"She's a beauty," said Tom Curtis warmly, "and I really must have a closer look at her."

"Then come to see us soon," invited Phil audaciously.

"I will, you may be certain of it. Good-bye. I hope you won't suffer any bad effects from your strenuous night." The young man raised his cap and, whistling to his dog, strode off down the hill.

"What a nice boy," commented Lillian.

Madge, however, was not thinking of Tom Curtis; her mind dwelt upon their chaperon, and the long, anxious night she had spent alone on the houseboat.

Poor Miss Jones! Her vigil had indeed been a patient one. From the time the hands of the little cabin clock had pointed to the hour of six she had anxiously awaited the girls. She had cooked the dinner, then set it in the oven to warm. At seven o'clock she trudged up the hill to the farmhouse to make inquiries. No one had seen the young women since they passed through the fields early that afternoon. At nine o'clock a party of farmers scoured the country side, but the extreme darkness of the night had caused the young men to discontinue their search until daylight.

At dawn Miss Jones flung herself down on her berth, utterly exhausted. She would rest until the search party started out again, then she would hurry to the nearest town and inform the authorities of the strange disappearance of the girls. As she lay with half-closed eyes trying to imagine just what could possibly have happened to her charges, a familiar call broke upon her ears that caused her to spring up from her berth in wonder.

"We've come to see Miss Jennie Ann Jones," caroled a voice, and in the next instant the bewildered teacher was surrounded by four tired but smiling girls.

"We were locked up all night in a log cabin in the woods," began Madge. "Do say you are glad to see us and give us some breakfast, Miss Jennie Ann Jones, for we were never so hungry in all our lives before, and as soon as we have something to eat, we'll tell you the strangest story you ever heard."

With her arm thrown across the teacher's shoulders Madge made her way to the houseboat, followed by her friends. At that moment, to the little, impulsive girl, Miss Jennie Ann Jones seemed particularly dear, in spite of her mysterious ways, and Madge made mental resolve to try to believe in their chaperon, no matter what happened.



CHAPTER IX

THE GIRL ON THE ISLAND

"Phil, it looks like only a little more than half a mile over to the island. Do you think we can make it?" asked Madge, casting speculative eyes toward the distant island.

"Of course we can," declared Phyllis. "I'm sorry that Eleanor and Miss Jones did not come with us. But they have become so domestic that they can't be persuaded to leave the houseboat. Nelly told me she positively loved to polish kettles and things," Phil replied.

Lillian, Phyllis and Madge were in their own rowboat, the "Water Witch," which had been expressed to them from Harborpoint. They were no longer in the quiet inlet of the bay, where their houseboat was anchored, but rowing out toward the more open water. On one side of them they could see the beach in front of a large summer hotel. Across from it lay a small island, to which they were rowing.

"Miss Jones doesn't like to have us start off alone this way. She has grown dreadfully nervous about us since our experience in the cabin," remarked Lillian. "That is why she didn't approve of Madge's plan this morning."

"I thought Madge was going to fly into little bits when Miss Jones suggested it was not safe for us to row about here in our own little 'Water Witch,'" teased Phil.

"Phil, please don't discuss my temper," answered Madge crossly. "If there is one thing I hate worse than another, it is to hear people talk about my faults. Of course, I know I have a perfectly detestable temper, but I hardly said a word to Miss Jenny Ann. Please tell me what fun we could have on our holiday if we never dared to go ten feet away from the houseboat?"

"None whatever," answered Lillian, "only you needn't be so cross with Phil and me. We were not discussing your faults. You are altogether too ready to become angry over a trifle." There was indignation and reproof in Lillian's tone.

Madge plied her oars in silence. She knew that she had behaved badly. "Isn't it exactly like me?" she thought to herself. "If I am sweet and agreeable one minute, and feel pleased with myself, I can surely count on doing something disagreeable the next. Now I have made Lillian and Phil cross with me and probably have hurt Miss Jenny Ann's feelings and spoiled this beautiful day for us all."

Eleanor's soft voice broke in upon her self-arraignment. "Don't squabble, girls. The day is altogether too perfect. None of you are really cross. Now, are you?"

Three pairs of eyes met hers, then the little dispute ended in a general laugh.

Madge and Phil rowed faster than ever after this little falling out. They could see the shores of Fisherman's Island not far ahead, with several dories and small fishing craft anchored along the banks. They were heading toward an open beach, where there was no sign of life.

