"It's no use! We shall have to go back!" But the lady was whispering something to the gentleman, and he beckoned to the girls with a smile. "Don't run away!" he said. "Look here, we'll punt you across if you like." "Like!" The girls hardly knew how to express their gratitude. "The three of you'd be too heavy a load. I think I'd better take just one at a time. Can you manage to get in? It's rather swampy here. Give me your hand!" Ingred splashed ankle deep in oozy mud as she scrambled on board, but that was a trifle compared with the relief of being ferried over the river. Her knight-errant was neither young nor handsome, being, indeed, rather bald and stout, but no orthodox interesting hero of fiction could have been more welcome at the moment. She tendered her utmost thanks as she landed, again with damage to her shoes, on the rushy bank opposite. Their friends in need, having successfully punted over Beatrice and Verity also, bade them a laughing good-bye, and resumed their easy course down stream, leaving three very grateful girls behind them. [Illustration: A FRIEND IN NEED] "That's helped us out of a fix! Don't say again we've no luck!" cried Beatrice, wiping her boots carefully on the grass. "They were angels in disguise!" sighed Ingred. "Rather stout angels!" chuckled Verity. "Now, how are we going to get out of this field?" "Over the hedge, I suppose. There's a piece of fence that looks climbable!" returned Beatrice, swinging herself up with elephantine grace, and dropping with a heavy thud on the other side. "Oh! good biz! We're on a cinder path!" They were indeed in a back lane which led at the bottom of some gardens, then behind a row of stables, and finally through a gate on to the high road. "I know where we are now!" exclaimed Beatrice gleefully. "It's only quite a short way to the Morton's. They live in the next terrace but two. I believe we're within measurable distance of some lunch." This was such good news that they strode along in renewed spirits. Considering all, they thought the adventure was turning out well. A meal would undoubtedly be most acceptable, if Beatrice's friends were hospitable enough to offer it. "It's the fourth house," said Beatrice, "the one with the copper beech over the gate. Linden Lea--yes, here we are! Oh, I say, what are all the blinds down for?" The girls faced each other blankly. "Is anyone dead?" faltered Ingred. "I'll ring and inquire, at any rate," murmured Beatrice. So she rang, and rang again and yet again. She could hear the bell clanging quite plainly and unmistakably somewhere in the back regions, yet nobody came to the door. "It's funny! I don't hear anybody in the house either," she remarked. "Their dog generally barks at the least sound." At that moment a small face peeped over the top of the wall which divided the garden from that of the next house, and a childish voice asked: "Do you want the Mortons?" "Yes. Isn't anybody in?"