. They glided here and there,
into rooms and out again.
And of mysterious import were many whispered messages that floated up
and down the corridors.
"Have you any more powder?"
Surely a strange "engagement" that needed powder on a night like that.
"I want some pins!"
"I shall have to take a tuck in it."
"My slippers will never stay on when I get to dancing!"
"Use a rubber band around your instep. It won't show much!"
"Do you think he'll know me?"
"Never—not in that!"
"Oh, but he saw me getting it!"
"He thought it was for me. He'll take me for you and——"
"Oh, I don't know that I want that!"
And so on.

It was the night of the masquerade, a night full of promises of surprise, a
night of mystery, of mystic moonlight. The big hotel was thronged, for
invitations had been general, and from many other camps and places in
Raquette Lake had come the merry-makers and dancers.
"Well, are you almost ready?" asked Sylvia, as she slipped into the room of
Alice, not wearing her mask, for the Nowadays Girls and Mrs. Brownley
had a private hall to themselves.
"Almost, yes. How do you like my dress?"
"It's perfect. I never thought you could get such a stunning effect from that
calico and creton."
Alice was a Dresden shepherdess, and a sweet and dainty figure she made.
"Your own costume is a dream, Sylvia!"
"I'm glad it isn't a nightmare," was the laughing retort. Sylvia was attired as
Night in a black dress, spangled with stars, and quarter moons. It became
her wonderfully well. Her black mask dangled from her hand. Soon it
would be time to don it.
Rose was a Columbine, in a voluminous clown suit of white with black
spots, and a peaked hat, while Baby Reed was Little Miss Muffett.
The girls hoped they had kept their secrets well, and that none of the hotel
guests had discovered the designs of their costumes. Mrs. Brownley was to
go just as herself, in common with some of the other matrons of the hotel,
who would act as chaperons and patronesses of the dance, which was for a
local charity.
Louder sounded the entrancing music. The strains of it penetrated to the
room of our friends, and set their feet to tapping the floor impatiently.
"Aren't you ready yet, Rose?" asked Sylvia; for they were waiting for some
last touches to be put to her dress by one of the chambermaids.
"Yes—coming!"
They went out, masked, to the main hall, to find themselves in a gay throng
of other maskers, who were attired with more or less historic semblance to
represent characters, past, present and future. This was the ladies' dressing
floor. The gentlemen were on the one below.

There were murmurs of "Ohs!" and "Ahs!" as Sylvia and her chums came
from their rooms.
"Those are the four girls!" came in whispers from various corners, with the
accent on "the."
"Where's Natalie?" asked Hazel, in a low voice, of Sylvia. "She wanted to
go down with us."
"She and her husband are going as Jack and Jill," explained Sylvia. "But
don't mention it. She doesn't want it known that she is married."
"Has she taken off her wedding ring?" Alice asked.
"Indeed not! Brides don't do that. But she is going to wear gloves. There she
is now."
A charming "Jill" came out of a room and joined the four girls.
There sounded a crash of music from the ballroom floor.
"Oh, come on!" begged Hazel. "We're missing it."
As they passed the floor where the gentlemen were costuming, a group
passed down the broad staircase. There were clowns, tramps, gallants of the
thirteenth century, courtiers, Puritans, aviators, sailors, soldiers and what-
not.
Down the stairs hustled and bustled the masqueraders, eager to throng into
the place whence the music came. It was a hesitation waltz, and Sylvia
presently found herself whirling through it with a Spaniard who danced
wonderfully well.

SYLVIA PRESENTLY FOUND HERSELF WHIRLING THROUGH
IT WITH A SPANIARD WHO DANCED WONDERFULLY WELL.

"Do you do the Marcel?" he asked, looking intently at her as if to pierce her
identity through her mask.
"Yes," she said, trying to speak unnaturally, for she suspected her partner
was a certain young man staying at the Antlers.
He whirled her about in the pivot, glided first on her right side, and then,
after a hesitation, to the left, again whirling into the waltz. She knew this
dance perhaps better than any of the newest new ones, and she was not a
little gratified when her partner remarked:

"That was beautifully done. Don't you like it?"
"Indeed, yes. It is such a change from the plain hesitation."
They found themselves in a crush, and had to "lame duck" it for a few steps
until they found themselves free again.
"Do you know what that reminds me of?" he asked, as they passed the
palm-screened corner where the musicians were playing.
"What?" she asked.
"The hesitation. It reminds me of a canoe gracefully overturning in the
rapids——"
"What! You?" she cried, astonished.
"Even so, O Night!" He spoke dramatically. "I thought I should find you
again, but I looked for a Niobe."
"Why, because I was all water?"
"Somewhat, yes. May I have the next dance?"
"I—I am not so sure——"
"You had better be. Come out on the veranda. The moon is glorious." The
music had stopped, and as there had already been two encores there would
be no more.
Sylvia, her heart beating rather fast, stepped out of the low windows to the
porch whereon were many strolling couples. Sylvia was on her guard. After
all it might be one of the hotel guests who had heard the story of the upset.
A figure that Sylvia recognised as that of Alice came up to her, but stopped
on seeing her with the Spaniard.
"Oh!" she exclaimed.
"Yes?" asked Sylvia.
"Nothing now, I'll speak to you later."
"Oh, I'll leave you," said the Spaniard, quickly. "Remember, I have the new
dance, O Night," he said, and with a bow he was gone.
"Who is it?" asked Alice, in a whisper.

"The young man who saved our canoe."
"Really?"
"So he says."
"You can't believe a word they say. Did you have a nice dance?"
"Lovely! And you?"
"Perfect. I'm engaged for the next one. Are you?"
"Well, if he insists on claiming it I can hardly say no. And he really does
dance beautifully. Have you seen Rose or Hazel?"
"Yes, they were enjoying themselves, evidently. I want some pins. Have
you any?"
Alice was supplied, and went to the dressing-room. Sylvia was looking for
Hazel or Rose, when the music started up again. She saw a grotesquely
attired Dutchman approaching, and wondered if he would ask her to dance.
He did.
"This is ours, I believe, O Night," he murmured.
"Yours? I—er—I——"
"I am the knight of the overturned canoe, who wore no hat," he said, in a
low voice.

CHAPTER XXI
THE MYSTERY DEEPENS

Sylvia did not know what to say. There were two explanations possible—
perhaps more, but two certainly.
One was that the Spaniard had hastily changed his costume, or else that
there were two young men who had penetrated her disguise, and were
conversant at least with the episode of the overturned canoe. And both
explanations were feasible.
"I—er—I half promised this dance," murmured Sylvia. "I told——"
"Yes, and I am he whom you told," was the answer.
"He was a——"
"Yes, I know. But pardon me for pointing out that we are missing part of it,"
and he led her in through the low window to the ballroom. It was a onestep,
and Sylvia could not judge, from the style of her partner's dancing, whether
or not he was the same one she had had in the hesitation.
"I trust you did not take cold," he said, "from your immersion."
"Oh, no, not at all," Sylvia said. She and her chums had been reasonably
sure that the camping accident was known only to a few in the hotel, for it
had been made light of, and canoe upsets were far too common to make
much fuss over. And yet if this were not the young man who had rescued
the canoe he must be some one of the boarders at the Antlers who knew
more about the episode than had been given out by the participants.
"And why did he change his costume, when he practically acknowledged
who he was?" Sylvia asked herself.
"I hope you did not tire yourself carrying the canoes?" she remarked,
casually, after a period of silence.
"I? Oh, no. Not in the least. Do you do the aëroplane in this dance?"

"Yes."
"Shall we——?"
"If you please."
He swung her into it with ease and grace. Then she was sure from his
manner of stepping at her side that this was the same dancer who had been
with her in the hesitation. But why had he changed his costume? That was a
question which she could not answer.
The music stopped, but there was at once an insistent applauding for an
encore, which, after a few seconds of waiting, came.
"Is your camp near here?" Sylvia asked.
"Not far away. Is yours?"
"No, not now."
Evidently he did not know she was a hotel guest. The mystery deepened.
"Would it be asking too much to crave the next number?" he murmured,
when the last encore had been danced out.
"Well, I—er—I——"
"Oh, not if you are engaged!" he hastily interposed.
Sylvia was not, but she knew there would be no trouble in getting a partner.
"I shall see you again, anyhow," he said, as he bowed and walked off. Alice,
Hazel and Rose found Sylvia standing on the porch in the brilliant
moonlight.
"Oh, I had the loveliest dance!" Rose said, clapping her hands. "He showed
me some new steps. He was dressed as a Spaniard and he was the same
fellow who saved our canoe for us."
"He—he was?" gasped Sylvia. "Do you mean just now?"
"No, he didn't save our canoe just now. I mean when we were in the rapids."
"But did you just dance this onestep with him—with a Spaniard?"
"I certainly did."
"And did he claim to be the Knight of the Upset Canoe?"

"No, he didn't claim to be anything of the sort. But I knew from what he
said that he was the one. I wonder how he knew me?"
Sylvia's brain was in a whirl. Who was the Dutchman?
"Why do you ask?" Rose wanted to know.
"Oh, nothing in particular. I'll tell you later. Here's a fox trot. I wonder——"
Three young men, as if moved by a common impulse, came fairly charging
down on Alice, Rose and Hazel. The Spaniard was not one of them.
Sylvia wondered if she was to be left out, for none of the three approached
her.
However, the music had played but a few more measures when Sylvia saw
approaching her a masker in the red suit and face-covering of
Mephistopheles. She felt a little thrill as it became evident that he meant to
claim her as his partner.
"Aren't you dancing?" he asked, extending his hands in an invitation.
"Well, I——" Sylvia seemed strangely noncommittal this evening.
"Then may I have the honour? I danced with you before, I believe."
"Oh, no," she answered, as he led her toward the ballroom.
"Oh, but yes!" he insisted, with a laugh. "I am perhaps attired for something
a little out of my—shall we say—element," he went on, "but surely you
have not forgotten the Knight of the Overturned Canoe?" his voice
questioned.
"You—you—surely you are not he!"
"Even so, O Night!"
"But you—your——"
They were fox-trotting toward the musicians, and as Sylvia was not quite
sure of the sequence of the steps in this dance—at least with this partner—
she deferred continuing her remarks until she had found out just how he did
it.
"Here is a new one, perhaps," he said, as they found themselves in a rather
secluded corner, secluded for the moment. They had just finished the two-

step glide part of the fox trot. "It's a slide forward, a slide back, two counts
each, another slide forward, a draw on two counts and a hop on the fourth,"
he explained.
He executed it as he spoke, and Sylvia grasped it almost at once.
"Like it?" he asked.
"Yes, indeed. It's quite novel. Where did you learn that?"
"In New York."
"Oh, you're from there?"
"When I'm not in the woods, saving canoes." He laughed in a boyish
fashion. Sylvia looked into his eyes, but they told her nothing.
Sylvia glanced around the room. She saw neither the Spaniard nor the
Dutchman. Clearly then this must be he who had masqueraded as both. And
yet why his triple change of costume? There seemed to be no need of it.
Sylvia determined to find out about it, but not now. She would not give him
the satisfaction of asking too many questions. But she resolved to do a bit of
detective work in the interval between this and the next dance.
The fox trot ended in the tapping accompaniment by the drummer, and the
musicians, who had given three encores, refused another.
"Will you have an ice?" asked Mephistopheles.
Sylvia assented. There was quite a crush in the refreshment room, but her
partner managed to worm his way through, and procured for her a plate of
cream and some cakes.
"If you will excuse me," he murmured, "I will claim the next dance; if I
may?"
"Are you going to——"
"See some of my friends," he finished for her, not giving her a chance to
intimate that he was going to change his costume again. "I see yours
approaching," he added, and Sylvia looked up to note the approach of Alice,
Hazel and Rose, each with an escort.

"Oh, you have been provided for," murmured Alice, as she saw Sylvia
nibbling a macaroon under her mask, which came only to her lips.
"Yes, I had Mephistopheles."
"We saw you," whispered Rose.
"A lovely dancer," added Hazel.
"Who is he?" Alice wanted to know.
Sylvia shook her head, as the three young men, variously disguised, came
back with refreshments for the other girls.
"I had a queer Dutchman for the first half of this dance, and then he excused
himself and brought up a Spaniard," said Hazel.
"You—you did!" gasped Sylvia. She was more puzzled than ever, for she
had seen neither of her two former partners on the floor.
"Both dandy dancers," Hazel went on.
There was a little wait and then another strain of music proclaimed the
beginning of another hesitation. The three young men who had brought the
girls to the refreshment room, escorted them back to the dance floor, and
with murmured pleas that they must seek other partners, left them.
Almost at once, however, there bore down on Alice, Hazel and Rose,
respectively a Spaniard, a Dutchman and Mephistopheles.
Sylvia gasped her surprise, but a moment later it was added to, for a
thirteenth-century cavalier, with glossy black curls flowing over his lace
collar, approached, and with a low bow, said:
"The Knight of the Overturned Canoe craves a dance with thee, O Night!"
Sylvia wondered where it would all end, and, almost as if in a dream, she
accepted his arm and went out on the floor.

CHAPTER XXII
BAD NEWS

The music was entrancing—a dreamy waltz was being played. There was
the odour of flowers. All about were presumably pretty women and girls—
presumably, for their masks still hid their faces. Outside the moon shone,
still bewitchingly. From behind the bank of palms, which stirred gently in
the night air that swept in through the open windows, came the wailing of
the oboe, the shriller crying of the violin, the tinkle of the piano, the bird-
like notes of the flute, the mellow call of the French horn—all blending
together in a strain that, without conscious effort, seemed to move one into
the mazy whirl of the waltz.
Almost before she knew it Sylvia found herself moving about in company
with the cavalier, and it was a delightful motion, for, like the other three
mysterious Knights of the Canoe, he was an excellent dancer.
"I have been waiting for this opportunity, O Night," he whispered in
Sylvia's little ear that was half hidden by her hair.
"Yes?" she replied, non-committaly. "Do you mean you, or some of your
friends?"
"I don't know what you mean," he answered, feigning ignorance.
"Oh, yes, you do," she said, as she put out her hand to ward off an unskilful
couple who were going around the wrong way of the room.
"Upon my honour——"
"Swear not at all, especially in this moonlight!" she mocked.
"It is glorious; isn't it?"
"Perfect."
"Would you rather dance, or go out where we can see——"

"Dance," she said, shortly. She was going to take no chances of any
practical, or impractical, jokes being played in the shimmering and
inconstant moonlight.
"The moon will last—the music not," he said, softly, and they swept on
around the room in a slow, graceful glide.
Sylvia, as she confessed afterward, was just "dying" to ask her cavalier
what it all meant—the four claimants to the title of Knight of the
Overturned Canoe, each of whom had appeared in a different costume. But
she refrained. She felt that the mystery would reveal itself in due season.
Were there four young men? Was it not the same one all the while, who had
changed disguises with his friends, and so managed to claim Sylvia in a
different garb each time? She could not be sure.
Yet there was an indefinable something different in the dancing of each of
her four partners. She was almost sure they could not be the same.
"Are you staying at the Antlers much longer?" the cavalier asked, as the
music came to an end, and the dancers vigorously begged for an encore.
"I am not sure," she answered. "Why?"
"Oh, I just wanted to know. There is another dance next week."
"A masquerade?"
"No. I wish it were."
"So that you could hide your identity further?"
"Don't you know who I am?" he teased.
"Of course. You are Harry Blair," and she purposely named at random a
certain young man stopping at the hotel.
"Right—not!" he laughed. "You don't believe I saved your canoe?"
"There are too many claimants to the——"
"Honour," he hastily interposed. "Don't hesitate to say it."
"Oh, it wasn't that, so much as it was——"
The music cut in on their talk with a blare of drum and trumpet, and once
more they were off in the dance.

"What were you going to say?" he persisted, when there came a lull.
"Nothing of any consequence."
And so the small talk went on. There came more numbers, and the cavalier,
the Dutchman, Mephistopheles and the Spaniard danced in turn with Sylvia,
Rose, Hazel and Alice. The other three girls were as puzzled as Sylvia had
been.
"Who can they be?" asked Hazel, when they were in the dressing-room, just
before the signal for unmasking was to be given.
"Haven't the least idea," Sylvia replied.
"Do you really think they can be one and the same young fellow who
helped us with the canoes?" Rose demanded. "Or is there more than one?"
"What do you mean?" asked Alice.
"Well, they might have changed clothes, and certainly one could tell the
other enough details so that all would know just what happened that day,"
Rose insisted.
"We'll soon know," Sylvia said. "There they are, all four together, and
they're looking this way as if they expected us to come out. They're going to
give the signal to unmask!"
It was on the stroke of twelve, and the trumpeter had come to the edge of
the music platform to sound the call that would mean the revealing of
identities hitherto hidden.
"Let's not go out," suggested Rose.
"The idea!" Alice cried. "When they're such good dancers? Much better
than any of the fellows at the hotel. I wonder who they can be? It's such
fun!"
Sylvia gazed out of a window into the moonlight, and wondered also. She
rather liked the title, "Knight of the Overturned Canoe," but she felt sure
that only one was entitled to it—and that one, somehow or other, she felt
was the last partner she had danced with—the cavalier. He had rather a
masterful way with him.

The trumpet blared out. There was a moment of silence, then came the
taking off of masks, and gasps of astonishment vied with peals of
merriment, for there were many surprises.
Sylvia kept her eyes fixed on the group of four young men, the Dutchman,
the Spaniard, Mephistopheles and the cavalier. They unmasked together,
and, in a straight line, like the advance of some guard of soldiers, came
toward the Nowadays Girls.
"Oh, I feel like—running away!" murmured Rose, her cheeks hot with
blushes.
"Don't you dare!" said Alice. "They all look like nice fellows."
Sylvia gave a quick glance at the cavalier. Yes, she was right. He was the
Knight of the Overturned Canoe, the same bronze-faced youth with crisp,
curling hair. He smiled at her, showing two rows of white, even teeth.
Sylvia smiled in welcome.
The other three were evidently his chums, for there existed, it seemed, a
jolly and excellent understanding among them. In a solid phalanx they
advanced toward the girls.
"Shall we dance with them?" inquired Alice.
"Better wait until they ask us," suggested Hazel.
"Oh, they'll ask us all right," Sylvia said. "Anyhow, this is a Paul Jones, and
we'll naturally have to dance with a lot of strangers. It is perfectly all right, I
think."
"So do I," declared Rose, with a new conviction.
"She likes that Spaniard," laughed Hazel.
"He dances beautifully," Rose confessed, blushing more vividly than ever.
"May I have the honour?" asked the cavalier, advancing to Sylvia.
She nodded and smiled.
"So there was but one real, true knight?" she murmured, when they were
dancing.