"Girls, look out!" warned Lillian. She was sitting in the bow of their skiff, and could see another rowboat moving toward them, the two pairs of oars rising and falling in perfect accord. The boat was so close to them that Lillian was afraid Phil and Madge might cross oars with it. But as the other boat glided smoothly up alongside of their skiff, the oars were drawn swiftly inboard, almost before the girls knew what had happened.

"I suppose you don't speak to people on the water whom you might be persuaded to notice on land," called Tom Curtis reproachfully.

"O Mr. Curtis! how do you do?" laughed Madge. "You see, we are not possessed with eyes in the backs of our heads, or we should have recognized you. Goodness gracious! If there isn't my cousin, Jack Bolling! I never dreamed you knew him. Why didn't you tell me? Jack, where did you come from?"

Tom looked at Jack, and Jack looked at Tom. "Age before beauty, Mr. Curtis," bowed Jack. "You answer first."

"To tell you the solemn truth, I did not know your cousin until this morning," Tom explained. "But when I saw a not specially bad-looking fellow mooning about our hotel as though lost I went over and spoke to him. It wasn't long before I found out he knew you young ladies. I told him about meeting you in the woods the other day, and we shook hands on it. Now, Bolling, it is your turn. How did you happen to turn up in this particular place?"

Jack was apparently looking at Lillian and Madge, but he had really glanced first at Phyllis Alden, to see how she had borne the shock of his presence. Jack had guessed correctly that Phyllis did not like him. To tell the truth, she looked anything but pleased. She did not like boys. She could do most of the things they could, and they were, to her mind, a nuisance. They were always on hand, trying to help and to pretend that girls were weaker than they were in order to domineer over them. The worst of it was, Madge, Lillian and Eleanor might think the newcomers would add to the fun. So, though Phyllis did not mean to be rude either to Tom or to Jack, she was far from enthusiastic, and could not help showing it.

"Of course, I had to come down to see what your houseboat looked like after I got your note telling me where you were," explained Jack. "I knew there was a hotel near here, so, as soon as school closed, I ran down for a few days to see how you were getting on. You see, I was really very much interested in the houseboat." Jack made this last remark directly to Phyllis. She merely glanced carelessly away in the opposite direction.

"We rowed up from the hotel to the houseboat, but we couldn't see a soul aboard. 'The ship was still as still could be,'" declared Tom. "Then we started for a row and found you." There was no doubt that Tom was looking straight at Madge.

"We are rowing over to the island," remarked Lillian graciously.

"How strange! We were going over there, too, weren't we, Mr. Bolling?" quizzed Tom.

"Then catch us if you can!" challenged Phyllis. With a sign to Madge the two girls began rowing their boat through the water with the speed of an arrow. The first spurt told, for the island was not far away, and the girls' boat grated on the beach before the boys had time to land. But Tom and Jack did jump out and run through the water to pull the "Water Witch" ashore, much to Phil's disgust.

"I really have an errand to do on this island, Miss Morton," continued Tom, as the party started up the beach. "I wanted first to ask you if I could bring my mother to call on you and your chaperon this afternoon? I am awfully anxious to have an all-day sailing party to-morrow. And I thought perhaps you and your friends and chaperon would go with us? There is an old fellow over here who takes people out sailing, and I am anxious to have a talk with him. Don't think I am such a duffer that I can't sail a boat myself, but my mother is so nervous about the water that I take a professional sailor along to keep her from worrying. She has had a great deal to make her nervous," Tom ended. "I wonder if you and your friends would mind walking over to the other side of the island with me to see this man? It is not a long walk."

The party started off, Phyllis keeping strictly in the background. Madge walked with Tom and Lillian with Jack, so she felt a little out of it.

"If you don't mind," she proposed, after the party had walked a few yards, "I will sit down here on the beach and wait until you come back from your talk with the sailor man. I will stay right here, so you can find me when you return."

Phil found herself a comfortable, flat rock, and sat looking idly out over the bay. Gradually she fell into a little reverie.

A sudden cry of pain roused Phil from her daydream. Springing to her feet, she rushed down the beach, seeing nothing, but following the direction of the cry. Rounding a curve of the beach she came upon a dirty, half-tumbled down tent. In front of it stood a burly man with both hands on the shoulders of a young girl, whom he was shaking violently. So intent was he upon what he was doing, he did not notice Phil approaching. She saw him shove the girl inside the tent and close the outside flap. "Now, stay in there till you git tired of it," he growled as he turned and walked away.

