For some reason or other, however, Hutchins was out of spirits that night.

“I hope you’re not sick, Hutchins?” said Tish.

“No, indeed, Miss Tish.”

“You’re not eating your fish.”

“I’m sick of fish,” she said calmly.  “I’ve eaten so much fish that when I see a hook I have a mad desire to go and hang myself on it.”

“Fish,” said Tish grimly, “is good for the brain.  I do not care to boast, but never has my mind been so clear as it is to-night.”

Now certainly, though Tish’s tone was severe, there was nothing in it to hurt the girl; but she got up from the cracker box on which she was sitting, with her eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t mind me.  I’m a silly fool,” she said; and went down to the river and stood looking out over it.

It quite spoiled our evening.  Aggie made her a hot lemonade and, I believe, talked to her about Mr. Wiggins, and how, when he was living, she had had fits of weeping without apparent cause.  But if the girl was in love, as we surmised, she said nothing about it.  She insisted that it was too much fish and nervous strain about the Mebbe.

“I never know,” she said, “when we start out whether we’re going to get back or be marooned and starve to death on some island.”

Tish said afterward that her subconscious self must have taken the word “marooned” and played with it; for in ten minutes or so her plan popped into her head.

“‘Full-panoplied from the head of Jove,’ Lizzie,” she said.  “Really, it is not necessary to think if one only has faith.  The supermind does it all without effort.  I do not dislike the young man; but I must do my duty.”

Tish’s plan was simplicity itself.  We were to steal his canoe.

“Then we’ll have him,” she finished.  “The current’s too strong there for him to swim to the mainland.”

“He might try it and drown,” Aggie objected.  “Spy or no spy, he’s somebody’s son.”

“War is no time to be chicken-hearted,” Tish replied.

I confess I ate little all that day.  At noon Mr. McDonald came and borrowed two eggs from us.

“I’ve sent over to a store across country, by my Indian guide, philosopher, and friend,” he said, “for some things I needed; but I dare say he’s reading Byron somewhere and has forgotten it.”

“Guide, philosopher, and friend!” I caught Tish’s eye.  McDonald had written the Updike letter!  McDonald had meant to use our respectability to take him across the border!

We gave him the eggs, but Tish said afterward she was not deceived for a moment.

“The Indian has told him,” she said, “and he’s allaying our suspicions.  Oh, he’s clever enough!  ‘Know the Indian mind and my own!’” she quoted from the Updike letter. “‘I know Canada thoroughly.’  ’My object is not money.’  I should think not!”

Tish stole the green canoe that night.  She put on the life preserver and we tied the end of the rope that Aggie had let slip to the canoe.  The life-preserver made it difficult to paddle, Tish said, but she felt more secure.  If she struck a rock and upset, at least she would not drown; and we could start after her at dawn with the Mebbe.