"Only one, O Night, and you will find him very true," he whispered, rather
earnestly.
Sylvia laughed, and it seemed to vie with the mellow notes of the flute.
"What's the joke?" she asked. "I mean, how did you four manage it?"
"I'll tell you, out in the moonlight, after this dance."
She rather regretted it when a new figure in the Paul Jones separated him
from her. And she was a little impatient for the promised explanation. In
due time it came. The dance ended, and the different couples strolled to
various resting-places.
Sylvia noticed that Rose was with the Spaniard, Hazel with the Dutchman
and Alice with Mephistopheles. The three girls followed Sylvia out to the
piazza.
"Well," began the cavalier, "I suppose you girls have been doing all sorts of
wondering. We hope you'll forgive the little joke. You see there are really
four of us. We have a camp over near Shedd Lake, and I was lucky enough
to be on hand that day when your canoe upset," and he nodded at Sylvia and
Rose.
"When I went back and told the boys, guessing that you were stopping at
the Antlers, we decided to come to this masquerade, and see if we could not
mystify you a bit. I gave my chums all the details of the canoe episode, so
they could talk about it as well as I, and we each one, in turn, decided to
pretend he was the only and original Knight of the Overturned Canoe.
"Which we did, to the best of our ability. We hope we are forgiven. If you
want proper introductions to us——"
He broke off to give the names of himself and his companions. They had
friends stopping at the hotel, and very soon the girls were formally
presented, Aunt Theodora also meeting the youths, and unconsciously
expressing her satisfaction with them.
"There goes the music!" exclaimed Rose, after the refreshments, the four
girls having been escorted thereto by the four camping chums.
"Yes, don't let's miss any of it," said the Spaniard.
Once more they were dancing.

"But what I don't understand," said Sylvia, "is why you came last."
She was speaking to the cavalier—the real Knight.
"It was this way, Princess," he said, laughingly. "I could not reach here the
same time as did the other fellows, so I made them each promise in turn to
dance with you first, and, by an implied engagement, keep you until I came.
I arrived in the nick of time."
"And at one time I thought there was only one of you, and that you changed
your costume after every dance," Sylvia said. "Well, it was an enjoyable
surprise."
"Then you are not angry?"
"Of course not!"
He was very good-looking, and a fine dancer. Sylvia was only human.
The masquerade was almost over. Sylvia was walking out on a moonlit path
with the cavalier, who was finding out more about her than she imagined
she was telling.
"Sylvia, where are you?" called Mrs. Brownley.
"Here, Aunt Theodora. I'm coming right in. I suppose you'll say it is too
damp."
"No, my dear! But a telephone message just came for you. I took it, as I
could not find you. It was from——"
"My brother!" gasped Sylvia, and her grasp tightened on the arm of her
escort.
"Yes, it was about your brother," said Mrs. Brownley, in rather solemn
tones. "He is not so well. You are to call up on long-distance, my dear."

CHAPTER XXIII
AT SARANAC

Sylvia walked toward the hotel office, where the telephone booths were
located.
"I am so sorry!" murmured the cavalier. "If there is anything I can do—or
my chums—don't fail to let us know. We'd be only too glad to help."
"Thank you," Sylvia said. "I shall be glad to let you know. But I think it will
mean that I shall have to go to my brother. He is up at Saranac."
"I shall be sorry to see you leave," he said, simply.
"And I hope you and your friends will return."
"It is impossible to say, at least for a time," was her answer. "I will say
good-night now."
He understood, and parted from her.
"Was it anything definite?" asked Sylvia of Aunt Theodora.
They were approaching the telephone booths, and Sylvia was a bit nervous.
"I did not wait for all the details," said the chaperon. "I thought it better to
let you talk. Central said the line would be available if you called up within
a few minutes, as they are not very busy now."
"With whom were you speaking?"
"With that young man who went up with your brother."
"Harry Montray?"
"Yes. He said there was nothing to be alarmed about, but he thought Roy
had gotten to the point where it would be better to see some one from home.
Probably the poor fellow is suffering from an attack of good, old-fashioned
home-sickness—or, rather, bad home-sickness, for it is a dreadful feeling. I

have had it abroad, when I felt as though I would give anything just to see
an old tin peddler from my home town."
"I know," murmured Sylvia.
In a few minutes she was in conversation with her brother's friend. She was
much reassured to know that, though Roy was not so well as could be
hoped for, he was in no sense in danger. It was just that his companion felt,
in Roy's present mental state, that it would be better to have some one of his
family near him. His physical health was good, but he had not been able to
bring to his mind the lost chemical formula. And this preyed on him.
"I will come up at once," Sylvia said. "We will start in the morning."
"I will help you make all preparations," Mrs. Brownley remarked. "Will you
take the other girls with you?"
"Of course; if they want to go."
"As if we didn't want to go!" exclaimed Alice, when the matter was
mentioned to her and her chums. "Besides, that's what we came up here for.
This lingering in pleasant places was no part of our original programme,
nice as it is. You want to go; don't you, Hazel?"
"Certainly."
"And there's no need to ask Rose," said Alice, but it was not in the least
done jokingly. Rose's face precluded anything like that.
And so the masquerade came to an end rather sadly, and yet Sylvia tried not
to let it affect her too much, for she regarded herself in the light of a hostess
to her three chums.
Before the girls retired, a message came to them from the four young men
with whom they had danced so much that evening. It was to the effect that
the campers expected to remain some time longer at, or near, Raquette
Lake, and would be very glad to entertain the young ladies if they returned.
Sylvia sent back word, expressing the appreciation of herself and her
chums, but said their plans were not settled, and it was hardly possible that
they would come back to Raquette that summer.
They were to take a morning train, and there was not much of the night left
in which to get rest. Sylvia herself had very little sleep, and was up, almost

at dawn, packing her trunks.
They were to go to Saranac Inn, located on Upper Saranac Lake, as Roy's
place of sojourn, Loneberg Camp, was located near there. The journey of
the girls was to be by rail, though they had hoped to make the trip by canoes
and other boats—steamers and motor craft.
"But we really haven't time," decided Sylvia. "Perhaps we can come back
that way, but it will be better to go by train, I think."
"Yes," assented Rose. "It's quicker."
It was rather a surprise to Sylvia and her chums to find, that morning, the
four young men who had danced with them waiting on the broad veranda
when they came down to go to the station.
"Why!" exclaimed Sylvia, blushing rosy-red. "How did you get over from
your camp so early?"
"We haven't been to camp," replied Felton Ware—he who had been
disguised as the cavalier.
"Did you stay at the Antlers all night?" asked Hazel.
"Yes, we couldn't very well get back to camp," said James Pendleton, who
had been the Dutchman.
"And we thought we might be of some service to you," went on Felton.
"Are you sure there isn't anything we can do?"
"Thank you, no," Sylvia murmured. "We are used to travelling, you know,
and one of our club mottoes is 'Do it yourself.'"
"What club is that?" he asked, interested at once.
"The Nowadays Club," answered Alice. "It's real jolly."
"I can well believe that," agreed Felton.
The young men insisted on accompanying the girls to the station, carrying
their satchels. The trunks had been sent on ahead by an earlier train.
There were rather prolonged good-byes at the depot, and Sylvia was quite
sure she heard Alice and Hazel agreeing to send, from Saranac, at least
souvenir postals to their friends. But she was not absolutely sure, and her

mind was too fully occupied with thoughts of her ailing brother to allow her
to dwell long on what others did and said.
"Well, here comes the train," said Felton, finally.
"And I'm glad of it!" murmured Sylvia, with something like a sigh.
"What!" he cried, with simulated surprise.
"Oh, you know what I mean," she went on.
"I hope you have no more canoe accidents," said Felton.
"Well, if I do, I hope I find as nice a knight as you were," she answered,
rather daringly.
"That's awfully nice!" he exclaimed, with real pleasure in his voice.
Then the train came in, and there was the usual bustle and hustle getting
aboard. Good-byes were said over and over again, and hands, caps and
handkerchiefs were waved until the coaches were out of sight around a
bend in the line.
The four young men walked away, rather downcast, for they had thoroughly
enjoyed the company of Sylvia and her chums.
"Well, old man," said James Pendleton to Felton Ware.
"Not well—ill," he sighed.
"What's the matter?" laughed a companion. "Hard hit?"
"Not at all. Only they were such real, jolly girls. You don't often meet their
class up here. The others are too much on dolling-up and talking society
mush. I wonder what some of those dolled-up ones would look like if they
were rolled out of a canoe into the rapids; tell me that!"
"It's beyond me," was the honest confession. "Never mind. Maybe they'll
come back."
"Let us hope so," was the decision, in which all agreed.
Meanwhile Sylvia and her chums were speeding as fast as the train could
take them to Saranac. They had engaged rooms by telegraph at Saranac Inn,
and from there they would start for Roy's camp, which was some miles
away.

"Will you go on to-night?" asked Rose of Sylvia, as they sat together in the
train.
"It depends on what time we get in. If we arrive early enough I shall,
provided we can get back to the Inn at any reasonable hour. I don't want to
disturb Roy too late, though."
"No, it wouldn't be wise."
But if Sylvia hoped to see her brother that night she was doomed to
disappointment. There was a slight accident on the railroad, not involving
the train of our friends, however, and it was quite late when they arrived at
Saranac.
"Well, we won't see Roy to-night," Sylvia decided after dinner. "But I'll see
if I can get Harry on the 'phone."

CHAPTER XXIV
WORRIMENT

Telephoning in the Adirondacks was not such an easy matter as it is in New
York, as Sylvia soon discovered. It developed that when Harry had called
her up he had been obliged to go some distance from Loneberg Camp, and
Sylvia had neglected to get the number of the station whence he talked to
her.
In consequence, though she made a number of inquiries, she was unable,
from Saranac Inn, to get in communication with her brother that night, and
was obliged to give over the attempt.
"Never mind," said Mrs. Brownley. "We will go to them the first thing in
the morning. You girls need a rest, anyhow, and it may be better if you don't
see Roy, or talk to him or Harry and perhaps cause them both a restless
night."
"Yes, I suppose it is for the best," Sylvia agreed, rather wearily.
She was very tired, for she had danced often and late the night before. She
had slept but little and the day's long journey had not been conducive to
rest.
"There's a dance on here to-night," Hazel announced, as she came into
Sylvia's room after it had been definitely settled that Roy could not be
communicated with that night.
"No dancing for me," declared Rose, with decision.
"Nor me," agreed Sylvia.
"You will all be better off in bed," asserted the chaperon, "and so I officially
prescribe that."
Not that the girls thought seriously of indulging in gaiety on this night.
Their sleep was not altogether dreamless, though it was heavy enough. But
Sylvia had an uneasy consciousness, half dreamy, of some impending

trouble. She could not shake it off even when she awoke and found her
room bright with sunlight. She soon discovered that she was suffering with
what was rare for her—a headache.
"I'm afraid my Knight of the Canoe had rather a bad effect on me," she
confessed. "I want to look and feel my best when I meet Roy. I think I shall
have my breakfast in bed this morning. It's a luxury I don't often indulge
myself in."
Mrs. Brownley was duly surprised when, coming to Sylvia's room a little
later, she found her charge partaking of grapefruit, bacon and eggs, and a
pot of coffee, comfortably propped up in bed. A deft chambermaid was
waiting on Sylvia and serving the meal.
"Why, my dear, are you ill?" asked the chaperon.
"This doesn't look like it," Sylvia answered, pointing to the emptied plate.
"But my head ached and I decided to rest."
"Perhaps that was wise," agreed Aunt Theodora. "I must see how my other
charges are, though. Do you intend to go see Roy to-day?"
"Oh, yes, indeed. But I wanted to be at my very best. We have time enough.
It isn't such a great way to Loneberg Camp."
Mrs. Brownley sought Rose, and, again, somewhat to the surprise of the
chaperon, she found that young lady also breakfasting in bed.
"Well, well!" was her startled greeting. "Are you ill, too?"
"Why, is some one else doing this, also?" Rose asked.
"Sylvia is."
"And is she——"
"Not ill, no, I'm glad to say. But I suppose you have the same idea in mind
—looking your best?"
Rose blushed.
"We really ought all to have stayed in bed this morning," Mrs. Brownley
went on, "and as you dancing girls were cheated out of your beauty sleep
there is no reason why you shouldn't make it up now. Rest as long as you
like, my dear. We won't start for Roy's camp until after lunch, perhaps."

"But he may be anxiously expecting—Sylvia."
"Or—you. But it can't be helped. If anything were to arise, any sudden
need, his friend would doubtless telephone."
Hazel and Alice were rather more vigorous than either Rose or Sylvia, and
went down to the last breakfast. Then they came up to see the "invalids," as
they called them.
"Indeed I'm no more of an invalid than you!" exclaimed Sylvia, with spirit.
"I'm just getting up some reserve strength."
And, though she did not know it, there was coming a time when she would
need all her stored-up energy.
Inquiry at the hotel office brought out the fact that Loneberg Camp lay
about four miles distant from Saranac Inn, near Lake Clear, and that this
point could be reached by driving. This mode of conveyance the girls and
their chaperon decided on.
As they learned that the drive would not take long, they decided to defer it
until after lunch, provided no messages were received in the meanwhile
from Roy or his companion, urging their visit before afternoon.
"It will do us good to see a little of the lake," Sylvia said.
Upper Saranac Lake is about eight miles in length, and lies in a most
picturesque section, dotted with other lakes and ponds, on which boating of
many sorts, from canoeing and motoring to travel in small steamers, may be
enjoyed. There was good fishing in the lake, the girls were told.
"But we can come back and enjoy that after we have seen Roy," decided
Rose, and the others agreed with her.
They spent the morning in going about the hotel and the grounds, venturing
out a little way on the lake. It was a region of beauty, and Sylvia's plan of
having the Nowadays Club take the first outing in the Adirondacks was
voted an unqualified success.
"Better wait," advised the recipient of the impromptu motion of thanks.
"The vacation isn't nearly over yet. You may all be sorry you came."
Luncheon time came, and as no word was received from Roy or his
companion, Sylvia took heart, and began to hope that her brother's

indisposition was but a passing one.
"But it's just as well we came up," she said to her chums. "We intended to,
anyhow, and a day or two sooner doesn't make any difference to us. I did
intend to make the trip by boat; for the canoeing is said to be ideal from
Raquette Lake on."
"And we could have very much enjoyed a few more days at the Antlers,"
Hazel said. "But it is just perfect here. And they are going to have some
dances, too. We'll talk about them, though, when we know your brother is
better, Sylvia," she hastened to add.
"Oh, you mustn't let my family affairs put a damper on you girls!" was the
quick comment. "I can't have that!"
"Perhaps Roy himself will be well enough to come over to some of the
affairs," Rose suggested. "He is a lovely dancer."
"Well, you ought to know," said Hazel, significantly.
"Now, Baby, don't get sarcastic!" murmured Alice, soothingly.
But Rose did not seem to mind.
The drive to Lake Clear was entrancing. It was along a road that led through
the forest, where the trees met overhead in an arch of green. The forest was
as inviting as the lake had been, and the girls planned, later, to spend a day
or so walking along the woodland trails.
"Roy is so fond of the woods," Sylvia remarked. "When he knew he was to
come up here he brightened up at once, though he was in the depths of
despair over losing that chemical secret."
"Do you think he'll ever discover it again?" asked Hazel.
"I hope so. The doctor said he might if he could have perfect rest."
"Well, I can't imagine a more perfect place to rest than up here," added
Rose.
"It's a bit lonesome," said Alice, with a glance at the dense woods on either
side of the waggon trail.
"It wouldn't be with the right party," Hazel asserted.

"Meaning?" questioned Sylvia, with a glance at her chum.
"Any one you like, my dear."
"Any one or any ones," declared Rose. "I notice Hazel believes there is at
least more companionship in numbers."
"I'm not a bit worse than you, my dear."
"Don't let's spoil the day by even that sort of a discussion," Sylvia begged.
Mrs. Brownley was in front with the driver, and the girls occupied the other
two seats of the big carriage.
It was the height of the Adirondack season, and they saw many evidences of
campers and other summer folk enjoying themselves. It was a delightful
drive, and when Lake Clear was reached they started off on a little side road
toward Loneberg Camp.
Though it was called a camp, it was really a hotel of the smaller kind, with
enough comforts and conveniences to make it an ideal place to spend a
vacation, if one liked solitude, for it was well off in the woods.
There were not many guests, but some young chaps on the porch looked
hopeful as the four pretty girls drove up. There was a noticeable air of life
about them, as they "spruced-up."
"Mr. Montray and Mr. Pursell," repeated the clerk, when Mrs. Brownley
had made inquiries at the desk. "Yes, they were here, but they left this
morning."
"They left this morning!" echoed Sylvia, blankly surprised.
"Yes, miss. It seems Mr. Pursell was expecting friends, and when they did
not come he and his companion left about ten o'clock."
"Oh, dear!" sighed Sylvia. "And to think that we might have been here if I
hadn't—well, there's no use in lamenting, I suppose. They'll be back shortly,
I expect. We'll wait for them."
"No, miss, I don't think they'll be back to-day," the clerk said.
"Not back to-day! Where did they go?"

"I heard Mr. Pursell say they were going to visit friends who have a
bungalow on Lower Saranac. Your brother, is he, miss?"
"Yes."
"Well, your brother and his friend took some baggage with them, and I
should say they were going to stay a week."
"A week!" cried Sylvia. "They said nothing to me about it. Was it—was it
rather sudden?" she faltered.
"Yes, I should say it was," the clerk admitted.
"And my brother, was he better?"
"Well, miss, no, to tell you the truth. And I think his friend did not want him
to leave this place. But Mr. Pursell insisted, and they went away. However, I
have a letter for you. Mr. Montray left it to be given to you if you came.
Probably that will explain."
He handed Sylvia a sealed envelope. She took it with a heart that beat faster
than usual, and with a vague sense of worriment as if a calamity might
happen at any moment. Why had Roy left so suddenly?
Sylvia did not like it.