A sound of low sobbing greeted Phil's ears as she came up in front of the tent and stood waiting, hardly knowing what to do. The sobs continued, with a note of pain in them that went straight to Phil's tender heart. The sight or sound of physical suffering made a special appeal to her. It was Phyllis's secret ambition some day to study medicine, an ambition which she had confided to no one save Madge. Although the figure she had seen was almost that of a woman, the sobbing sounded like that of a child. There was no other noise in the tent, so Phil knew the girl was alone.

"Won't you please come out?" she called softly, not knowing what else to do or say. "Tell me what is grieving you so. I am only a girl like yourself, and I would like to help you."

"I dare not come out," the other girl answered. "My father said I must stay in here."

Phil opened the flap of the old tent and walked inside. "What is the matter?" she inquired gently, bending over the figure lying on the ground and trying to lift her.

The girl sat up and pushed back her unkempt hair. She had a deep, glowing scar just over her temple. But her hair was a wonderful color, and only once before Phil remembered having seen eyes so deeply blue.

"Why," Phil exclaimed with a start of surprise, "I have seen you somewhere before. Don't you remember me?"

The girl shook her head. "I do not remember anything," she answered quietly.

"But I saw you on the canal boat. Your father was the man who helped us secure our houseboat. What are you doing here?"

"We have come here for many years, I think," the girl answered confusedly. "In the early spring my father catches shad along the bay. Then all summer he takes people out sailing from the big place over there." She pointed across the water in the direction of the hotel. "Our boat is on the other side of the island." The girl clasped her head in her long, sun-burned hands. "It is there that it hurts," she declared, touching the ugly, jagged scar.

Phil gave a little, sympathetic cry and put her hand on the girl's shoulder.

"When I work a long time in the sun my head hurts," the girl went on listlessly. "I have been washing all day on the beach. I came up here to hide, and my father found me. He was angry because I had stopped work."

"Did he strike you?" Phil cried in horror, gazing at the slender, delicate creature and thinking of the rough, coarse man.

"Not this time," the girl replied. "Sometimes they strike me and then I am afraid. Only there is one thing I shall never, never do, no matter how much they beat me. I can not remember everything, but I know that I will not do this one thing."

"What is it?" asked Phil. "Whom do you mean by 'they,' and what do 'they' wish you to do?"

The girl shook her head. "I can not tell you." She shuddered, and Phil felt she had no right to insist on knowing.

"I like to hide in this tent," the girl went on sorrowfully. "I come here whenever I can get away from the others. I would like to stay here always. But, now he has found me, there is no place where I can rest."

"Have you a mother, or brothers and sisters?" Phil asked.

"There is the man's second wife, but she is not my mother. She has many little children. I think I must be very old. I seem to have lived such a long time."

"Can't you remember your own mother?" Phil inquired.

The girl shook her head mournfully. "I can remember nothing," she said again. "Don't go," she begged, as Phil rose to leave her. "I have never known a girl like you before."

"I must go," answered Phil regretfully. "My friends will be waiting for me up the beach, and they will not know where to find me. Won't you come to see me and my friends? We are spending our holiday on a houseboat not very far from here. We would love to have you come."

"I am not allowed to leave the island or to go among people," the girl replied. "My father says I have no sense. So, if I wander away, or talk to strangers, people will think that I am crazy and shut me up in some dreadful, dark place."

Tears of sympathy rose to Phyllis's eyes. She wished Madge and the other girls were with her. It was too dreadful to think of this lovely creature frightened into submission by her cruel father. "We will come to see you, then," she said gently. "And I will bring you something to keep your head from aching. My father is a physician, and he will tell me what I must give you. I will bring my friends to the island with me. Whenever you can get away, come to this tent and we will try to find you. We shall have good times together, and some day we may be able to help you. You know how to write, don't you? Then, if you are ever in trouble or danger, leave a note under this old piece of carpet. Now good-bye."

The girl stood in the door of her tent to watch Phyllis on her way. She stared intently after her until her visitor turned the curve of the beach and was lost to view, then, leaning her head against the side of the tent, she burst forth into low, despairing sobs.



