"They are carrying us away!" Florence cried. Her tone was that of despair.
"We must cut the tiller," was Tillie's answer.
"Then they'll run us down, as they did Jeanne and me."
"No matter! We must cut the tiller!"
"But how? We have no knife."
Tillie thought a moment. Then once more she crept forward toward the bobbing prow. Once ther