CHAPTER XXV
MAKING PLANS

While her girl friends looked on wonderingly, and while Mrs. Brownley
conversed in low tones with the hotel clerk, Sylvia tore open the envelope
that had been handed her. It bore her name, but she noted in a flash that it
was written in a scrawl, and not in the usually neat, though character-
indicating, chirography of Harry Montray. For Sylvia had had several letters
from him regarding her brother since the trouble had come to him, and she
had always admired the firm handwriting of the young man who had proved
such a friend to Roy.
"He must have written this in a hurry," was Sylvia's thought as she took
from the torn envelope the single sheet of paper.
And as she glanced at the signature, making sure, first of all, that it was
Harry's, the vague sense of foreboding increased.
Why had Roy left the camp-hotel so suddenly? Why had he not been
content to stay at Loneberg until he had recovered? Whence his sudden
determination to go some distance off and visit friends in a bungalow? And
who were the friends?
These were questions Sylvia hastily asked herself before she read the letter
so strangely left for her. But perhaps a perusal of it would settle them. She
read:
"Dear Miss Pursell.
"Please excuse the appearance of this note, as I have but a moment to write
it in, and must do it when Roy does not see me. I am leaving it with the
clerk, in the hope that you will soon come and claim it.
"I regret to inform you that Roy, after showing every indication of recovery
(except for a few relapses of which I informed you), has taken a sudden turn
for the worse to-day—the day when he and I expected you. He now insists
on going to visit some friends who have a bungalow on the eastern shore of

Lower Saranac Lake. Nothing I can say or do will get that notion out of his
head. I do not know what to do about it, save humour him.
"The name of these friends is Russman. Mr. Russman is a German whom, it
seems, Roy met while at college, and also later, after he came to our firm.
Mr. Russman is a chemist, and Roy has a notion he can help him in
recalling the details of the lost formula. I do not know whether that is fancy
or fact. At any rate, Roy insists on going to see Mr. Russman, and, of
course, I must go with him.
"We are starting at once, and will drive as best we can across country. The
roads are not good, and it would be much better to go by water, up through
Middle Saranac, but Roy will not listen to that.
"I am writing this as he is packing. I will do the best I can for him, but I
think it will be wise, when you get this, to come to Mr. Russman's
bungalow as soon as you can."
There followed directions for reaching it.
"Roy only heard the other day," the letter went on, "of the presence of Mr.
Russman in this vicinity, and he at once became more nervous than before.
The forgetting of the chemical formula seemed more than ever to prey on
his mind. That is why I sent you word that he was not as well as he had
been. But perhaps this trip may do him good, especially if it is followed by
a visit from you and your friends. If I may, without giving offence, I will
say that I think if Miss Rose Bancroft were to come Roy would greatly
appreciate it."
"I must show Rose that," Sylvia mentally resolved.
"So we are leaving at once," the missive concluded, "and I hope you will
follow as soon as you can. But if it is late when you get this, you had better
postpone your trip until to-morrow. Come by water, if possible, and come
straight to the bungalow. I will be there with Roy.
"With the best of wishes, I remain,
"Yours faithfully,

"Harry Montray."

Sylvia drew a long breath as she finished the letter.
"Oh, I hope it isn't bad news!" exclaimed Hazel.
"Is there anything we can do?" asked Alice.
"Where is Roy?" inquired Rose, unable longer to keep back the question
that was fairly burning on her lips.
"At the Russman bungalow, on Lower Saranac," slowly answered Sylvia.
"Oh, dear! I don't know what to do!"
"Tell me all about it, and let me advise you," said Mrs. Brownley. The letter
was read to the chaperon and the girls, and Rose was given her own special
message. She received it, as may well be imagined, blushingly.
"I will go to him!" she exclaimed. "Can we start now, Sylvia?"
"I'm afraid not," was the answer. "Harry—Mr. Montray—advises against
starting too late. And we certainly would hardly be able to take the road
through the wood at this hour."
"But what can we do?" asked Alice.
"I think we had better arrange to stay here for the night, or, better perhaps,"
said Mrs. Brownley, "go back to Saranac Inn. We can start from there in the
morning, hire a motor boat if we can get one, and go through Middle
Saranac Lake to Lower, and then on to the bungalow."
There was a moment of silence while Sylvia and the girls considered this
plan. Then Sylvia said:
"I think that will be the best. It seems hard not to go to Roy at once, but we
must consider the best for all of us. It would not do to get lost in the woods.
So we will delay our start until morning."
"And shall we stay here to-night?" asked Rose.
"I think we had better go back to Saranac," suggested Mrs. Brownley.
"Probably there are not accommodations enough here for all of us, and
besides, if we go to Lower Saranac we may have to stay some time, and
will want our luggage."
"I'm sorry, but I couldn't put you all up," said the clerk of the camp-hotel.
"There are, of course, the rooms Mr. Pursell and Mr. Montray had, but——"

"Thank you, we will go back to the Inn, and start from there in the
morning," Sylvia decided. "We have no baggage with us."
Thus it was decided, and the man with the horses was directed to get ready
for the return trip. Sylvia and the others of her party had tea at the camp,
and the clerk told them more details of the going away of Roy and his
friend. Roy had seemed strangely excited, the clerk said, at the prospect of
going to the Russman bungalow.
Sylvia could not shake off a morbid fear that something would happen—
nay, that it had already happened. But she tried to be brave, and not to
inflict her grief on the others.
However, Rose shared it, though she, too, put on a brave front. But Hazel
and Alice must have suspected, for they were sweetly sympathetic.
Harry Montray had had time only hastily to scribble the note, and leave it
with him for Sylvia, the clerk said, and then he had gone off with Roy in a
rig they hired to drive through the woods from Lake Clear to Lower
Saranac.
"But I would not advise you ladies to take that route," the young man said.
"We will not," decided Sylvia. "We'll go by boat."
They reached Saranac Inn well in time for dinner, and then began their
arrangements for making an early morning start for the lower lake and the
bungalow.
"Do you think your brother would be a guest there?" asked Alice.
"Most likely," Sylvia answered. "You see he and Mr. Russman—Professor
Russman it really is—are great friends. I have often heard Roy speak of
him, and he has often visited him at his home in Brooklyn."
"Well, then it won't be so bad if he goes there and stays," Hazel remarked.
"It may even do him good. Who knows but that he may hit upon that
formula again?"
"Oh, perhaps it will be all right—if Roy gets there," his sister said, and
there was something in her voice and manner that prompted Rose to ask:
"Why, Sylvia, don't you think he will get there?"

"Oh, my dear—I don't know—please don't ask me. I have such a queer
feeling!"
"You're all tired out—that's what's the matter!" declared Hazel. "You need a
good rest. We have been doing too much dancing."
"No, it isn't that," Sylvia said.
"Well, whatever it is, you need a rest," added Alice. "You lie down now, and
we'll pack your things for you. Not going to take a trunk; are you?"
"No, only our suit-cases, though we can't tell how long we shall stay."
"Can we stay at the bungalow?" asked Hazel.
"Oh, I don't know about that. But if we get up there we can hardly get back
the same day, and we'll have to stay somewhere. There are hotels and camps
up there, I think. We'll have to arrange to stay."
"Of course," said Rose. "We don't want to go away as soon as we have
arrived."
"Then, too, I must see about getting a boat," went on Sylvia.
"I asked about that," Mrs. Brownley said. "The hotel clerk informs me there
are several we can hire to take us to Lower Saranac. I have the names of the
men who run them. I'll go now to see about them. You must get some rest,
Sylvia."
"Oh, I'm not tired. I must see to the boat myself. This is my affair, in a
way."
"It's the affair of all of us!" declared Alice. "You can't do everything. I'll go
with Aunt Theodora and see about the boat. You can finish packing and be
ready to lie down then. Just leave it to us!"
And poor tired and worried Sylvia was glad enough to do so.
Mrs. Brownley was eminently practical in arranging for the motor boat. She
had the choice of several, but, on the advice of Alice, selected a rather small
one.
"The big ones look nicer," Alice said, "but you must remember we have to
go through the Saranac River from the middle lake to the upper, and we
don't want a boat that draws too much water. Canoes can make the trip all

right, but a motor boat of deep draught might not be able to if the water, for
any reason, were low. We don't want to be stranded."
"No, indeed," agreed the chaperon. So the smaller boat, though one
sufficiently large, was engaged.
"But I'm only at liberty for to-morrow," the pilot informed them. "I'll have
to come back with my boat to-morrow night, as another party has engaged
her."
"We only want you to take us up to the Russman bungalow and leave us,"
said Mrs. Brownley.
So it was arranged, and the next morning our friends were to start on their
trip through the two lakes to reach the bungalow.

CHAPTER XXVI
A LONELY PLACE

From Saranac Inn, down through Upper Saranac Lake, to a point where the
turn could be made, to go through the middle body of water to the lower, is,
perhaps, seven miles. The remainder of the trip, up past Eagle Island in
Lower Saranac, and to the point where Professor Russman's bungalow was
located, was about ten miles more, so the Nowadays Girls had a motor-boat
trip of nearly seventeen miles to make.
Under ordinary circumstances, and in waters more open, the journey would
have been only a matter of a few hours at most. But from the very start it
seemed that Fate was against our friends.
Not that anything very serious occurred, but a series of small, but annoying,
delays ensued from the very beginning.
In the first place, the girls were so tired, after their trip to Lake Clear, their
preparations of the night and their previous exertions, that they all slept late.
Even Mrs. Brownley did not arise at her usual time, and the consequence
was they all assembled at the very latest breakfast, and looked at one
another rather strangely.
"This isn't a very good augury," said Sylvia. "But I was so tired and sleepy."
"So was I," said Alice.
"I'm hardly awake yet," confessed Hazel.
"Nor I," admitted Rose. "But we must hurry."
They did—to the extent of making a hasty breakfast. Then it developed that
their motor-boat man was not on hand ready for them. They had gotten their
luggage together and gone down to the dock, only to see the Balsam, which
was the name of the craft they had engaged, tied disconsolately to the float,
with her engine partly dismantled.
"Why, what does this mean?" demanded Sylvia, rather indignantly.

A small boy was the only person in sight from whom it seemed possible to
get any information. He seemed to be there for that purpose, for he asked:
"Are you the party that's going to Lower Saranac?"
"Yes," Mrs. Brownley said, "but where is Mr. Wherry?" and she looked
around for the man from whom she had engaged the boat.
"He's sorry, lady," said the boy, and then he seemed overcome with
confusion. "He—he's——"
"Sorry? Sorry for what?" demanded Sylvia, brusquely.
"He's sorry he can't go."
"Can't go!" It was a protesting chorus.
"No'm. He can't go till he gits his engine fixed. Suthin's the matter of it."
"Oh!" and Sylvia uttered a sigh of relief. "Then it isn't anything serious."
"Huh! You'd think so if you heard Hank Wherry talk about it. But then he
makes a awful fuss over lots of things. He told me to stay here until you
folks come and tell you he'd be back as soon as he could. He's gone off to
get a bolt, or suthin' t' fix the engine."
"Oh, then he'll be back soon?" asked Hazel.
"I don't know how soon. Hank Wherry ain't much on hurryin'."
"Oh, why didn't I make inquiries about him and his boat before I engaged
it!" exclaimed Mrs. Brownley. "Now there isn't another craft we can get, I
suppose."
There was not, it developed, all the others available having gone to fill other
engagements.
"Never mind," said Sylvia. "We have plenty of time. It isn't such a long trip,
and even if we don't get there until late afternoon it will be all right. We
shall have to remain all night, anyhow; perhaps longer."
The boy seemed to want to say something more, but hardly knew how to
proceed.
"Well, what is it?" asked Rose, taking pity on his embarrassment.

"He—he said—Hank said, maybe if I stayed here and told you what I did
tell you that you—that maybe—that you'd give me a nickel," the boy
stammered.
"Of course!" Sylvia exclaimed, opening her purse. "Here is a quarter for
you."
The boy's face shone with delight at this unexpected windfall of wealth.
"Do you know where Mr. Wherry went?" asked Mrs. Brownley.
"No'm, I don't. But maybe I could find him for you," he volunteered, as he
partly opened a brown hand and gazed at the shining coin clasped tightly in
it.
"I wish you would," Sylvia said. "Tell him we are in a hurry to make a start.
We are late, but he is later."
"The late Mr. Hank Wherry," murmured Hazel.
The boy started off, and the girls found a shady place on the little pier to
wait for their boatman. The Balsam's engine had been partly dismantled.
"He'll never be able to start to-day," said Alice.
"Oh, there isn't so much to do," Sylvia said, gazing with an experienced eye
at the machinery. "He's taken out the carburetor. I'd rather have him repair it
now than after we get started."
The other girls agreed with her.
They were just getting nervously impatient for the return of their boatman,
when they descried him hurrying back.
"Sorry to have kept you waiting," he apologised. "But I was giving the
motor a trial run, getting ready for you, when the carburetor began making
trouble, and I knew I'd have to have it fixed. But we can run all the better
now, and we'll make up for lost time."
"I hope so," said Mrs. Brownley. "How long will you be now?"
"Not more than half an hour."
But again Fate stepped in and disappointed the girls. For Mr. Wherry was
over an hour making the adjustments. So it was nearly noon when the start

was made from the dock near the Inn.
"Well, she is making good time," observed Sylvia, as they finally chugged
off in the Balsam.
"Oh, yes, miss. We'll be there in good season now. I'm sorry to have delayed
you, but I'll get you there in plenty of time."
It was the best that could be done under the circumstances, and there
seemed no help for it. Certainly the motor boat was at last running well. The
Nowadays Girls knew enough about machinery to decide that.
"The carburetor has been giving me trouble right along," said the pilot, "and
so I put on a new one."
They were passing through Upper Saranac, and the scene on every hand
was one of beauty. The day was a perfect one of warm sunshine, and the
waters of the lake sparkled invitingly. In the distance were the cool woods,
the unbroken forest stretching away on every side.
Here and there were other craft containing gay parties of summer visitors.
Now and then snatches of song floated across the water.
Sylvia and her chums were all in better spirits now that they were actually
on their way to see Roy. But in spite of the sunshine, and the feeling of
exhilaration that came from swiftly passing over the water, Sylvia could not
shake off a sense of foreboding.

SYLVIA AND HER CHUMS WERE ALL IN BETTER SPIRITS NOW
THAT THEY WERE ACTUALLY ON THEIR WAY TO SEE ROY.

"It's foolish, I know," she said to herself. "But I feel just as though
something were going to happen. Pshaw! I mustn't worry! I must be bright
and cheerful for Roy's sake. He'll need cheering up, I think."
They ate their lunch on the boat, for they had brought a substantial one with
them. Sylvia offered to steer while Mr. Wherry ate some of the sandwiches
they offered him from their store.
"No, I'd better keep the wheel," he said. "I can steer with one hand and eat
with the other. We'll be in uncertain waters soon."

This did not tend to reassure the girls, who had been made a little nervous
by the delay of the morning.
"Are we likely to—to have trouble?" asked Alice.
"Oh, well, nothing so much, miss," was the answer. "We may run aground
here and there, that's all. But I'll do my best."
"Well, don't run aground so hard that you can't run off again," begged
Sylvia.
The afternoon was half gone when they started on the passage through
Saranac River, connecting the middle lake with the lower body of water.
The stream, while perfectly adapted for canoes, was, at this season, because
of an unusually dry month, not so good for motor boats. There were certain
low places and sandbars.
"But I guess we'll get over it all right," said Mr. Wherry. "I'll run slow, and
——"
The words were fairly jarred out of his mouth, for the boat ran into
something and slowed up so suddenly that the engine was almost jarred
from the bed-beams. With a quick motion Sylvia leaned over and pulled out
the electrical switch, thus stopping the motor.
"Stuck!" exclaimed Mr. Wherry. "I didn't think we were near that bar. And
we're not!" he added, with something of triumph in his tone. "There's the
one I was looking out for up ahead there. This is a new one that we're fast
on."
That was, however, little consolation for the girls.
"Can't we get off?" asked Hazel, anxiously.
The others waited rather apprehensively for an answer.
"Oh, I reckon I can pole us off," was the reply.
Mr. Wherry began to remove his shoes and stockings.
"Is he—is he going to swim?" asked Rose.
"No, I'm only going to wade," he answered for himself. "I reckon if I get
out and push I can shove her off. Now if you'll all come in the stern you'll
raise her nose out of the mud."

He climbed over the side into the water. The girls and Mrs. Brownley
moved toward the stern, thereby elevating the bow, and after some rather
strenuous work Mr. Wherry succeeded in freeing the craft from the bar.
Then they went on again, but the running aground had delayed them, so that
the afternoon was fast waning as they emerged into Lower Saranac Lake
proper.
"But now we're all right," the boatman said. "It's good water from now on to
the upper end. We'll have no more trouble."
Nor did they, at least just then. The Balsam chugged on her way serenely,
and the girls had hopes of arriving at their destination while there was yet
some daylight left.
But Fate had not yet finished with them. Mr. Wherry, it appeared, was not
so well acquainted with the location of the Russman bungalow as he had
thought. He went to the wrong landing and, after stopping to make
inquiries, started off again.
It was now dusk.
"I wish we were there," said Rose, with a nervous, shivery glance over her
shoulder. "It's lonesome up here."
It was indeed, for the dense forest came down to the very edge of the lake,
and there were no camps or cottages to be seen.
"We'll be there in five minutes now," said Mr. Wherry. "It is lonesome, but
then some folks like that up here in the Adirondacks."
The Balsam chugged on, while the darkness seemed to shut down like a pall
over everything.