CHAPTER X

AN EXCITING RACE

Eleanor and Miss "Jenny Ann," as the girls seemed inclined to call their chaperon, had not remained on the houseboat merely to polish the pots and pans. They had a special surprise and plan of their own on hand.

It was all very well for Phyllis to dream of a houseboat, with its decks lined with flowers, and for Madge to draw a beautiful plan of it on paper. Flowers do not grow except where they are planted.

So it was in order to turn gardeners that Eleanor and Miss Jones stayed at home. Flowers enough to encircle the deck of a houseboat would cost almost as much money as the four girls had in their treasury to keep them supplied with food and coal. But the gently sloping Maryland fields were abloom with daisies. A farmer's lad could be hired for a dollar to dig up the daisies and to bring a wagon load of dirt to the boat. The day before Eleanor had engaged the services of a carpenter to make four boxes, which exactly fitted the sides of the little upper deck of the houseboat above the cabin. An hour or so after the girls departed on their rowing excursion the daisies were brought aboard, planted, and held up their heads bravely. They were such sturdy, hardy little flowers that they did not wither with homesickness at the change in their environment.

But still Eleanor was not entirely satisfied. In Phil's dream and Madge's picture of the boat vines had drooped gracefully over the sides of the deck, and Eleanor had no vines to plant. Eleanor had a natural gift for making things about her lovely and homelike. So she thought and thought. Wild honeysuckle vines were growing in the fields with the daisies. They were just the things to clamber over the white railing of the deck and to hang gracefully over the sides. Their perfume would fill the little floating dwelling with their fragrance.

By noon the transformation was complete. Eleanor persuaded Miss Jones to go for a walk while she got the luncheon. Madge, Phil and Lillian had solemnly promised to be at home by one o'clock. Another surprise was in store for them. In the bow of their boat Eleanor had hung up a flag. On a background of white broadcloth, stitched in bands of blue, was the legend "Merry Maid." This was Eleanor Butler's chosen name for the houseboat, and had been voted the best possible selection, while Madge had been unanimously voted captain of their little ship. Eleanor had sent to the town for the flag, and even their chaperon was not to know of its arrival.

One would hardly have known Miss Jenny Ann Jones—a week in the fresh air had done her so much good. Then, too, Phil and Lillian had persuaded her to cease to wear her heavy, light hair in an English bun at the back of her neck. Lillian had plaited it in two great braids and had coiled it around her head like a dull golden coronet. She had a faint color in her cheeks, and, instead of looking cross and tired, she was as merry and almost as light-hearted as the girls. The lines of her head were really beautiful, and her sallow skin was fast becoming clear and healthy. For once in her life Miss Jones looked no older than her twenty-six years. Eleanor watched her as she started off on her walk dressed in white, carrying a red parasol, and decided that Miss Jones was really pretty. Since her advent among the girls she had begun to look at life from a different standpoint. She had almost ceased worrying and she meant to grow well and strong if she could. Since her mysterious visitor the first night she spent aboard the boat nothing had happened to disturb her. She walked slowly on, so occupied with her own thoughts she did not notice that she was in a lane between two fields enclosed by fences. Some one called to her. She could not distinguish the voice. It called and called again. She thought it must be one of the girls who had come out in the field to meet her. As there was no one looking, Miss Jones managed to climb over the rail fence, and now she walked in the direction from which the sound of the voice came. After a time the voice ceased. It was a shorter stroll to the boat across this field, so the teacher went leisurely on. In a far corner of the meadow she saw an odd object unlike anything she had ever seen. It consisted of two sticks that looked like the legs of a scarecrow which had a square board fastened in front of them. From between the sticks were two other brown objects, long and thin, and behind it sat a young man busily engaged in transferring the peaceful scene to canvas. Miss Jones was gazing curiously at this object, with her red parasol hung over her shoulder, so that it was impossible for her to see anything behind her. But she did hear an unusual noise—a snort, then a bellow—the sound was unmistakable. With a sense of sickening terror she gave one horrified glance behind her. She had been mysteriously lured into a field where a bull was loose. It never occurred to Miss Jones to throw away her red parasol. She ran on, waving it wildly over her shoulders, maddening the enraged animal behind her. Miss Jones did not believe she could run fast. Usually her breath was short, and even a rapid walk fatigued her. Now she ran on and on. Once again she half heard a mocking voice cry after her, but she paid no attention to it. In her fright she was also oblivious to the fact that the strange object in the corner of the field fell to the ground with a bang, while a man sitting on a stool behind it rose to right his overturned canvas. "Drop it, drop it!" he shouted, running after Miss Jones and repeatedly urging her to throw away her bright red parasol.

