“Well, they are tearing up Mrs. Johnston’s wash,” admitted Grace, still tagging at the trailing bag, that could not be seen in the thicket and brambles she dragged it over.

“Oh, Grace!  There he comes!” screamed Madaline, as a moving figure could be outlined in the shadows of the low brush, and tall swamp berry trees, that just towered high enough to hide the form that bent and broke the impeding young birches.  It was the swish and motion of the brush that indicated his advance and location.

“Mercy!” yelled Grace, alarmed now in spite of her boasted courage.  “Let’s run.  But I won’t drop this wash.  I don’t care if he follows me into the post-office for it,” and at that, she gave the rope one more terrific jerk, the force of which brought the trailing obstacle out into the path where it had a clear track to follow the girl, who held madly to the other end of the rope.

No words were wasted as the girls scampered and scurried through that wood.  Grace held firmly to the rope, and could feel that it still dragged her quarry, while Madaline never turned her head to see whether or not the pursuing man was at their heels.  That they had not been struck down was enough, to be thankful for, thought Madaline.

And in all of this, no trace of the other members of the hiking party was discovered.  More than once the girls heard something they decided ought to be their “Coo-ee” call, but each time it turned out to be nothing more friendly than the astonished birds, either laughing at the scouts, or rooting for their successful escape from the pursuer.

Beaching the big rock that covered the path, and always had to be climbed over “by hand,” the girls scrambled up, then down, and when Grace gave a necessarily vigorous tug at her rope it sprang up to her face in a real caress!  In fact it actually coiled around her like a friendly thing.

Mrs. Johnston’s wash was gone!

“Oh, he grabbed it!” wailed Grace.  “He got hold of my rope when we had to stop to make the rock and now—­he has got it again!”

“Don’t you dare stop one minute!” panted Madaline.  “You have almost murdered us as it is,” she proclaimed in her excitement, which always banished her ordinarily sparse supply of reasonable language.

“Nice way you help a sister,” mocked Grace.  “I thought you were going to help me win honors,” and she gathered up her delinquent rope with a much disturbed expression on her pretty face.

“I think I have helped you save your life, if you only knew it,” Madaline managed to articulate.  “The idea—­”

“All the same I did tie him up,” admitted Grace, bolder now that she could see the end of the woods.  “I don’t see how he got loose.  I used the running bow-line, and a couple of clove hitches.  Our old knots came in useful, but they didn’t hold evidently.  Hark!  Wasn’t that a whistle!  Sounded like Margaret’s trill.”

“Yes, and it’s away over on the Avenue.  Whatever will Captain Clark say?”