CHAPTER XXVII
THE DESERTED BUNGALOW

"There's your landing," said Mr. Wherry, suddenly, as he shut off the power
and turned the bow of the Balsam toward the shore.
"Where?" asked Sylvia.
"Just ahead there, where you see that glimmer of light. I remember the
place now. Queer I should forget it. But I was thinking of a party named
Roseman that had a bungalow up here last year. I got him mixed up with
Russman, and that's why I went to the wrong place. But I'm all right now."
The mistake he had made, however, had cost them some ten minutes of
time. But at last they were at the place, and the girls gave sighs of relief, for
it seemed that some of the nervous strain was over.
"Is the Russman bungalow near the lake?" asked Mrs. Brownley.
"Oh, yes, quite near. You take that path, right where you see the light. That
lantern is at the dock. And you go up the hill, and the bungalow is in plain
sight. You can't miss it."
"Are you going right back?" asked Sylvia of Mr. Wherry.
"Oh, yes, miss. I have a party to take to Big Tupper Lake to-morrow, so I
have to go back. If you'll excuse me, I'll just set your things on shore, and I
won't get out myself. I'm late as it is, and I don't fancy going past those
sandbars after dark. But I've got to do it."
"Oh, we shall manage very nicely if you set our valises and cases ashore,"
the chaperon said. "We are used to managing for ourselves."
She paid Mr. Wherry the price agreed upon as the boat was slowly drifting
up to the little wharf. The girls could see the lantern now quite plainly. It
was hung near a rustic sign that gave the name of the Russman bungalow.
A little later they stood on the shore of the lake in the darkness that was
illuminated only by the faint gleam of the hanging lantern, and the Balsam

was turning around and going back over the course it had come.
"It's certainly lonesome," shivered Alice, with a nervous glance around.
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Sylvia. "With a bungalow so close at hand? You can
even see the lights from it," and she pointed to a glow that shone through
the trees.
"Yes, I think that must be the place," said Mrs. Brownley. "I suppose we
had better go on up to it."
"Shall we shout to let them know we are here?" asked Hazel.
"Oh, no!" exclaimed Sylvia. "They wouldn't know who it was, and it might
startle Roy. Just go up quietly."
"I do hope there is some place where we can stay to-night," said Rose.
"Wouldn't it be dreadful if the bungalow should be so filled with guests that
there was no place for us!"
"Oh, there will be other places," Sylvia replied. "I made inquiries before
starting, and was told there were several hotels in this vicinity, at least
boarding-houses and camps."
"But how to find them in the dark?" asked Hazel.
"We'll manage somehow. We aren't Nowadays Girls for nothing!" and
Sylvia laughed.
"Well, forward—march!" commanded the chaperon. Each one took her suit-
case and started up the path that showed dimly in the gleam of the hanging
lantern.
"There goes the motor boat," said Alice, turning to gaze at the moving,
shimmering light that betokened that Mr. Wherry was making all speed
down Lower Saranac Lake.
"Yes, we have to stay now, whether we want to or not," added Hazel.
"Well, we want to stay!" declared Rose, with positiveness.
"Of course," assented Sylvia.
The faint chug-chug of the Balsam came to them as they made their way up
the ascending path toward the gleam of light in the woods which betokened

the presence of the bungalow. Gradually the sound of the motor became
more faint, as the craft went around a bend. Then it died out altogether.
Suddenly there sounded a loud cry in the tree over the girls' heads.
"Oh!" screamed Hazel.
"A horrid loon!" gasped Alice.
"An owl!" scoffed Sylvia, with a laugh. "When will you girls learn to be
nature-lovers?"
The weird cry of the hooting bird was repeated, but the girls were not so
frightened now as they walked on. The glow of light increased as they
neared the bungalow, which they could dimly see now, outlined amid the
trees.
"I do hope they ask us to supper," sighed Alice.
"Of course they will," said Sylvia. "If they don't, we have a good part of our
lunch left."
They were now directly in front of the bungalow, which proved to be one of
good size, with a porch all the way around it. The building stood some
distance back from the lake, on a little elevation of ground that gave a good
view.
The front and back doors were wide open, which fact was easily
ascertained, as broad shafts of light came from each door, cutting a path of
yellow mellowness in the blackness of the woods. They had approached the
Russman property at an angle.
"It's rather an awkward time to come visiting," Sylvia said, as she and her
chums, with Mrs. Brownley, walked up the front steps. "It is a little too late
for dinner and too early for breakfast."
"We couldn't help it," Alice said. "It was the fault of that motor-boat man.
He delayed us."
They could now look into the living-room of the bungalow. A large hanging
lamp gave ample light, and they saw that the apartment was most
comfortably furnished. There were big easy-chairs, window seats draped
with Indian blankets and rugs, and a log fire which had died down into
glowing embers, for the night was rather chilly.

Through the living-room a glimpse could be had into the dining-room, over
the table of which hung another large lamp, lighted, and casting on the
board a mellow illumination. The table was set for several persons, but it
appeared the meal had not been begun.
"We're just in time," whispered Hazel.
"Hush! Some one will hear you," cautioned Alice.
But Sylvia was impressed, almost from the first, by a strange and eerie
silence about the place. There was not a sound. Not a voice spoke. There
was no laughter. Even the clatter of dishes, always attendant upon
mealtime, was absent, and there was no talk from the quarters of the
servants, though the light streaming from the rear door would seem to
indicate that the kitchen was in use.
"It is very strange," mused Sylvia. And again a sense of foreboding came to
her. Something seemed to hang over her—to press upon her heart. She tried
in vain to shake it off.
Mrs. Brownley knocked on the door. The sound echoed through the rooms,
and they waited expectantly for the answer of approaching footsteps.
But only silence greeted them.
"Knock again," urged Rose.
The chaperon did so, but once more the echo was the only answer.
"That is strange," said Sylvia, voicing aloud the feeling that was
overmastering her. "Very strange!"
"They don't hear us," murmured Aunt Theodora.
"Call!" suggested Hazel. "They may be out in the woods."
"What! after dark, and with supper all served?" asked Alice, incredulously.
A third time Mrs. Brownley rapped, and then, waiting a few seconds, she
called:
"Is any one here?"
There was no reply.
"Roy!" suddenly called Sylvia. "Roy Pursell! It is I—Sylvia!"

Her voice carried well. In that silent place it seemed to fill and echo through
the woods. But no one answered.
"Let us go in," said Mrs. Brownley. "Something may have happened."
"Oh—what?" gasped Rose.
"I don't know, my dear. But evidently they cannot hear us. I am sure they
would welcome us if they could, so let us go in and make our presence
known."
Rather embarrassed, they made their way into the living-room. They took
pains to make considerable noise, letting the screen door slam shut, but
their intrusion was not challenged.
"It is very strange," Sylvia observed again.
They went into the dining-room. And there the strangeness was increased,
for there was every evidence that the family and their guests had at least
taken their places at the table, though no one had eaten anything. For
napkins were unfolded, and in one or two cases had fallen to the floor. And
two chairs were upset, as though the occupants had arisen hastily, and in so
doing had overturned the pieces of furniture. The table was slightly
disarranged, too, showing more plainly that it had been left suddenly, and
by all the guests.
"But what does it all mean?" gasped Sylvia.
"I can't imagine," answered the chaperon.
They stood looking at one another, and then gazed about the deserted
dining-room. The answer to the puzzle was not plain.
"Can this be the right place?" asked Alice. "We may have made a mistake."
"It is the Russman bungalow, surely enough," Sylvia said. "I have heard
Roy describe it several times. And I saw, in the living-room, a suit-case
with Mr. Russman's name on it. This is the right place."
"But where is Roy—Mr. Montray—Mr. Russman? Where is—every one?"
Rose asked, and there was a sob in her voice.
"I don't know," said Sylvia, simply.

Mrs. Brownley had penetrated to the kitchen through the butler's pantry.
The girls followed her.
There was no one there. But the fire was burning in the stove, and on it
were several dishes of food, being kept warm. On the kitchen table were
other dishes ready to serve, but the food in them was cold.
"Is any one here?" Sylvia cried, raising her voice in a nervous shout.
No one answered. It was as though a blight had fallen on the deserted
bungalow—a blight like that of some ancient fable. The occupants of the
house in the woods had been made to vanish just as they were about to sit
down to the table.
"Is any one here?" Mrs. Brownley cried, standing at the foot of the stairs
and directing her voice upward.
No one answered.
Once again they walked through the deserted lower rooms, more and more
puzzled, and trying to pluck up courage to ascend the stairs. The silence
was oppressive.
"The place is deserted," said Sylvia, in a low voice that, quiet as it was,
sounded too loud in that silent place.
"Deserted!" whispered Rose. "Then where is Roy?"

CHAPTER XXVIII
MISSING

Clutching at the hearts of the girls there seemed to be an unseen spirit of
fear in that deserted bungalow. They all felt it. Even Mrs. Brownley, who
was not unduly given to indulging her nerves, seemed to feel the
depression.
"Deserted!" murmured Sylvia. "Do you really think this bungalow is
deserted?"
"What else can we think?" asked Rose. "There isn't a soul here."
"But they have been here, and within a few minutes," Hazel argued. Going
into the kitchen, she put her hand on the outside of some of the dishes on
the stove. "They are not cold yet," she said. "They must have gone out just
before we came here."
"I hope that wasn't the reason," Alice said, grimly enough, but even she did
not smile at her joke.
"They must be somewhere about," Sylvia went on. "They can't have heard
us."
"We made noise enough," declared Alice.
"Let's go upstairs," proposed Hazel.
"In another person's bungalow!" exclaimed Rose.
"What of it?" came from Alice. "We've already taken a good many liberties,
and a few more won't matter. They may all be upstairs and—well,
something may have happened. They may be unable to answer us."
"Something happened!" gasped Rose. "Don't say that or——"
"No, don't make us any more nervous than we are," urged Sylvia.
"What I meant," Alice explained, "was that they may have gone upstairs,
because of some alarm down here, and be afraid to come down. There may

be only some ladies and children here with the servants, and they may be
hiding up there."
"You're only making it worse," Sylvia cautioned her, with a glance at timid,
shrinking Rose. "Let's go upstairs and see."
"Oh, but if there should be——" Rose began.
"Look here!" exclaimed Alice, vigorously, "all I meant was that perhaps one
of the children had a fit—a nervous crying spell—it is rather lonesome up
here, you see, and—well," she finished, "the family, or what is left of them,
may be upstairs. Let's have a look."
"I think it is the only thing to do," said Mrs. Brownley. "We must satisfy
ourselves that there is no one here. Then we shall know what next to do."
"I wonder what that will be," murmured Hazel.
The bungalow was well lighted with hanging and other kerosene lamps.
Electricity had not penetrated that far, as yet. There were lights upstairs, for
the glow of them could be seen.
"Come on—all together!" cried Sylvia, taking the lead. At least she was
giving an example of boldness under trying circumstances. They all felt the
pall of the mystery that seemed to have fallen over the bungalow.
"Is any one up there?" Sylvia demanded, pausing halfway up.
There was no answer.
"I say!" exclaimed Alice, who brought up the rear. "Some of us ought to
stay down here, I think."
"Why?" asked Mrs. Brownley.
"Because, if the owners come in unexpectedly, while we are upstairs, and
they hear us moving around, knowing they left no one in the place, they
may take us for burglars and——"
"That's so," agreed Hazel. "I'll stay with you, Alice."
"No, it is better that we all go up!" Mrs. Brownley decided. "Come on,
girls."

"I don't believe we'll find a soul up there," Sylvia said, under her breath. But
she went on boldly, nevertheless.
The bungalow was a large one, artistically arranged, and the upper floor
contained a number of rooms and baths. There was a small third story,
where the servants' rooms were located. As the place was well lighted it did
not take long to make a thorough search. The rooms showed that the
members of the household had come down from their rooms after dressing
for the dinner which was spread out in readiness for them in the dining-
room below.
But of the occupants of the bungalow there was not a sign, save the mute
ones of scattered garments and personal belongings.
"Where can they be?" wondered Alice.
"It is as though a plague had fallen upon this place, and they had all fled to
escape," ventured Hazel.
"Oh, I wish you wouldn't say such things!" exclaimed Rose.
"Here's Roy's room!" suddenly cried Sylvia, pausing outside a certain
bedroom.
"Is—is he in it?" gasped Rose, clinging to a faint hope.
"No," and the voice of Sylvia was sad. "His things are here—some of the—
the brushes I gave him," she faltered, as she caught sight of her brother's
toilet articles on his dresser.
"Isn't it puzzling?" Alice said.
"It's terrifying!" Hazel declared. "It's like something you've read of in a
book."
Mrs. Brownley was going about systematically, looking in every room. It
was the height of ill manners, she felt, to thus prowl about another person's
house, but once she had started on that disagreeable quest she would do it
thoroughly. She even penetrated to the servants' quarters, but there was no
sign of them.
The whole bungalow showed every appearance of having been hastily
deserted by the whole number of its occupants. With faltering steps the girls

and their chaperon descended the stairs. Sylvia paused to turn down a lamp
that was smoking.
"Well, there's only one thing to do," declared Hazel, and she seemed to have
arrived at some desperate decision.
"What is it?" asked Rose.
"We must hurry down to the lake and call back that man with the motor
boat. He must take us back to—to some place where there is some one.
Hurry! We must call to him before it is too late."
"It is too late now," said Alice. "He is far away by this time."
"I'm not going back!" declared Sylvia. "Roy is here—or he has been here
within a few minutes, and I'm going to stay until I find him."
"Oh, but we can't stay here—with—with this mystery hanging over us!"
gasped Hazel. "It's so weird and terrifying. I want that man back with his
motor boat. At least he is human. Come on, Alice, we'll call to him."
Before the others could stop them the two girls ran down the lamp-lighted
path to the edge of the lake. It was not far, and fear and desperation because
of the strangeness that seemed to hang over the deserted bungalow made
them forget the fear they would ordinarily have had in plunging through the
woods after nightfall.
"You can't make him hear!" Sylvia called after them.
But Hazel and Alice gave her no heed. They raised their shrill voices in a
shout after Hank Wherry, who had turned about and departed in the Balsam.
It seemed a long time since this had occurred, but really it was only a few
minutes, for the search of the bungalow, though it took a considerable
period of time, as marked by nerves, was not very long in actual
measurement.
"We must make him hear!" said Hazel, desperately. "Call again, Alice."
They called and shouted. They flung the name of the man and his boat to
the night winds, and mingled that with the appeal for "Help!"
But only echoes answered them.

"Oh, do stop it!" begged Rose, advancing a little way down the lamp-lit
path. "Stop calling!"
"Let them go on," advised Mrs. Brownley. "It's better than having them
crying hysterically, and if they don't make that Wherry person hear they
may attract the attention of those who so strangely deserted the bungalow.
Let them call."
And so Hazel and Alice called, and called again, awakening the echoes of
the forest, sending their young voices out over the silent waters of Saranac.
Now and then an owl hooted, as if in derision, and then would come the
weird and nerve-racking screech of some loon, to remind the girls of the
other night they had spent alone in the open. But there was no human
answer.
Disconsolately Alice and Hazel rejoined the others. To do them credit
neither showed any signs of breaking into hysterical tears. They were
Nowadays Girls in every sense of the word. They were too sensible and too
healthful to give way easily to their feelings, though certainly this was a
very trying time.
"Well, what are we to do?" asked Rose.
"Go back to the bungalow," decided Mrs. Brownley. "I, for one, am hungry
—ravenous. This forest air gives one such an appetite."
"I'm simply starving," Alice confessed. "But what shall we eat? The remains
of our lunch?"
"There is a very good meal in readiness up there," the guardian said, waving
her hand toward the lit-up bungalow. "All it needs is re-heating."
"Oh, but would you take that?" gasped Hazel.
"Why not? We intend to call, and be the guests of Professor Russman, when
we can find him. As Roy Pursell is—or was—a guest, surely he will receive
Roy's sister and her friends. Simply because the Russman family is not here
to welcome us need not stop us from eating. In fact, I think they will be
glad, when they do return, to find that we have made ourselves at home,"
finished the chaperon.

"If they do return," said Alice, and she could not keep from her voice a tone
of gloom.
"Oh, of course they'll come back!" declared Sylvia. She spoke almost
cheerfully. "I think Aunt Theodora is perfectly right. We'll go up there and
eat our dinner. It will make us all feel better, and when it is finished, why,
I'm sure the family will come back, and the mystery will be explained."
It did seem a bit odd to make thus free with another person's house and
belongings, not to say food. But the girls cast aside their first scruples, and
entered into the spirit of the affair.
They laid aside their hats and wraps, and the fire, which had not gone out,
was coaxed into more brightness with some dry wood ready in the kitchen.
Mrs. Brownley put on a kettle of water to make fresh tea, for that in the pot
had stood too long. She also warmed some of the cooling food, for she had
been an expert Southern cook in her day.
"Now draw your chairs up to the table, and we'll begin," was Sylvia's
invitation when everything was in readiness. "We do not know to whom we
are indebted for this, but we will show due appreciation when we meet the
proper persons."
There was a moment of hesitation, and then they began. And there had been
no exaggeration when appetites had been spoken of. Each one ate heartily,
and gradually, in a measure at least, the feeling of gloom wore off.
But there was still a sense of oppression, though perhaps not so much that
as a feeling that "something was going to happen."
"Well, we shan't starve, at any rate," Sylvia said, still keeping that cheerful
note in her voice. "There is enough food here for some time to come."
She had been out in the kitchen, looking through the pantry.
"You—you don't mean to say we are going to stay here for another meal?"
gasped Rose.
"Stay here! Why not?" asked Sylvia. "Where else can we stay? At least until
the family, or some of them, return and tell us what has happened and
where my brother is. We'll go to a hotel, of course, if there is one around
here, but this place isn't as much settled as I supposed. Of course we'll stay
here!"

"All night?" Hazel wanted to know.
"If we have to—yes. I'm going to have another cup of tea and some more of
that delicious plum cake," Sylvia went on.
Her now calm spirits had an influence on all of them. They finished the
meal, and even washed the dishes. The hour was growing late, and once
more a little feeling of nervousness oppressed them.
It was when Alice went out on the porch to look down toward the lake, that
she saw that which moved her to exclaim:
"Girls, here comes some one!"
"Where?" demanded Sylvia.
"See! That light!"
A gleam was observed bobbing about in the woods. It flickered here and
there, now being obscured by some trees, and again shining clear.
"Who can it be?" murmured Rose.
"Hark!" Hazel cautioned them.
The murmur of voices came to them—women's voices mingling with those
of men.
"Some one is coming at last!" exclaimed Sylvia, with a sigh of relief. She
had kept up nearly as long as she could under the strain.
Along a woodland path came a party of men and women. Several lanterns
could now be seen.
"It looks like a searching party," said Mrs. Brownley.
"I wonder if they have come to look for the lost family," Rose proposed.
Into the gleam of lamplight from the open doors of the bungalow came the
men and women. A tall bearded man was in the lead, and at the sight of him
Sylvia exclaimed:
"Professor Russman!"
"Ha! What is that? Who is there?" he asked, shading his eyes with his hand
that he might the better see who spoke. "Who is it?" he asked, sharply.

"It is I—Sylvia Pursell. Oh, where is my brother Roy?" she asked, eagerly.
"Is he here? Was he here? We came to find him but——"
"You—here?" the professor cried. "Roy's sister! This is a strange
coincidence."
"Where is Roy?" his sister demanded.
"Now please don't get excited," begged Mr. Russman. Perhaps he had had
enough of it that night. "It is unfortunate, but your brother is not here. He
was with us, but now he is, I regret to say, missing!"
"Missing!" gasped Sylvia. "Has he—is he——"
She could not continue, but swayed unsteadily and put out her hands like
one groping in the dark.