Madge, Phil and Lillian had come back to the boat. After dancing in a circle around Eleanor to express the rapture they felt in the transformation she had wrought in their beloved houseboat, they stood together on the deck, looking for the return of their chaperon along the shore.

Miss Jones thought there was a gate at the end of the field in which she was running. She made for this gate, as she knew she would not have time to get over the fence before the animal would be upon her. In her terror she had but one idea, one hope, that was to reach the safety of the gang-plank and to climb aboard the houseboat.

While Miss Jones was running for her life the four chums were lingering about the deck of the "Merry Maid" watching for her return. They decided to take a short walk with the idea of meeting her and, leaving their boat to take care of itself, strolled through the lane that led to the very field Miss Jones had entered. All at once Lillian called out in terror:

"O girls! look! It's Miss Jones, and a bull is chasing her!"

The four chums stood rooted to the spot. What could they do? They felt powerless to help, yet not one of the girls believed Miss Jones could save herself.

Madge was the first to act. In her hand was a large white and green striped umbrella. The girls had lately bought two of them to use out on deck as a protection from the sun, and Madge had caught up one of them as they started out. In the next instant she had climbed the fence that separated her from the field in which the teacher was running and was making for the frightened woman at the top of her speed.

But by this time Miss Jones was completely exhausted. Summoning all her will power, she staggered a few steps, then dropped to the ground, with the bull not more than four yards behind her.

On it came, its head lowered almost to the ground. Then a huge green and white monster loomed up before the animal, and with a snort of mingled rage and horror the bull stopped short in its tracks. The strange green and white object now lunging at full tilt was far more terrible than the small, red, flame-like object that fled its approach. Rage conquering fear, the bull gave a dreadful roar and made a quick lunge at Madge. She sprang to one side but managed to thrust her umbrella full in the animal's face. With a rumble of defiance the bull dodged the umbrella and made another lunge at Madge. Its lowered horns never reached her. A rope swung skilfully forward caught the animal by the leg just in time. One swift pull and the bull went down. The owner of the animal had witnessed its charge upon Miss Jones and, rushing across the field, had roped it. The artist who had attracted Miss Jenny Ann's attention had also come to the rescue, but it was really Madge with her green and white umbrella who had saved their chaperon from the bull's horns.

Miss Jones, who had raised herself to a sitting position, stared wildly about her, still firmly clutching the red parasol.

The artist sprang to her side and raised her to her feet. "It was this that made the mischief," he said, touching her parasol. "I shouted to you to drop it."

"But I didn't hear you," defended the teacher faintly. Her two long braids of fair hair had become unfastened and were now hanging down her back, giving her the appearance of a girl. "I heard some one calling to me, or I would never have entered that dreadful field." Miss Jones eyed the artist reproachfully. "Was it you who shouted my name?"

"Was it I?" repeated the young man in astonishment. "Certainly not. I do not know your name."

"My name is 'Jones,'" Miss Jenny Ann faltered weakly. She was still feeling dazed and weak.

"And my name is 'Brown,'" the artist answered, with an expression of solemn gravity. But the corners of his lips twitched in amusement.

There was a faint chuckle from Madge that went the round of the group and, despite the fact that the chaperon's narrow escape had been far from ludicrous, the whole party burst into laughter.

"I am sorry," apologized the artist. "Please forgive me for laughing."

The farmer had in the meantime led the bull away, and now Eleanor and Lillian came running toward the group to see if Miss Jenny Ann were truly hurt. When they saw the whole party shaking with laughter, the two girls exchanged curious glances. "Luncheon has been waiting half an hour," Eleanor declared rather crossly. "Do come and eat it. We would not have come after you if we had known that you were having such a good time."

Madge glanced at their chaperon, then at the artist. He was evidently a gentleman, and she recognized that he was possessed of a keen sense of humor. It would seem rude and ungrateful to run away and leave him just as their luncheon was announced, when he had raced all the way across the meadow to assist in the rescue of their Miss Jenny Ann.

"Won't you come and eat luncheon with us?" asked Madge boldly, fearing their chaperon would be dreadfully shocked.

