"It's all right, chilluns," she smiled, as she swung herself up to the
window, "I'm going to jump."

Eleanor had closed her eyes. Phil and Lillian watched their friend,
sick with apprehension.

Madge gave one look down at the ground, at least fourteen feet below
her. Then she uttered a quick, sharp cry, and dropped back to her
resting place, her feet, almost by instinct, finding the open spaces in
the wall.

"Come down, Madge," called Phil sharply. "I was afraid you'd find the
distance too great. Don't try it again."

"No, no, it is not that," replied Madge, gazing through the window. "I
don't believe I shall have to jump. I am sure some one is near."

Sniffing the ground, near the side of the cabin, she had spied a dog
with a soft brown nose, a shaggy, red brown body and a tail standing
out tense and straight. It was a brown setter, and Madge knew he was
probably hunting for woodchucks. Surely the presence of the dog meant
a master somewhere near.

Her tired, eager eyes strained through the thick foliage of the woods
they had traversed so happily only the afternoon before.

Yes, there was a man's figure! He was coming nearer. A young man in a
hunting jacket, with a gun swung over his shoulder, was tramping along,
with his eyes on the ground.