CHAPTER XXIX
A SLEEPLESS NIGHT

"Steady, my dear!" came the calm voice of Mrs. Brownley. "Don't go off
now. It will be all right."
She put her arms about Sylvia, and the pressure, with the calming words,
had an effect. With a shudder the girl held herself back from the brink of a
faint.
"But where is Roy?" she faltered, moistening her dry lips with a tongue
scarcely more wet. "What has happened to him?"
"That we do not know, my dear young lady," said Professor Russman, who
had now ascended the steps of his bungalow, followed by his wife and the
servants. "Will you not come in?" he asked, courteously—"you and your
friends," and he included them all with a friendly gesture.
"We have been in," said Mrs. Brownley, thinking it best that she should
make the explanation now. "We took the liberty of getting our supper. We
arrived here—the place was deserted—we could not understand. So we
helped ourselves while waiting."
"And you were perfectly welcome—all of you," their host went on. "It is a
strange story. If you will come inside I will tell you. Ah, to think of finding
you here when we come back from our unsuccessful search—you of all
persons in the world!" exclaimed the professor, gazing at Sylvia.
"Your—your unsuccessful search," she repeated, wonderingly. "I do not
understand."
"And no wonder," broke in Mrs. Russman. "We cannot understand it
ourselves, Sylvia. It is like a dream—a nightmare."
"But is Roy—alive?" his sister faltered.
"Yes, or he was when he rushed out of here an hour or so ago," said the
professor, gravely. "You may go on serving the meal," he added to the

servants. "My wife will want something and so shall I. Adolph and Mr.
Montray may return later."
"Oh, is Harry here too?" asked Sylvia.
"Yes, he was helping us in the search."
"What search?" Sylvia said. She was doing all the questioning, and the
others deferred to her, as it was her right.
"Come inside and I will tell you everything," said the professor. "Will you
not have a cup of tea?"
"We had plenty," Mrs. Brownley replied. "In fact, we made free to help
ourselves."
"I am glad you did," was his friendly retort. "It is no time for ceremony."
Sylvia knew the scientist and his wife, though not as intimately as did Roy.
But they welcomed her as an old friend, and her companions also. Soon
they were all seated in the dining-room, and while the maids served the
belated meal, explanations were made on both sides.
"But why did Roy go away if he was here?" Sylvia asked, when Professor
Russman had only begun his remarks.
"I do not know," he answered, gravely. "Perhaps you can explain that. I
shall tell you all I know. He came here——"
"And you don't know where he is now?" Sylvia asked. She really could not
refrain from the interruption.
"He is out there—somewhere," said Professor Russman, solemnly, and he
waved his hand toward the forest that enclosed the bungalow on three sides.
In front was Saranac Lake.
"Out—out there?" faltered Sylvia.
"But my son Adolph and Roy's friend, Harry Montray, are searching for
him," went on the scientist, with as cheerful a smile as he could summon in
the emergency. "Never fear! They will find him and bring him back to us. It
is but a temporary whim. Perhaps born of his trouble. Listen, now, and I
will tell you."

He led the way into the living-room, while the servants cleared the table.
Mrs. Russman, who had been made acquainted, as had her husband, with
Mrs. Brownley and the others, had made them welcome most hospitably.
"Roy came to see me with his friend, Harry Montray, arriving yesterday,"
the scientist went on. "I was surprised to see him, as I did not know he was
up here, thinking him with the chemical concern. I was greatly surprised
when he told me that he had been ill, and had lost a most valuable chemical
secret."
"Isn't it too bad!" exclaimed Sylvia. "We all feel so dreadfully about it; Roy
losing his health and all that!"
"So his friend Harry quietly explained to me," the scientist resumed. "Roy
wanted to consult with me about some formulas and I was only too glad to
help him. He seemed perfectly rational and at times he surprised me by the
grasp he had on the subject of coal-tar products. He has made a deep study
of them."
"Perhaps too deep," murmured Sylvia. "That is what caused his
breakdown."
"So I surmised, after I had talked with him a short time," said Mr. Russman.
"Well, to make a long story short, we made him welcome here at the
bungalow, and told him he and his companion could stay as long as they
liked. I even arranged to go over with him some of the chemical
combinations that might lead to his rediscovery of the lost formula. He was
seemingly delighted with that."
Mr. Russman paused for breath. Then, almost for the first time, Sylvia and
her friends noticed how exhausted and bedraggled were he and his wife, as
well as the servants.
"Oh, what have you all been doing?" she asked. "It is unfair of me to keep
you talking here when you need rest."
"No, it is all right. It is only that we are tired from having tried to trace Roy
through the woods. I have only a little more to tell. Then we shall rest and
resume the search."
Rose showed her suffering in her face, but she tried to hide it and even
smiled wanly as she glanced at Sylvia.

"I could see that your brother was not in the best of health," went on
Professor Russman, "though he had himself pretty well in hand. But the
discussion of intricate chemical problems must have been too much for his
brain, weakened by his illness.
"However, matters did not seem to be very bad, and I really had hopes that I
might lead his memory along the paths from which it had unwittingly
strayed.
"We were about to sit down to the dinner table, after a most pleasant
afternoon, when your brother, I regret to say, Sylvia, was suddenly seized
with a sort of delirium. He was not at all like himself, and, before any of us
could stop him, he quickly rose from the table and rushed from the place,
out into the woods."
"Without saying a word?" asked Sylvia, her heart beating fast.
"He merely exclaimed: 'I know where to find it! I know where to find it!'
Then he rushed out, without his hat, arising so hastily that he overturned his
chair.
"Out he rushed, and, for a few seconds, we did not know what to do. It was
as though we had all been stricken. Then his friend, Harry, called to us to go
after him—that Roy was out of his mind, did not know what he was doing,
and might come to some harm.
"Then we, too, servants and all, stopping only to take some lanterns, rushed
out after the unfortunate youth. We left everything as it stood, thinking we
should soon return. And—well, here we are—we failed in our quest."
And that was the explanation of the deserted bungalow. It was natural
enough when the cause was known.
"And you could not find Roy?" asked Sylvia.
"Not a trace of him," returned Mrs. Russman.
"But that is not to be wondered at, considering the darkness and the almost
impenetrable forest," her husband added. "We were hampered in our search.
We shall renew it under more favourable circumstances in the morning."
"If Roy does not return, by himself, in the meanwhile," said the professor's
wife, hopefully.

"Oh, of course, yes," he agreed.
"You say your son, and Roy's friend, are still keeping up the search?" asked
Mrs. Brownley.
"Yes," the professor answered. "They went to get some of the professional
guides of this neighbourhood, and will institute a general search. They will
probably be out all night. They arranged to get something to eat at the house
of one of the guides. They both wanted to continue the search, but I felt I
must come back to the bungalow. I could not tell what would happen here."
"It was well for us you did come back," Sylvia said. "We did not know what
to think."
The girls told their story of having come to the Adirondacks, and of their
trip, thus far, into the woods. Professor Russman then gave more details of
Roy's strange running away.
"What do you think he meant when he said he knew where to find it?"
asked Sylvia.
"I think he referred to the chemical formula. But he was in a delirium, of
course," Mr. Russman said, "and was not responsible for what he said."
"Oh, I do hope he returns," his sister cried.
Then began a nerve-racking wait. Some of the girls went to bed, but Sylvia
remained up all night, sleepless. Mrs. Brownley sat with her, in her room,
and each one started at the slightest sound—listening hopefully.

CHAPTER XXX
A GENERAL ALARM

Dawn came, rosy-pale at first, but turning to red, and thrusting back into the
depths of the forest the blackness of the night—the long night that had
seemed like a pall of blackness over the hearts of Sylvia and her friends.
And with the dawn came hope, renewed hope, as it always does.
"First, a good breakfast!" said Professor Russman, as he greeted his guests.
"A good meal, and we shall be ready to take up the fight of the day. How
did you sleep, Sylvia?"
"Not at all," she said, trying not to speak wearily, and it needed but a glance
at her eyes to show how she had spent the night hours—in a useless vigil,
hoping against hope.
"Then you will sleep all the better to-night," was his cheerful comment.
"We shall have Roy back with us then."
"I hope so," murmured Rose, but so low that only Sylvia heard her. She
pressed her chum's hand under the cover of the tablecloth, for they were
then at breakfast.
The meal did put new heart into them, though Sylvia could not help
wondering what fare her brother had, and where he would eat. She looked
out of the bungalow window into the dense forest—a wood marked here
and there by trails along which the search must now be made for the
missing young man.
"What is the first thing to do?" asked Mrs. Brownley, as they pushed back
their chairs from the table. The chaperon was one of those efficient women
who like things done decently and in order, even when there was such an
emergency matter as the search for a lost person. She was a great believer in
system, and the new doctrine of efficiency.
"I think we shall go down to the house of one of the guides, whom Adolph
was to see last night," answered the professor. "Old Sam may have some

news. Yes, that is what we shall do first."
"And after that?" asked Sylvia.
"It all depends. But don't get discouraged, my dear, if we do not have word
from your brother at once. He may be in the woods for several days and
nights before we find him."
Sylvia uttered a low cry of protest.
"Oh, no—no!" she exclaimed.
"But there will be comparatively little danger," Mr. Russman said. "It is the
height of summer. It would do no harm to spend several nights in the open.
But there are many shelters and open camps in the woods, and your brother
is enough of a woodsman to build a shelter for himself, is he not?"
"Under ordinary circumstances, yes," Sylvia answered. "But if he is
delirious——"
"Which I am convinced he was, or he never would have rushed out the way
he did," Mr. Russman said. "It is better to face the worst, and then every
little we can remove makes us so much better off. Even a delirious man
would be able to realise that he must have shelter. But, even without it, he
would suffer little in the woods at this season."
"There are no wild beasts; are there?" asked Alice.
"No, young lady. At least, not around here. Deer are the largest animals, but
the hunting season is closed, so there is no danger of an accident from guns.
"Oh, do not worry! I am sure we shall find Roy all right and that he will not
suffer. If we cannot locate him ourselves I will cause a general alarm to be
sounded. All the guides, canoemen, campers and cottagers of the vicinity
will be glad to join in the search. It is often done up here when a person is
lost in the woods."
"Does that often happen?" asked Rose.
"Oh, yes, and in nearly every case they are found again. Of course it is easy
to get lost, for the trails are confusing to one who does not know them," the
professor said. "But we will hope for the best. We, ourselves, followed Roy
as far as we could last night, but he eluded us. However, perhaps my son
and Harry will have had better success.

"Now we will go to Old Sam's house. He is one of the best guides in this
region, and Adolph knows him well. He will be able to advise us. Do not be
discouraged."
He spoke hopefully—cheerfully—and put heart into Sylvia and the others.
It was an almost tragic turn to the Adirondack outing of the Nowadays
Girls. They had been so happy but a comparatively short time before—at
the dance—the masquerade. Would Sylvia, at least, and would Rose ever be
so happy again? Or would the shadow of the lost one always hover over
them? They feared this, yet they did not like to admit that fear even to
themselves.
Even the loveliness of the woods and the lake, and the entrancing situation
of the Russman bungalow, failed to arouse any sense of appreciation in
Sylvia and her friends. They looked at it without seeing. They had been
extended the warmest hospitality by Mr. and Mrs. Russman, and made to
feel perfectly at home. And Sylvia and her friends were truly grateful. But
they could not shake off the feeling of gloom.
"Shall you let your folks know Roy is missing?" asked Hazel.
"Not at once," Sylvia replied. "It would only cause them great pain and
sorrow, and perhaps unnecessarily. We may find him to-day. If we do not,
and if he remains unfound after to-night, then, of course, I must let papa
know. He would want to engage a posse of men and find him. But we will
make the search ourselves first."
"Bravo!" cried Professor Russman when he heard this. "That is the right
spirit! I am sure we shall have success."
Leaving the servants and Mrs. Russman in the bungalow, the girls
accompanied the professor into the woods, along the forest trail that led to
the cabin of Old Sam, a veteran guide.
Sylvia tried to induce Mrs. Brownley to remain also, but the chaperon
insisted on going with her charges.
"Your mothers depend on me, and I am not going to desert now," she said,
firmly.
"But it is such a trial for you," objected Sylvia. "It is too much to expect
you to tramp through the woods."

"Stuff and nonsense!" exclaimed the sturdy lady. "I am not like some
modern girls, who can only dance one fox trot an evening. I was brought up
to take long walks. And you seem to forget that I have done some mountain
climbing in the Alps. If I could stand that, surely I can stand our Adirondack
woods in summer. Now don't talk any more about leaving me behind, for I
simply shan't stay. Go along!"
Professor Russman looked admiringly at the chaperon. His own wife was
an accomplished woods-woman, but it was necessary that some one in
authority remain at the bungalow, and she volunteered for that waiting
service. Roy might wander back, or her son or Harry Montray might return,
and they would not know what to expect if only the servants were there to
explain matters.
Our friends had brought their most needed luggage with them. They had
expected to go to some hotel or wood-camp near the Russman bungalow,
but though there was one not far off, Mr. Russman would not hear of their
leaving him and his wife. There was plenty of room in the bungalow, he
insisted, which was perfectly true, and they would want to be there to hear
the first news—good or bad.
But Rose and Sylvia, almost with tears in their eyes, refused to admit the
possibility of anything but good tidings.
From their cases the girls and Mrs. Brownley took stout walking shoes,
short skirts of a kind to defy brambles and briars, and with a lunch, a
portable coffee outfit, and other necessaries and some medicines, they fared
forth.
Somehow or other the spirits of all rose as they started off on the search. It
was the very fact of doing something, and not sitting in the darkness,
waiting, that caused this. The energy of work drove out the bad spirits of
inactivity.
Professor Russman showed Sylvia and the others where Roy had entered
the woods as he rushed from the table the night before, when the delirium
so unaccountably seized him. It was a well-travelled trail, and of course no
special footprints could be seen. Presently this trail branched off into
several others, and there was no way of telling which path Roy had
followed.

"But perhaps Old Sam can tell us," Mr. Russman said, hopefully.
Their hopes, however, were doomed to disappointment. Sam was at home.
He told of the visit of Adolph and Harry and described the plan of
procedure he had mapped out for them. He had told the two young men to
come back if they were unsuccessful, and then new plans would be made.
"Well, we will start from your cabin, and make a general search until my
son and Harry come back," said the scientist. "We may come upon Roy
unexpectedly."
The search was taken up, but at noon had brought no results. Sam himself
had gone off on a little-used trail. He said he would search along that, and
also take word to some fellow-guides.
Our friends ate the lunch they had brought with them, and, after a rest,
started forth again. But as the afternoon shadows lengthened, and their
shouts and cries, as well as their close scrutiny, had resulted in nothing,
discouragement again held them all in its fearsome grip.
"We had better go no farther," Professor Russman said at length, as he noted
how near the sun was to setting. "We had better go back."
"And give up?" asked Rose.
"Only for the night. Unacquainted with the woods as we are, we might
become lost ourselves, and that would be bad. We must go back, and leave
what night-searching can be done to the guides and canoemen."
With heavy hearts they retraced their steps to Old Sam's cabin. They found
Adolph and Harry waiting for them. It was the first time Sylvia and her
friends had seen Roy's companion since the two had come to the mountains.
There was a meeting that was as happy as possible under the circumstances.
Harry told more details of Roy's case.
"He was on the road to recovery when this happened," he said, sadly.
"Perhaps if I had not allowed him to make this trip——"
"It wasn't your fault at all!" interrupted Sylvia, quickly. "We must think now
of what to do next."
"Send out a general alarm, I should say," broke in Professor Russman.
"I think so," agreed his son, and Harry nodded his acquiescence.

"It's the only thing left," declared Old Sam. "I'll spread the word," and
taking down a conch horn from his cabin wall he blew a deep mellow blast,
that echoed and echoed again through the forest.

CHAPTER XXXI
THE SEARCH

Long blasts and short blasts did Old Sam blow on the mellow conch horn
as, with his lips pressed to the opening, he puffed out his cheeks. Now the
sound would almost die away, to blare out again with a suddenness that
startled the girls.
"What—what does it mean?" faltered Sylvia.
"It sounds like something I heard when once I was in Scotland,"
commented Mrs. Brownley. "An old chieftain thus summoned the members
of his clan."
"It's the general alarm," explained Harry. "The guides have a way of
signalling to one another that way. They can send all sorts of messages. This
one is to summon all who hear the horn to join in a search."
"How good of them!" Sylvia said.
"Do they often gather together this way for a general alarm?" asked Alice.
"Occasionally," explained Adolph, who had spent nearly all of his summers
in the Adirondacks. "Now and then a hunter will wander away from his
camp, or become separated from his party and have to be found in this
way."
"Are there any who are never found?" questioned Rose, in a low voice, and
in an aside to Harry.
He paused a moment before answering. A look into her face showed how
much in earnest she was. Harry decided upon his answer.
"They always find them," he said, speaking cheerfully. He did not add that
sometimes the missing ones were found too late. What was the need of
frightening Rose?
"How long will it be before you and your friends will be ready to start out
on the search?" asked Mr. Russman of the old guide.

