forgiveness of Marjorie and the rest of the Scouts. The thought of
beginning all over again inspired her with happiness--the first real
happiness she had felt since her arrival in New York!

She next discovered a way to go to Trenton by trolley; and accordingly,
the next morning she paid her bill and started off. For the time being,
she seemed to have forgotten Ruth Henry; all that she thought of was how
Marjorie Wilkinson would receive her when she finally saw her.

She reached Trenton in the afternoon, and hunted a room. Fortunately,
she still had enough money to pay in advance. Leaving her belongings,
she set out in the direction of the boat-houses, to ascertain whether
the canoe was still there. But on her way she passed a large mill,
before the entrance of which hung a sign, "Girls Wanted;" and without a
moment's hesitation she went in, and secured trial employment.

With a light heart, she crossed the bridge to the other side of the
river. Walking down a short distance, she espied several old men along
the shore.

"There he is!" she thought, as she caught sight of the white beard that
had attracted her before. She looked around expectantly for the canoe,
but did not see it among the boats.

"Good afternoon!" she said pleasantly, adopting the manner she had been
taught to use in the restaurant. "Several months ago I sold you my
canoe. I wonder if I could buy it back at the same price?"

The man eyed her narrowly, while his mouth curled into a snarl.

"Your canoe, eh? _Your_ canoe! I happen to know you stole that canoe--it
never was yours!"

The girl recoiled as if he had struck her. How could he know? Were
policemen on her trail? She shuddered with apprehension. Then, drawing
herself up with dignity, she inquired haughtily,

"And from who did you get your information?"

"A gal and two boys in an auto stopped here to fix a puncture, and
suddenly the gal seen the canoe, and recognized it. 'Where'd you get
that?' she asked.

"'Some gal paddled up here in it and sold it,' I replied.

"'Wal it weren't her'n to sell,' the gal says. 'She's nuthin' but a
common thief--that's what she is!'

"And she paid me five dollars to save it for her, and the next day they
drove up with more money, and took it away.

"Now, I ain't sayin' nuthin' on you, but I advise you not to talk about
_your_ canoe no more!"

"Oh, indeed!" said Frieda, scarcely able to choke back the tears. And,
turning hastily around, she walked o