"Then she knows the truth," returned naughty Madge. "No, Phil, please
don't ask Miss Jones to come out with us this afternoon, there's a
dear. I told you I wanted to think. And I can think brilliantly only
when in the company of my beloved chums."

Phyllis Alden and Madge Morton were good oarsmen. Indeed, they were
almost as much at home on the water as they were on land. Each girl
wore a tiny silver oar pinned to her dress. Only the week before Madge
had won the annual spring rowing contest; for Miss Tolliver made a
special point of athletics in her school, and fortunately the school
grounds ran down to the bank of a small river.

Phil and Madge rowed out into the middle of the river with long,
regular strokes. They were in their own little, green boat, called the
"Water Witch." Lillian sat in the stern, trailing her white hands idly
in the water. Eleanor sat quietly looking out over the fields.

Suddenly Madge, who always did the most unexpected things in the world,
locked her oars across the boat and sat up in her seat with a jerk that
rocked the little craft.

"Girls, I have thought it all out!" she exclaimed. "I have the most
glorious, the most splendid plan you ever heard of in the world! Just
wait until you hear it!"

"Madge," Phil called in horror, "do sit down!" The boat was careening
perilously. Before Phil could finish her speech Madge had tumbled over
the side of the skiff and disappeared in the water below.

The girls waited for their friend to rise to the surface. They were