"We will start in the morning," he said. "The men will gather here to-night,
and I'll tell them what's up. We'll start out as soon as it's light enough to see,
and that will be about three o'clock in the morning these days."
"Can't we do anything?" asked Sylvia. "We want to help, oh, so much!"
Old Sam looked at her keenly. He must have understood her feelings. Then
Rose broke in with:
"Oh, please let us do something! It is terrible just to sit and wait!"
Old Sam nodded his head sagely.
"Yes, I know," he said, in a low voice. "I had a brother once lost in these
woods."
"Did they find him again?" asked Hazel, eagerly.
"Oh, yes, miss. But it was some time, and——But there! we'll find this
young man, all right!" and he changed his voice to a more cheerful tone.
"And may we help?" repeated Sylvia, eagerly.
"Yes," said Sam. "If I were you I'd not go too far from the bungalow,
though. What I mean is that your brother may return unexpectedly. In fact
he may not be far from here now, but he may be going around in a sort of
circle. If he was as ill as you say he was, he probably wouldn't go very far.
"But my friends and I will take in all the trails within a circle of ten miles,
and you girls had better not go more than three in any direction from the
bungalow. Then you won't be lost. We don't want to have to search for two
and even more lost persons," he added, with a smile.
"Say, Sam," demanded Adolph, with the freedom of an old acquaintance,
"can't you furnish us with a guide? One that can pilot us around in the
woods near the bungalow. I know the forest pretty well, but I confess I
might get lost myself. Suppose you give us a guide and we'll organise a
searching party of our own."
"That's a good idea," Sam said. "I'll do that. Two parties ought to be better
than one, just as two heads are better than a single one. Now my advice to
you is to go back to your bungalow, and get a good night's rest. We can't do
much at night, anyhow, particularly at this stage. Later on, if we have to
make a torchlight search we can do it. But there's no need now. Go home

and rest. I'll be getting ready for the guides. They'll soon be coming in, that
is, all that aren't out with summer parties."
"Will they all hear that horn?" asked Sylvia, indicating the one Sam had
blown.
"Well, not all, miss. But them as does hear it will blow another of their own,
and so on. The word will be passed along."
"Hark!" exclaimed Rose.
From somewhere off in the forest there came the mellow notes of another
conch horn. Clear and pleasant it sounded, and had it not been for the
import of the blast, the girls would have enjoyed it, for the tones fell
sweetly on the evening air. But now it seemed sadly melancholy.
"That'll be Jim Judson," said Sam. "He'll make them hear as I couldn't. We'll
soon have quite a party here. I'll attend to the rest now, so you folks had
better go back to the bungalow and get some sleep."
"Yes, I suppose so," said Sylvia, wearily. "It is all we can do until morning."
"And you will be able to do all the better work in the morning if you rest to-
night, my dear," said Mrs. Brownley. "You look quite tired out."
Indeed Sylvia did look worn out, for she had not slept, and though the girls
were sturdy, and accustomed to long tramps in the woods, they were all
tired now. A rest would be a benefit to all of them.
"Well, let us go back," suggested Mr. Russman.
"Yes, the sooner we begin to rest the sooner we shall be able to take up the
search," Mrs. Brownley added.
Rose and Sylvia walked together on the back trail. It was as if they had a
common bond of sympathy between them, as indeed they had. They did not
say much, partly because they were too tired, and also for the reason that
they were doing much thinking.
"Oh, isn't it just dreadful!" murmured Rose, as they walked along in the
gathering twilight.
"I can't bear it—sometimes!" agreed Sylvia. "To think of his being out
there," and she indicated the forest that surrounded them.

As they walked along they could hear, now and then, the calling of the
conch shell, as one guide signalled from his lonely cabin, or camp, to
another of his fellows. The sounds came sweetly over the ocean of green
trees.
It cannot be said that any of the party ate with good appetites when the
bungalow was reached. But even the food they did take was of benefit to
them. Sylvia felt much stronger, and certainly more hopeful after the meal,
and so did Rose.
But she and the others dreaded the long night, when many thoughts would
crowd in upon them. A part of the evening was spent in talk with Harry,
who told of Roy's condition since he had come to the Adirondacks with
him. The lost chemical formula had, it appeared, bothered the patient more
than a little. It was really keeping him from getting well.
"And then came this outbreak," Harry went on. "It seemed to be the climax.
I never saw Roy do anything more suddenly than when he leaped away
from the table and rushed out into the woods. And he seemed to disappear
as if the very earth had swallowed him up. But we'll find him—never fear!"
he exclaimed, as he saw a look of pain pass over the face of Sylvia. "We'll
get him back."
Sylvia and the others slept from very exhaustion, and in Sylvia's case,
particularly, the hours of rest in the darkness performed a much-needed
service. She was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, but was saved from
it.
She was awake early—much earlier than any of the others—and feeling that
she could not sleep any more, and that to lie in bed, tossing restlessly about,
would only make her more nervous, she arose, took a bath, dressed and
went downstairs. Only the servants were about.
Sylvia went out on the porch. Sitting on a stump somewhat down the path
was a man—a typical guide. He was idly whittling a stick, the soft, curling
shavings falling in a heap at his feet. Sylvia guessed who he was.
"Good morning," she said.
The guide did not start. It was as if he had seen her come out and had
known she was going to speak, though his back was toward the house.

"Mornin'," he said, in a mellow voice. "Old Sam sent me up here to help
with the searchin' party."
"I'm glad," said Sylvia, eagerly. "It is my brother who is lost. Oh, tell me!
do you think we shall find him?"
"Of course, miss. Sartin sure!" he exclaimed, shutting his knife with a snap
and standing up. He was tall and lanky, but he had a good face, and his blue
eyes seemed to look right through one.
There was an early breakfast. The guide, who was known to Mr. Russman
and his son, listened carefully to a statement of what had happened, and
nodded his head.
"All right," he said. "We'll try all the trails around here. Now, if you're
ready, we'll start. Old Sam and the others are on the search long ago."
And so they started off once more to find the missing one.

CHAPTER XXXII
LOST

Pete Wharton, the guide who had been sent by Old Sam, looked critically
over the little party he was leading into the woods, and along the trails that
formed a network for several miles about the Russman bungalow. They did
not intend to get more than three miles away from the bungalow in any
direction.
"Well, I reckon we're pretty well equipped," said Pete, as if satisfied with
his scrutiny. "We've got plenty of blank cartridges to fire for signals, and
we've got whistles and horns. There's enough grub for the lunch, and we've
got to come back by dark, anyhow."
"I've got some of those pocket electric flashlights," explained Harry.
"Well, maybe they're all right for you folks, but I'd rather have a good oil
lantern or a bark torch," the guide said. "Howsomever, maybe we won't
need either."
The man who ran Mr. Russman's motor boat was to go along to carry the
lunch basket, which included a coffee pot and a little alcohol stove, for they
did not want to wait to build a camp fire.
The girls wore their short walking skirts and stout shoes, for the trail was
anything but smooth. Each one carried a stick Pete had cut for her.
Sylvia tried to get Mrs. Brownley to remain at home, but the chaperon
stoutly refused to desert.
"I can walk as well as any of you girls!" she said, with a smile, "and I want
to know, as soon as you do, when Roy is found."
"Oh, I do hope we find him soon!" cried Sylvia. "He might become
hopelessly lost on these mountains. Men have done so before and have lost
their lives from exposure."

"Not very often," Harry made haste to say. "And now, when the woods are
full of camping and pleasure parties, when every lake and stream has
canoeists on it, and when such a large searching party—two of them, in fact
—is out, Roy surely will be found."
"I wish I had your faith," said Rose, in a low voice.
"You must have it!" Harry said to her, in a whisper, so that Sylvia would not
hear. "We must all help her to keep up," he urged, and Rose knew well to
whom he referred. "If she collapses on our hands we shall have to send for
Mr. or Mrs. Pursell, and you know what that would mean."
"Oh, I shouldn't be discouraged, I know," murmured Rose. "And I'll try not
to be. But it is very hard."
"I understand," said Harry, sympathetically.
"But you needn't be afraid Sylvia will collapse," Rose went on. "She isn't
that kind."
"I didn't think she was, and I don't want you to show the white feather,
either." He spoke a trifle sharply, but he had a purpose in it.
A little red spot burned in either of the formerly pale cheeks of Rose.
"The white feather!" she exclaimed. "How dare you suggest such a thing! I
—I——"
"There, there," broke in Harry, soothingly. "No need to fly off the handle! I
just don't want to put too much on Sylvia. After all, Roy is her brother."
"Yes, but he is my——"
Rose stopped short, blushed vividly and turned aside her head. Harry smiled
to himself.
"I thought that would fetch her," he thought. "We shan't have any more
trouble from her. She'll keep her nerves together for the sake of Sylvia, and
Sylvia will do the same for Rose. That," he added to himself more or less
judicially, "is what might be called playing both ends against the middle."
Harry was pleased with his tactics.
Under the direction of Pete Wharton they adopted a systematic plan of
search. Pete knew every trail in the woods, and had them in his head as a

sort of map. Pete began at a certain place in reference to the "deserted
bungalow," as the girls often called the place to themselves, and he said
they would follow each trail in turn until they had reached the three-mile
limit. In some cases, he added, they might take in a four-mile section.
They would start back toward the bungalow by another route on reaching
their set limit on the trail, and so cover the ground zigzag fashion.
Now and then, as the party advanced through the dense forest, pierced only
by narrow trails, they stopped and shouted Roy's name. Occasionally shots
were fired, and horns or whistles sounded. The other party of guides, under
the direction of Old Sam, was far enough away to keep the sounds from
conflicting, for Sam's party, also, was doubtless calling and signalling in
various ways.
Sylvia had hopes that it would take only a little searching on the part of her
friends to discover Roy. She had a feeling that he would become weary of
wandering in the woods all alone, that the delirium would leave him, and
that he would be found trying to make his way back to the bungalow.
"And if he does go back—I mean if he wanders back of his own accord,
we'll not say anything to him; shall we?" propounded Rose, as she and the
others paused for a moment on the brink of a little hill, while Mrs.
Brownley, in the rear, sat on a log to rest.
"Say anything to him—what do you mean?" demanded Sylvia, who was in
advance, and she turned around quickly. "Why shouldn't we say anything to
him? Just because he——"
"Oh, I didn't mean it that way at all, my dear!" exclaimed Rose quickly, as
the red mounted to her cheeks again. "You didn't understand me. I meant
that if we didn't find Roy——"
"Oh, we are sure to find him!" interrupted Hazel. "Don't suggest such dire
possibilities, my dear."
"I didn't exactly mean that, either," hastily protested Rose.
"Give her a chance," suggested Sylvia. "I guess we're all so tired and
worried that we are getting on one another's nerves. What do you want to
say, Rose?" and she smiled at her chum; smiled, it is true, but in so wan and
mirthless a fashion that the hearts of all ached for her.

"What I was trying to say," resumed Rose, "was that if Roy did, by some
good fortune, make his way back to the bungalow alone, as he is very apt to
do, and if we came back from our search and found him there, wouldn't it
be better not to say anything to him about his having gone away?"
"Why, it isn't a secret; is it?" asked Alice.
"Oh dear!" half laughed Rose. "I do seem to be very stupid to-day,
somehow or other."
"Perhaps it is we who are stupid," suggested Sylvia. "I think I know what
you mean, though. You——"
"No, let me say it for myself," insisted Rose. "Otherwise I shall surely think
I am failing in my descriptive powers, and I'll never fit in at college. I mean
that it might embarrass Roy to have us mention that he—well, to be frank,
that he went off in a fit of delirium. It would be better to ignore it
altogether, I think, and act as if nothing had happened. Just try and talk
naturally to him, about the weather, or camping, or——"
"Rose, you're the sweetest girl!" interrupted Sylvia, putting her arms about
her chum. "I never would have thought of that. I'd have gone and blurted
out something about how terrible it was for him to run off the way he did,
or I'd ask him where he had been hiding, or else worry about his health, and
ask a lot of foolish questions. I'm so glad you thought of that!"
"Oh, perhaps it would have come to you, also," said Rose, not wanting to
take too much credit to herself. "But, really, don't you think that would be
the wisest plan?"
"Most certainly!" agreed Alice. "It's always best, when a person is out of his
mind—Oh, I didn't mean——!" and she stopped herself by putting her hand
over her lips, giving Sylvia a conscience-stricken glance.
"I don't in the least mind, Alice dear," interrupted the sister of the missing
youth. "Roy certainly is out of his mind, only temporarily, I hope—we all
hope," she added, as she saw Rose about to interpose an objection. "There is
no use mincing words," Sylvia went on. "Roy is what might be called
mildly insane——"
"Oh!" interjected Rose, with a sort of gesture of denial.

"We might as well meet the issue bravely," insisted Sylvia, "we can handle
it better so."
"As long as we know it isn't a family defect, and that it only came to Roy as
a sort of horrid disease," added Alice.
Sylvia nodded, gravely, and resumed.
"So I think it will be well to adopt the plan Rose has suggested and simply
act, when we see Roy again, as if nothing had happened. That, I have read,
is the best way to treat people who have had anything the matter with their
minds. It keeps them from brooding on their troubles, and helps them to
recover more quickly.
"That is what they do in asylums, I believe," she added, after a pause.
"Oh, don't say that—don't use that word," begged Rose.
"Well, sanitarium, if you like that better," said Sylvia. "But, really, I am not
at all sensitive on the subject now. I will admit that, at first, it was a terrible
shock—as was this one, of finding that Roy had run away. But I am getting
bravely over it. Why should one shun, or try to ignore, or cover up, a
disease of the mind, when we are so ready to talk about diseases of the
body? I have often heard women boast of having been successfully operated
on for appendicitis, but if there was the least mention of some mental
ailment, even though it be a temporary one, they shrank from it as if it were
some disgrace."
"Of course it isn't a disgrace!" exclaimed Rose, warmly, coming to the
defence of the absent Roy. "You look at it in just the right way, Sylvia; a
disease of the mind is no different from one of the body, though it may be
more distressing. But, as you say, this is only temporary, I'm sure. Roy will
soon be with us again, and like himself."
"And I pray that it may be soon," murmured Sylvia.
There was a suspicion of tears in her eyes; nor were those of her chums
altogether dry.
Alice, indeed, saved them all from breaking down completely, by
exclaiming:

"Then it's agreed! If we get back, and find Roy waiting for us at the
bungalow, we'll just be as jolly as we can, and pretend it was all a sort of
lark, or game."
"That's it," said Sylvia. "Of course this is dependent on finding that Roy's
mind is still troubling him when next we see him. He may be altogether
over it."
"For which we shall all hope and pray," said Rose in a low voice.
"Yes," agreed Hazel. "After all, this may be the best thing in the world for
him. I mean," she added quickly, as she caught Sylvia's startled glance, "it
may be the crisis, or the turning point, just as a fever is highest before it
breaks and the patient gets better."
"Well, there's nothing like looking on the bright side of things," remarked
Sylvia, and she tried to infuse cheerfulness and gaiety into her voice, but it
was a hard task.
"They are calling us," said Rose, after a moment's pause, the silence that
fell being punctuated by a hail from one of the searching party.
"Yes, it's Pete, and he's signalling to us," agreed Alice, looking off through
the trees.
"I wonder——" began Sylvia. "No, he hasn't found anything. I guess he's
just tired of waiting for us," she added, for the guide, having motioned to
the girls to follow, again set off along the trail. "He'd have given the sign if
he had discovered any clue."
For the parties had adopted some simple visual signs, as well as audible
ones, that they might signal to one another when some distance apart. And
Pete had not given the "found" symbol.
Talking, speculating, wondering, the girls advanced once more, heading
down a little wooded glade where the guide could be observed, peering here
and there for any sign that would indicate the passage of the missing young
man.
"Anything hopeful?" asked Sylvia, as they came within speaking distance.
"No, miss, I'm sorry to say it, but that's the truth. It don't look as if he'd
passed this way. But there's a lonely sort of trail, a little farther on, and I

want to take a look at that."
"Lonely! What do you mean?" asked Rose.
"Well, I mean it's one that's seldom travelled, miss, and the young man,
being as you might say—er—sort of——"
"Out of his head, Pete. You needn't mind saying it," put in Sylvia, wishing
to put the honest old fellow at his ease.
"Well, miss, since you're so nice about it—out of his head, then. Since he's
that way, and partly not responsible for what he does, I thought maybe he
might take the lonesome trail from choice, though most folks wouldn't."
"I see," agreed the sister.
"That's why I spoke about comin' in here," Pete went on. "It's just possible
we'll see some signs if we go in a way."
He led the way into what soon proved to be a dense patch of wood, almost a
swamp in fact, though through it ran a trail that was faintly defined.
"It doesn't look as if any one had been along here for ages," whispered
Alice.
Somehow it seemed natural to whisper in that eerie place.
"I told you it was lonesome, miss," answered the guide. "But if you don't
want to come——"
"Oh, we wouldn't desert for the world!" cried Sylvia, quickly. "Go on, Pete,
we'll follow."
And on they went. The way led downward, and as they reached the lowest
point, where the water lay in pools, there came a sudden noise in the
bushes, to one side of the trail.
"Oh!" screamed Rose, nor was she alone in being alarmed, for the others
echoed her cries.
"What is it?" asked Sylvia.
A small reddish-coloured animal, with seemingly an unnecessarily large
tail, sprang out, was seen for a flash, and then disappeared in the
underbrush.

"A dog!" cried Alice. "Maybe it is helping in the search—one of the guide's
dogs?" and she looked questioningly at Pete.
"It was a fox," he said, drily. "There's been a den of 'em in here for years.
They're harmless."
The girls breathed more easily, and kept on. But they soon exhausted the
possibilities of the lonely trail, and found not a sign that Roy had traversed
it.
"Well, no luck there," said Pete, as they emerged again. "But there's one
satisfaction," he went on, looking at Sylvia, "you said your brother was
used to the woods; didn't you?"
"Yes," she answered. "He would be quite at home in the forest."
Roy was a woodsman of no small skill, and he had a good sense of
direction, which is invaluable to a hunter or forest-lover. Set Roy down in a
big wood, and let him once get an idea of the points of the compass and it
would be difficult to lose him. But that, of course, was when he was in
normal health. Now, alas, he was not himself. And what had happened to
him Sylvia and the others could only surmise.
But Sylvia's hope that her brother would soon be found was doomed to
disappointment. As the hours passed, and as trail after trail was carefully
scanned, and no sign of the missing one was found, the spirits of all fell.
For signs of Roy were looked for, as well as his actual presence. That was
the value of having Pete along. He could see things the others would pass
by unwittingly. It might be a shred of clothing, caught on some bramble or
bush, or a mark in the soft dirt of the trail, a footprint in a bed of moss.
I say it might be any of those things, but, unfortunately, it was none of them.
Harry had been able to describe the kind of shoes Roy wore. They were the
same sort that Harry himself had on, heavy, with soles well studded with
nails to prevent slipping. If any one with such a pair of shoes had stepped
into soft dirt, a mark would have been left that easily would have been
recognised.
But no such marks came to the notice of the guide, and when noon came he
shook his head in puzzled fashion. But he took good care not to let Sylvia
see him give this indication of discouragement.

"Oh, shall we ever find him?" Sylvia murmured, as she sank down wearily
on a log to rest.
"Of course we'll find him!" exclaimed Harry, signalling to Pete to confirm
this assertion.
"Sartin sure, Miss Pursell," said the tall, gaunt, blue-eyed man of the woods.
"We haven't struck the most likely trails as yet. We'll hit them after dinner.
Now set up, all of you, and have grub—that is, askin' your pardon, lady, for
applyin' sech a common name to victuals," he added, quickly, with a bow in
the direction of Mrs. Brownley.
"That's all right," she assured him heartily, and with a manner that put him
at his ease at once. "I've heard many an expression like that from my girls,"
and she smiled at Sylvia and her chums.
"We call it 'eats,' or 'feed,'" Alice volunteered.
"Oh, I know, my dears!" said their former teacher. "You can't be in a girls'
school as long as I have and be easily shocked. But I think it will do us all
good to have some of Pete's 'grub.' I know I am almost famished," and she
smiled in the best of good-fellowship.
The coffee was soon boiling on the alcohol stove, Pete having found a
spring of delicious water. Then the "table" was set on a fallen log, and the
sandwiches passed around. All ate with better appetites than at any time
since the discovery of the "deserted bungalow."
But, even as she ate, Sylvia would pause now and then to listen, or she
would gaze off into the woods as if hoping to see her brother come walking
along amid the trees, in his right mind at least, if not clothed. For it could
not but have happened that he must be in rather a ragged and dishevelled
state now as regards his garments, if he had tramped much through the
dense forest.
But there came no sign, no sound, and again the party undertook the search,
but in somewhat better spirits. That is what food will do for one, even
though it may have to be actually forced down. The human body, after all,
is material, though the mind has a great control over it.
They went well up the mountain around Lower Saranac Lake, and even
penetrated to the shore of the lake itself, keeping along that for some

distance. But it was all without avail.
"Of course," said Pete, slowly, when he noticed the shadow on Sylvia's face
deepening, "Old Sam and the others may have had some news of him
before this. We won't know that until we get back to the bungalow, though."
"But to go back we would have to give up the search here," Roy's sister
said. "And we can't do that. We'll keep on until dark, and then we'll go to
the bungalow, and if we have no good news I hope some will be waiting for
us."
"I hope so," came from Rose, as she stalked on beside Sylvia.
There were two trails close together at one point, though they separated
widely farther on. Sylvia and her three chums, with Mrs. Brownley, were on
this, while the guide, with Mr. Russman, his son, Harry and the boatman,
were on the other. Just how it happened no one could ever explain, but the
girls must have gone farther than they intended, for, of a sudden, they found
themselves down in a little glade alone. It was Sylvia who first discovered
it.
"Why, girls!" she cried. "Where are the others?"
"Just back there a way," declared Alice, reassuringly.
"We must return to them at once," said the chaperon. "It will never do to be
separated."
They followed the trail back, but when they came to the place where the
divergence began there was no sight of the others. For a moment the girls
looked wonderingly at each other, and then Sylvia said:
"We must shout!"
They did, but they could not be sure they were answered. Certainly some
sounds came back to them, but it may have been the echoes.
"Hark!" suddenly exclaimed Hazel, when in another moment there might
have been a panic of fear for all of them. "Some one is coming."
There was a sound of approaching footsteps, and the breaking of
underbrush.
"Oh, if it should be——" began Sylvia, hopefully.

But the light in her eyes died out a moment later, as an elderly man came
into view. The girls had never seen him before, but he seemed to be one
who lived in the woods.
"Afternoon, ladies," was his cordial greeting.
"Oh, are you looking for—him?" asked Sylvia.
"For whom, miss?" He seemed a bit puzzled.
"My brother. He is lost in these woods—has been since last night. We are
searching for him with a party, but we took the wrong trail. However, the
others must be near here. But have you seen my brother?" Quickly she
described Roy.
"By hemlock!" exclaimed the old man, clapping his hand on his leg. "Say, I
wouldn't be surprised if that was him!"
"Who? Oh, where? Tell me!" begged Sylvia, in her eagerness catching hold
of his arm.
"Why, about an hour back," said the old man, "I was passing along the
Ampersand trail, and on top of Bald Mountain I see a feller outlined against
the sky. He didn't have no hat on, and he seemed to be actin' sort of queer. I
thought it was one of the campers around here. Some of them is kinder
foolish," he added, apologetically.
"I know—go on!" exclaimed Sylvia.
"Well, I didn't do nothin'," said the old man. "I just watched this feller a bit,
and come on. Now I meet you and——"
"Oh, I'm sure that was Roy!" Rose cried. "Which way is it to Bald
Mountain?"
"Right back on this trail a mile or so," and he pointed to the one he had been
travelling.
"Come on!" cried Sylvia, eagerly. "Come on!" She hardly paused to thank
their informant, but rushed along the trail. Hardly knowing what they were
doing, but overcome by the excitement and the hope of finding Roy, the
others followed. They did not even think of Mr. Russman, Harry and the
others. They were intent on getting to Bald Mountain as fast as they could.

Excitement gave them strength. Their weariness seemed to vanish
magically. Even Mrs. Brownley kept up with the girls, and she was not a
young woman.
The trail was not a plain one, but by this time the girls had become used to
following even a faint path through the woods. On and on they fairly
rushed. If they thought of the others at all it was to come to the hasty, if
incorrect, conclusion that they could easily go back and find them once they
had located Roy.
"How far did he say it was to Bald Mountain?" asked Hazel, when the pace
had slackened a little.
"A mile or so," replied Alice.
"Well, we've come more than a mile—more than two, I should say," Hazel
went on. "I say, girls, we'd better pull up a bit, and think of what we're
doing."
"Oh, don't stop!" begged Sylvia. "We must find him!"
"But we must find Bald Mountain first," said Hazel. "And I don't see any
signs of it. We seem to be down in a sort of swamp."
They were, indeed, on low ground, and the trail now turned downward
instead of upward.
"Can it be that we are—lost?" cried Rose. She hesitated over the word.
"Lost!" gasped Alice. "Oh, it can't be!"
"Keep on a little farther," Sylvia urged. "We may come to the mountain any
minute now."
But the farther they went the more the trail sloped downward. Clearly they
had come in the wrong direction.
"We are lost!" said Rose at last.

CHAPTER XXXIII
UNEXPECTED HELP

For a moment a feeling of panic seemed to overcome not only the girls, but
Mrs. Brownley herself. The word "lost" appeared to have a most sinister
meaning under the circumstances.
For the girls had left their friends, the guide was with Mr. Russman and the
others, and they had taken a wrong trail.
Were they to be lost, even as Roy was lost, and with the prospect of being
left out in the woods with night coming on?
It was a question that each one hesitated to ask herself, and yet it was one
that needed to be answered.
"Oh, we can't be lost!" Sylvia said at length. "Here is the path. We haven't
strayed from that."
"Yes, but what good is it to us if we don't know where it leads to?" Alice
wanted to know.
"Oh, but it must lead somewhere," Sylvia insisted. "If it doesn't lead where
we want to go, which, just at present, is Bald Mountain, then we must go
back along it until we get on the right trail. That is simple enough."
"To say; yes," agreed Hazel. "But is it simple enough to do?"
"We'll try, anyhow," Sylvia went on. Somehow she seemed to have
recovered her spirits, which had been dampened by the assertion of Rose
that they were lost. "All we'll have to do," went on Roy's sister, "is to keep
going up instead of descending. We want to get on the heights, where we
can get a good view."
"That sounds reasonable," Mrs. Brownley said. "Suppose we try it?" and
she looked questioningly at her charges.
"I think we ought to call out before we stir another step," Rose said.

"What for?" demanded Sylvia.
"To see if the others are near here. If they are it will be better to go to them
or get them to come to us, and let Pete take us to Bald Mountain. I don't
want to risk trying to find it ourselves."
"Well, perhaps that will be better," Sylvia admitted. "We'll call. Mr.
Russman and the others can't be very far back. I suppose it was foolish of us
to come on without them. But they seemed to be quite near, and I thought
they would follow us."
"I didn't think of anything but of getting to Bald Mountain," asserted Rose.
"If we had asked that old man he might have guided us," Hazel ventured.
"It's too late to think of that now," sighed Alice. "We shall have to guide
ourselves."
"And we can do it easily enough," asserted Sylvia, with perhaps more
conviction than she really felt. "Come on now, let's turn about and go back.
And we must hurry, for it is getting late."
The girls noticed, not without little shivers of apprehension, that the
shadows were lengthening perceptibly. How far from the bungalow they
were they could not estimate. And how far they were from where they had
last seen their friends and the guide was equally a matter of mere
supposition.
"Indeed we must hasten," agreed the chaperon.
She did not speak of her weariness. They were all weary, for they had come
the last mile or so at a fast pace, spurred on by the hope of finding Roy on
top of the hill, locally called Bald Mountain.
"We are somewhat like the King of France," said Sylvia, with a laugh, as
they started back. "We seem to have marched down the hill, and now we are
marching up again."
"The King of France reversed the process," said Rose.
"Besides, he had ten thousand men," added Hazel.
"Just one, in the shape of a guide, would be very welcome now," asserted
Alice.

"Oh, we must learn to depend more on ourselves!" Sylvia exclaimed. "If we
are to have Nowadays Club outings every year we must learn not to get lost
in the woods."
"I still refuse to admit that we are lost!" said Alice.
"So do I," Sylvia agreed.
They were in better spirits now, and stepped on with lighter hearts. The trail
led slightly upward, and they marveled, now that they were cooler-headed,
how they had ever allowed themselves to keep on a downward path, when
they knew they were supposed to be going up a mountain trail. But the
excitement of the moment accounted for their lack of observation.
It was not until they reached a place where the trail divided that they came
to a halt, and once more they looked at one another, if not exactly with fear
in their eyes, at least with shadows of doubt.
"I didn't notice this before," confessed Sylvia, pointing to the forked paths.
"Nor I," said Alice.
"I thought we had come over a straight path from the time we met that old
man," was the contribution of Hazel.
"We were so excited we didn't know what we were doing," Rose declared.
"Now, the question is, which path did we come over?"
They stood at a place in the woods where three trails met in the shape of a
Y. They had come up the right-hand side of the letter. But on their previous
trip had they been travelling on the main stem, or on the left-hand fork?
That was what they could not tell.
Sylvia bent over close to the ground, as she had seen Pete do several times.
But the earth of the trail was hard packed, and she was not expert enough to
read the "sign" left by their footprints. Indeed she could see none.
"Well," she said, arising, "I give up! I don't know which path it was."
"Let's shut our eyes and pick out one blindly," suggested Alice.
"Don't be rash," Mrs. Brownley warned them.
"But what can we do?" asked Hazel.

"Go along one path for a little way, and see if we can't pick out some
natural landmark that we passed coming down," went on the chaperon. "If
we can't do that, say within half a mile, we may be pretty sure we are on the
wrong trail, and we can walk back and try the other."
That seemed reasonable to the girls, and they decided to try that plan. Again
hope came to them to drive away their weariness! But as they looked up
and saw the shadows growing longer and longer, and noticed the wood
darkening under the pall of approaching night, it required all their boldness
to put on a brave front. They all tried to be brave for Sylvia's sake, for, after
all, was she not suffering more than any of them, save perhaps Rose?
"Forward!" cried Mrs. Brownley. "Time is too precious to waste standing
still."
As they went along the path they had selected the conviction became an
ever-increasing one that it was not the path they had come over at first.
They saw a little waterfall they were sure they had not passed before.
"We're wrong!" exclaimed Sylvia. "We've got to go back and try over
again."
There was nothing else to do. It was becoming dark so rapidly now that
they looked up in alarm, and found the sky becoming rapidly overcast with
clouds.
"We're in for a thunderstorm," declared Rose, in alarm.
"Well, we're not afraid of lightning," asserted Sylvia.
"No, but it will make it so much more difficult to travel and find the path,"
Alice objected.
"It means we must hurry more than ever," Sylvia said.
"Suppose we shout here," suggested Sylvia. Their previous calls had been
unanswered.
They raised their shrill voices in shouts again and again, but the only result
was to set the echoes reverberating, and to strain their throats.
"Oh, come on, we'll find the trail ourselves," Sylvia finally said.

They hastened along, but had not reached the fork in the path when the
storm burst.
There was a series of vivid lightning flashes, the thunder seemed doubly
loud out in that wilderness, and then came the drenching rain.
"Come under this tree!" urged Rose, darting toward a beech.
"You may be struck!" Hazel warned her.
"Have to take a chance," Rose retorted. "Beech trees are the safest, I've
heard, and I can't stand out in the rain."
But the tree was not much shelter, and as the shower showed no indication
of slackening, and as the girls were now fairly desperate, they decided to
keep on. Their clothes could stand a good deal of rain before becoming wet
through, and their shoes were waterproof, so they were not in such
desperate plight as might otherwise have been the case.
But it grew darker and darker, and at last they found themselves stumbling
along in the woods, tripping over fallen trees, banging into trunks and
getting tangled in underbrush.
"We're off the trail!" cried Sylvia. "We can't go on. We must stop or we may
come to some harm."
Frightened, they huddled together, while the rain beat down pitilessly.
"Oh, help! help!" suddenly screamed Rose. It was as though she could stand
the strain no longer. "Help! help!" she cried. "We are lost!"
Above the patter of the rain on the leaves, and above the low muttering of
thunder a voice answered:
"Stay where you are. We're coming!"

CHAPTER XXXIV
FOUND

Silence followed this, to the girls at least, momentous announcement. That
is as much silence as was possible under the circumstances, with the noise
of the storm reverberating through the forest.
"Did—did you hear that?" gasped Sylvia, after a pause.
"Of course," answered Hazel, and she spoke a bit sharply, as if her nerves
were near the breaking point.
"Was it—was it a voice?" Sylvia went on, as though she could not quite
believe the evidence of her own ears. "Was it a voice, or one of those loons,
or owls?"
"It was a voice," declared Mrs. Brownley. "I heard it distinctly. It must be
some of our party searching for us. You had better call once more, girls. My
voice simply refuses to make itself heard."
"Mr. Russman! Pete! Harry!" called Sylvia. "Where are you? Come to us!"
A crashing noise sounded in the underbrush, but it was too dark to see by
whom it was made. Now and then a flash of lightning would vividly light
up the scene, but it was of such brief duration, and produced such a glare,
that the girls and their chaperon could really see nothing beyond a black and
dripping circle of trees that girt them about. Following Sylvia's cry, though,
there came an answer.
"Stay where you are! We're coming. Don't move. There's a bad fall near
where you are and you may slip over. Stand still."
"That doesn't sound like any of our friends!" exclaimed Alice.
"No," agreed Hazel. "But it's some one, at all events. And I never was so
glad in all my life before to hear a human voice. It may be some of the other
guides—those of Sam's party."
"Could it be—could it be—Roy?" faltered Rose.

"That isn't Roy's voice," declared Sylvia, with decision. "I only wish it were
he! But he is probably too weak to answer in those firm tones."
"We're coming," the unseen rescuers went on. "Be there in just a few
seconds now!"
The girls could see lights flashing among the trees and bushes. Lights that
were not the vivid glares of the sky-electricity. The storm seemed to be
dying out, at least the thunder was not so loud nor the flashes so frequent,
but the drizzle of rain still kept up.
The girls huddled around Mrs. Brownley, wet and rather miserable, yet,
aside from the depression caused by the failure to find Roy, there was
plenty of spirit and spunk left in each and every one. They were wet, tired
and hungry, but they had not given up hope, not even when they knew they
were lost.
"Oh, but to think of the walk back to the bungalow," half groaned Hazel.
"Can we make it to-night, girls?"
"We'll have to!" insisted Sylvia.
"And there may be good news of Roy waiting for us," said Rose, eagerly.
"That is, if this isn't a party that has already found him."
"I don't believe they are any of our friends." Sylvia spoke in a low voice.
"They would know who we were, and they'd call us by name. And if they
had found poor Roy they'd let us know that the first thing."
"But who can they be?" asked Alice.
"We'll know in another moment. Here they are!"
A number of lights flashed all around. They came from the pocket electric
torches without which no camp is now complete. And the tiny glows were
in the hands of four young men who crowded up along the dripping trail to
face the lost ones.
"Sorry to have kept you waiting," said the leader, flashing his light in
Sylvia's face. "But we didn't expect company, and we had gone to bed. We
heard you call and——"
He interrupted himself suddenly to exclaim:

"Great pines and little fir trees! It is Night! Miss Pursell! What in the world
are you doing here?" he cried.
"Oh! oh!" gasped Roy's sister, weakly. In an instant she had recognised
Felton Ware—the Knight of the Overturned Canoe—the cavalier of the
dance. And with him were his three companions who had helped to give the
girls such a good time at the hotel.
"Look here, fellows!" Felton cried. "Here are our friends—the pretty girls."
He said it—shamelessly—openly, and none resented it. The said pretty girls
were only too glad to see the boys.
"Well, if this isn't a go!" exclaimed Jimmie Pendleton.
"Is it true, or am I dreaming?" Bert Young wanted to know.
"If I am dreaming, don't wake me up," pleaded Carroll Beach.
"But I say!" went on Felton, eagerly. "What are you doing here? Out in the
rain at night! Where's your camp? What has happened? You look——"
"Don't mention our looks, young man!" interrupted Aunt Theodora. "We
know we must be frights. But is there any place around here where we can
stay—a hotel or boarding-house? We are lost!"
"Why, come to our tent!" urged the Knight of the Overturned Canoe,
eagerly. "We came up here to camp, but never expected to see you folks
again. We have a big extra tent, ready for some more of the fellows we
expect next week. You can all fit into that nicely. There are cots in it. We
can get you up some kind of a meal. You can't possibly travel through the
woods now. Stay with us until morning, please."
"It sounds most inviting," sighed Sylvia.
"Welcome to our woodland camp, Princess of the Night," said Felton,
whimsically, with a low bow. "I'm sorry we haven't a red velvet carpet to
spread to the tent, but truth compels me to state that the trail is so winding
that it would take a very large magic carpet to cover it. But what has
happened?" he asked.
Sylvia told him, and her companions told him, singly, in a chorus, by duets,
in a trio and then filled in any gaps that were left with a grand ensemble that
left nothing unrelated.

Then the boys led the way back to their camp. A fire in the midst of a circle
of tents was dying down, but there was dry wood to pile on, and soon there
was a roaring blaze adding heat to its cheerfulness. Coffee was quickly
made, food set out, and in the seclusion of a large tent Sylvia and her
friends, with Mrs. Brownley, made themselves comfortable.
"If those young men aren't providential I never saw any persons who were,"
declared the chaperon, as she sat on the edge of a cot, munching a sandwich
from one hand and waving an empty coffee cup with the other, to
emphasise her point.
"They certainly are," agreed Rose.
The boys did everything possible for their unexpected visitors, and said
they would escort them back to the bungalow the first thing in the morning.
One of the young men was quite familiar with the woodland trails, having
camped in that neighbourhood before.
"And we'll help you look for your brother," added Felton. "Bald Mountain
is not a great way from here. But you certainly took the wrong trail.
However, we're glad to see you again!"
"Well?" remarked Hazel, in a questioning tone, as she sat on the edge of her
cot, after the boys had said "good-night;" and she looked at the others, the
while swinging her stockinged feet to and fro to aid in drying them, for their
shoes had been wet through.
"I don't know that I'd call it well," commented Sylvia, reflectively, "but I
suppose we ought to be thankful that none of us is really ill. That's one
blessing."
"Yes," agreed Mrs. Brownley, "that is a blessing. We came out of the
predicament very fortunately, I think."
"And it certainly was a predicament," added Rose, as she went to the flap of
the tent to peer out.
"Looking for anything in particular?" asked Alice.
"Or any one?" inquired Sylvia, with decided emphasis.
Rose turned quickly, her cheeks showing redder than ever in the glow of the
lantern. Perhaps it was from the excitement of the day, however.

"I just wanted to see what the boys were doing," she answered. "I believe
they are drying our shoes over an oil stove," she went on. "I can just see
inside their cooking-tent—it's open."
"Gracious! I hope they don't cook our shoes!" exclaimed Alice, with a
laugh, and a most commendable effort to lend a little gaiety to a situation
that was certainly in need of it. "I have read of starving sailors eating their
shoe laces. Fortunately my walking boots are button ones," she added, with
another little laugh.
"It's only when laces are of some sort of hide that they make soup of them,"
put in Mrs. Brownley, deciding to do what she could to help remove the
load from Sylvia's mind.
"That's so," chimed in Hazel. "The ordinary cloth shoe lace would not make
a very appetising meal. Though I suppose they could boil the tongue of a
shoe, and serve it in some sort of an entrée," she went on. "And the shoe
wouldn't be much the worse after the operation. Look, Rose, since you have
undertaken the post of observer, and tell us if the boys are taking the
tongues out of our shoes."
"So they won't talk in their sleep?" demanded Sylvia, rising to the occasion
with a joke—"alleged," as she designated it afterward; when they were
going over all the points of the momentous time.
"Aren't we silly?" demanded Hazel.
"It's just as well to try to be cheerful," said the chaperon. "Nothing is so bad
as to lose hope, and while we haven't in the least done that, still it is just as
well to try to have a little reserve fund of good-humor to fall back on in
times of emergency. Oh, I didn't quite mean that!" she added, quickly, as
she caught a look of alarm on Sylvia's face.
"It doesn't matter," was the quiet comment of Roy's sister. "It is just as well
to recognise the fact that we—that I—may have to face an—emergency."
She halted and stumbled over the word, but the others knew how hard it
must have been for her to speak it. And they all realised what a grim
emergency might confront them.
But the little cloud soon passed, for Rose—brave little Rose—rising
gallantly to the occasion, exclaimed:

"Those silly boys!"
"What are they up to now?" asked Hazel, for Rose was still at the tent-flap.
"Why, they're dancing around, holding our shoes, one on each hand, and
actually they are waltzing—doing the hesitation with the shoes on their
hands, held in the air."
"Really?" demanded Sylvia, and there was a rush on the part of the three
girls to join Rose at the flap. Mrs. Brownley remained sitting with dignity
on the edge of a cot. That is with dignity, but with certain reservations, for
she had taken off some of her damp garments and she was just then engaged
in the process of shuffling her stockinged feet along a strip of carpet in the
middle of the tent.
"It was the only way to bring back the circulation and get them warm," she
explained afterward.
"The hesitation? It's a onestep!" declared Hazel, as she peered from their
tent into the lighted and partly-open one where the boys were engaged in
some mysterious rite.
"Yes, that's what they're doing," she continued, peering over Sylvia's
shoulder. "I wonder which one has my shoes?"
"As if it made any difference," mocked Alice.
"Doesn't it make a difference with whom one dances?" asked Hazel.
"If you call that a dance!" said Alice.
"It is one—by proxy," suggested Sylvia. "Oh, the silly boys!"
The Knight of the Overturned Canoe and his chums had offered to dry the
water-soaked shoes of their guests. And now the lads were holding the
footwear on their hands, over the blaze of their cooking-tent oil stove, and
to vary the proceeding, I suppose, now and then one of them would glide
off, whistling some merry air, meanwhile waving aloft his hands (on which
were the shoes) in a sort of syncopated dance rhythm.
"Well, they are trying to be cheerful," said Mrs. Brownley, as she came to
have a peep.

"The more credit to them, considering what company they have on their
hands," said Hazel.
"Nothing on their hands but shoes," said Alice, laughing.
"Besides, they were very glad to meet us," added Rose.
"They certainly are very nice boys," declared Sylvia. "And, oh, I am so glad
they found us! Think of what we would have done if we had had to stay in
the woods all night!"
"I never would have stayed," declared Alice. "I simply would have expired
then and there."
"Then it certainly is a good thing the boys found us," Mrs. Brownley
remarked. "Now, girls, I don't want to dictate to you, but really, I think you
ought to get to bed. We are all cold and damp, and if we get off some of our
wet things, and crawl in between the blankets, it may prevent us from
taking cold. The sheets are not at all clammy," she went on, as she turned
back the covers of her cot, and felt of the linen. "I must say those boys are
clever housekeepers! I would not have believed it."
"Which is praise, indeed, even if it is not from—Oh, I never can think of his
name!" cried Alice.
"Sir Hubert Stanley?" queried Rose.
"Yes, that's the one. And so you think the boys—I'm going to call them our
boys," went on Alice, "are good housekeepers, Aunt Theodora?"
"Very good indeed—for boys," and she thus qualified it.
"Well, I think we'll take your advice, at any rate," said Sylvia. "I'm
beginning to feel chilly."
"The boys have stopped their shoe-dance," reported Rose. "Oh! and one of
them is coming this way!" she cried, as she scurried away from the tent-
flap, for the girls, as well as Mrs. Brownley, were not in a presentable
condition.
However, there was no cause for alarm, for when still at a distance from the
tent, Bert Young called out:
"I say, wouldn't you like an oil stove in there, to dry yourselves out?"

"Indeed we would," answered Mrs. Brownley. "Please bring it, unlighted,
and leave it outside the tent. We'll get it."
"Sounds like an order for fried oysters," commented Alice.
"Right-O!" came the reply, and a little later a modern oil stove was glowing
in the girls' tent. Its warmth was grateful, and they hung some of their
garments on chairs near it before getting into the cots.
They did not go to sleep at once—it would have been a physical
impossibility under the circumstances—so they talked, while Mrs.
Brownley kept one eye on the stove, fearing it might smoke or explode, so
she said.
But it was a very well-behaved stove, and, when the tent was comfortably
warmed, the flame was turned out, and the wayfarers tried to get a little rest.
It cannot be said that Sylvia or any of her chums passed a restful or
comfortable night. They were given the best of the young men's hospitality,
but one cannot be wet through in the woods on a lost trail, torn by anxiety
regarding a missing loved one, be anxious about those of a party from
whom one is separated, and have pleasant dreams. It is too much to expect.
But the night finally passed, and with it the rain. The sun came up warm,
with a promise of soon drying the woods, and after breakfast the party of
young men prepared to accompany their guests back to the Russman
bungalow. The camp of Felton and his chums, in the locality where the girls
found them, had been planned long before they met at the dance, but neither
party was aware of the other's intention.
"But it was the luckiest thing in the world," declared Felton, "that you
stopped and called when you did. Look," and he showed Sylvia how the
trail they were on when they had come to a halt led dangerously near a high
cliff. Sylvia shuddered when she saw it.
"When we head back for the bungalow, can't we go by way of Bald
Mountain?" asked Sylvia, as they were about to start. "It is barely possible
that my poor brother may be there."
"It is a little longer way," Felton explained, "but of course we can use that
route."

"And we may meet some of the guides, or others on the way," put in Rose,
"who will give us good news."
"Perhaps," agreed Alice.
The girls were in better spirits now, though the strain was showing on
Sylvia. However, she kept up bravely, and Rose, too, who had her own
grief, put it aside to comfort Roy's sister.
They tramped through the woods, now glorious with sunshine. Finally Bald
Mountain loomed before them. They must cross it to get on the trail that led
to the Russman bungalow.
Sylvia and Felton were in the lead, the girl pressing on eagerly, and both of
them, as well as every other member of the party, looked closely for any
signs of the missing one. Occasionally they would stop and shout, but they
neither saw nor heard aught of the other seekers—the guides or the
Russman party.
It was near the top of Bald Mountain, when Sylvia, who was a few steps in
advance, passed around a turn in the trail. Before her was an overhanging
stone, forming a sort of niche in the side of the shaling rock of which the
hill was formed. A huddled heap in the niche attracted her attention.
She caught her breath sharply, and grasped the arm of her companion.
[Illustration: ]

"LOOK! LOOK!" SYLVIA WHISPERED.

"It's—it's a man," answered Felton. "Can it be——"
"It's Roy! It's my brother!" Sylvia cried aloud. "I've found him!"

CHAPTER XXXV
RECOVERY

Sylvia was so overcome for the moment, not knowing what might be her
further discovery, that she trembled violently, and swayed as though about
to fall. Felton put out his arms to catch her, but she fought back the
weakness and smiled faintly at him.
"I—I am all right," she assured him.
"Really?" he asked. Mrs. Brownley came hurrying up.
"What is it?" she asked.
"We—we have found him," whispered Sylvia. "But I am afraid, oh, I am so
afraid——"
She did not finish, but they all knew what she meant.
Felton said not a word. He walked steadily up to the huddled figure lying
under the ledge of rock. The sun was slanting into the niche.
Sylvia forced herself to follow him, and watched, as if fascinated, while her
Knight leaned over the figure of her brother. Felton touched Roy with a
tender hand, and then, after a moment—a moment of suspense—fraught
with an agony that made it seem a year, he cried out:
"He's all right! He's alive—and sleeping!"
A silent prayer of thankfulness welled up, not only in the heart of Sylvia,
but in the hearts of all her friends.
As they gathered around, Sylvia kneeling on the hard, stone floor of the
niche beside her brother, he opened his eyes. And it needed but a glance to
show that reason was again on her throne. He looked weak and emaciated
and showed the effects of the terrible sufferings through which he had
passed, but his eyes no longer glowed with the fire of delirium.

Roy sat up, gazed about him, but did not seem at all surprised at his
condition or location—that is, for a moment. He looked at Sylvia
recognisingly, and spoke coolly but in a weak voice:
"Hello, sis! How's everybody?"
Sylvia could not keep a tremor out of her voice as she answered:
"All well. And you, Roy?"
"Oh, I—I'm feeling better. I——" And then he seemed to feel the
strangeness of his condition, and realise that something unusual had
occurred. A great wonder showed in his fever-sunken eyes. He tried to get
up, but fell back weakly. Sylvia put her arm under him, as did Felton, and
they held Roy up together.
"Why—why—what has happened?" he stammered.
"Haven't you any recollection?" Sylvia asked.
"No. I—I——!"
He put his hand up to his head.
"Take it easy now, old man," said Felton, in a low voice. "Bring up that
vacuum bottle, Carroll," he ordered. "A sip of hot coffee will warm you up,
Roy."
Slowly Roy drank the hot beverage. The wonder in his questioning eyes
grew, as he looked at Sylvia and her friends. The party had brought food
with them, and Roy was given some sparingly, for it was evident that he
was half-starved. Gradually a little strength came back to him.
"But what does it all mean?" he asked. "How did I get here? How did you
get here, Sylvia? And Rose?"
He smiled at her, and put out his hand, which she clasped warmly.
"Look here, old man," said Felton. "I think explanations had better be
deferred until you are a little stronger. We'll get some sort of a conveyance,
and have you taken to the bungalow. You need a doctor, I'm thinking."
"Yes," answered Roy, in puzzled fashion. "I seem to remember something
about a doctor. I know I went out in the woods to get something, but I don't
recall what it was. It rained, and I walked about a thousand miles, I guess.

Then I was very tired and I crawled in here. I must have slept the clock
around, for it was sunrise when I came here, and it's sunrise again. But I
can't understand it all. I feel a lot better—up here," and he put his hand to
his head.
"Oh, I am so glad!" Sylvia murmured. She was sure her brother was now in
his right mind, though very weak.
It would be a problem to get him back to the bungalow, but the boys helped
solve that. They made a litter of some boughs and poles and carried Roy to
the nearest road. Then some one went for a waggon, the bottom of which
was filled with straw. Roy protested that he could sit up, but Mrs. Brownley
took charge of him, as she knew something of nursing, and made him lie
down.
"It's a pretty long drill to the Russman bungalow," suggested Felton. "Now
there's a pretty good sanitarium, with some doctors our family know, not far
from here. Why not take him there?"
"We will!" Sylvia quickly decided. Roy made no objection. He smiled up
into his sister's face, reached out for the hand of Rose again, and seemed
content.
The sanitarium of which Felton had spoken proved to be just the place for
Roy. He needed medical treatment of a different sort from that his ailment
had at first called for. The head doctor knew Sylvia's "Knight," as she
laughingly called him, and the physician promised to give Roy every care
and attention.
Sylvia and Rose arranged to stay at a boarding-house connected with the
institution, while Mrs. Brownley, Alice and Hazel would return to the
Russman bungalow, tell the good news, get their own belongings, as well as
those of Rose and Sylvia, and join them later.
Felton and his chums would pilot the party to the "deserted bungalow," as it
was occasionally called, and then they would return to their own camp.
These arrangements were carried out. On the way to the bungalow the party
met some of the guides who were searching for the lost girls and Mrs.
Brownley. The good news was soon spread, and again Old Sam blew the
tidings on his conch horn. The search had ended.

"But, oh! I wonder if Roy will remember that missing formula, that means
so much to him?" said Rose to Sylvia.
"It will be hard to say," was the answer. "We must not hope for too much."
Roy's physical improvement was rapid, once he was given the proper care
and treatment at the sanitarium. The shock and exposure while wandering in
the woods had restored his mind. He progressed every hour, it seemed, now
that Sylvia and Rose were with him. Harry Montray was again to take up
his quarters with his friend, and soon the party of Nowadays Girls was
complete once more, with the addition of Roy and Harry.
As yet nothing had been said to Roy regarding the missing formula. His
memory came back to him, and he recalled everything up to the time of
rushing out of the bungalow in a delirium and off into the woods. What
happened to him there, neither he nor any one else could say.
It was apparent that he had wandered far. What he ate, if anything, no one
knew, but unconsciously he may have appropriated food from some camp
from which the owners were temporarily absent. And finally he had
wandered to Bald Mountain, and fallen into a natural sleep as the fever left
him. Luckily he had not been much out in the wet, though heavy dews had
drenched him.
Every day saw a further improvement in the invalid, until at last came a
time when he could go out into the woods with his sister and the other girls.
And then, like a flash from a clear sky, there came to Roy that which he had
found and lost—the memory of the formula.
They were all walking in the beautiful woods one day when Roy suddenly
began sniffing the air, as though some new odour, different from that of
balsam and fir, came to him.
"What is it?" asked Sylvia.
"That smell—what is it?" he demanded, sharply.
"Oh, it's a menthol pencil I'm using," said Mrs. Brownley. "I have a slight
headache, and that nearly always cures it. It's simply menthol, and perhaps
——"

"That's it!" cried Roy, interrupting. "That's where the whole trouble is! The
menthol smell brings it all back to me—that and the name! It's methane—
that's what I need to use to complete the formula! It's methane! That one
element slipped from me, and I couldn't recall it to save my life. The
mention of menthol brought it back to me, though methane isn't at all like
menthol. It was just the smell and the similarity of names."
"But what does it all mean?" asked Rose, looking bewildered.
"It means that I have rediscovered the chemical formula I lost!" Roy cried.
"It's complete now. I must write it down before I lose it again."
He scribbled some chemical symbols on a bit of white birch bark that
Sylvia hastily tore from a tree for him, and put it in his pocket. But not
before he had looked at it for a moment, murmuring:
"Ah, there you are! You shan't get away from me again! I have the lost
formula! Now I'll show 'em what's what!"
"Oh, Roy, I am so glad!" cried Sylvia, her eyes bright with tears—tears of
joy.
And Harry Montray rejoiced with his friend over the recovery of the
valuable discovery. He insisted on sending a wire to the firm in New York,
and Roy received a congratulatory telegram in response. It meant much to
the firm, and more perhaps to Roy in the way of honour and wealth.
And now my little story is drawing to a close. Indeed there is really nothing
left to tell. For with Roy's physical and mental recovery, which waxed more
perfect every day, all the worriment of Sylvia and Rose, not to mention that
of their friends, passed away.
Then came happy times for the Nowadays Girls and the boys; for the
Knight of the Overturned Canoe and his chums came to see them quite
often. Indeed, after Roy was able to leave the sanitarium he and Sylvia
arranged to open a camp for themselves in the woods, and there entertain
their friends. And this was done.
Canoeing, boating, fishing, long tramps in the woods, pleasant evenings
about the camp fire, an occasional dance—all this made up the remainder of
a happy summer.

"Well, how did you like my Adirondack outing?" asked Sylvia of her girl
chums one day when, regretfully enough, they began to think of returning
to the city and preparing for their college careers.
"It was just perfectly all right, my dear!" said Rose, as she went down the
path toward the lake in response to a call from Roy, who was in a canoe.
"Couldn't have been better!" declared Hazel.
"And if I were only sure we would have as scrumptious a time next season I
would be perfectly happy," sighed Alice.
"We shall go somewhere," Sylvia decided. "The Nowadays Club will live
for many years. But we have plenty of time to pick out another place before
next summer."
And those of you who care to follow the future fortunes, fun and frolic of
our friends may do so in the next volume of this series, to be called: "The
Nowadays Girls on Casco Bay; or, The Treasure Box of Orr's Island."
The outing was over. By easy stages Sylvia and her chums were returning
from the Adirondacks. Once more they stopped at Saranac Inn. It was a
night of the dance. Sylvia sat out on a veranda in the shadows.
"May I have this next waltz?" a voice murmured at her ear.
"What is it?" she asked. It will be noticed that she did not ask "who."
"A canoe glide," was the laughing answer. "May I?"
"You may," said Sylvia.
And, as she joined her companions in the room where the dreamy music
called to willing feet, we will take leave of her and the other Nowadays
Girls.

THE END

THE NEW DOLLAR JUVENILES
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By Gertrude Calvert Hall
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