The artist shook his head. "I'd like to accept your invitation if Miss Jones will second it," he replied, looking at Miss Jenny Ann.

"You would he delighted to have Mr. Brown take luncheon with us, Miss Jenny Ann, wouldn't you?" Madge turned coaxing eyes upon their teacher.

"I should be very ungracious if I were not," laughed their chaperon, the color rising to her brown cheeks. "Mr. Brown will be a welcome guest."

And five minutes later Mr. Brown was triumphantly escorted aboard their beloved "Merry Maid."



CHAPTER XI

AT THE MERCY OF THE WAVES

"Don't you think it would be perfectly lovely to have a mother as rich and beautiful as Mrs. Curtis?" asked Madge, as she tied a black velvet ribbon about her auburn curls and turned her head to see the effect. She and Phil were dressing for Tom Curtis's sailing party, to which he had invited them the day before and which was to start within the next hour.

"Almost any mother is pretty nice, even if she isn't rich or beautiful," answered Phil loyally. She was wearing a yachting suit of navy blue while Madge was dressed in white serge. Eleanor, Lillian and Miss Jones, clad in white linen gowns, were ready and waiting on the houseboat deck for the arrival of the sailing party. True to his word, Tom Curtis had brought his mother to call on the four girls the afternoon of the day before.

"I know," answered Madge slowly. "But sometimes, when I was a very little girl, I liked to think that perhaps I was a princess in disguise, and that Uncle and Aunt had never told me of it. I used to look out of the window and wonder if some day a carriage would drive up to hear me away to my royal home. That doesn't sound very practical, does it? But, when one has no memory of father or mother, one can't help dreaming things. Don't you think Mrs. Curtis is simply beautiful?" Madge abruptly changed the subject. "Her hair is so soft and white, and she has such a young face, but she looks as though she were tired of everything. Persons who have that wonderful, world-weary look are so interesting," finished Madge, with a sigh. "I am afraid I shall never have that expression, because I never find time to get tired of things."

"Come on, Madge," laughed Phil. "You can mourn some other day over not having an interesting expression."

"Girls," called Lillian, "the Curtis's boat is coming."

"In a minute," answered Madge, giving a final pat to her curls.

"Do hurry along, children. The sailboat is nearly here." This time it was Miss Jenny Ann's voice. "They signaled us several minutes ago. They have several other persons on board."

Mrs. Curtis and Tom signaled as they approached the "Merry Maid." Their guests were the artist, whom the girls had met the day before, Jack Bolling, and one or two strangers from the big summer hotel. Mike Muldoon, the owner of the boats, had another sailor on board to help him. Tom soon transferred the girls and their chaperon from their craft to his. The party intended to sail down the coast to a point of land known as Love Point and to eat their luncheon somewhere along the shore.

Mrs. Curtis sat across from Madge during their sailing trip, but every now and then she would look over to laugh at one of the young girl's amusing sallies. It was evident that the little captain of the "Merry Maid" had found favor in her eyes. Mrs. Curtis had planned a dainty luncheon, to which the steward at the hotel had given special attention, even to the sending of a man to serve it. There were delicious sandwiches of various kinds, chicken and Waldorf salads, olives, salted nuts, individual ices sent down from Baltimore and bonbons. It was quite the most elaborate luncheon the girls had ever eaten and they were rather impressed with both it and the service.

After luncheon the party sat for a long time on the clean, white sand, laughing and talking gayly. It was a perfect day and everyone was in the best possible spirits. Later on they divided into little groups. Lillian and Phil wandered off with Jack Bolling. Eleanor found a congenial companion in one of the young women guests from the hotel, while Tom, Miss Jones and Mrs. Curtis sat under a tree with the artist, watching him sketch. Madge, alone, flitted from one group to another, a little, restless spirit.

"Why don't you take Miss Morton for a sail, Tom?" suggested his mother. "You will have time to go a short distance out. We shall not start for the hotel until four o'clock."

"A good suggestion. Thank you, Mother," cried Tom. "Come on, Miss Morton."

Madge and Tom went gayly down to the boat. Tom's big setter dog, Brownie, dashed after them, pleading so hard to be taken aboard that Tom at last consented to have him, though he gravely assured the animal that three was a crowd, to which statement Brownie merely gave a joyful yelp and darted on board without further ceremony.



It was a glorious day with a stiff breeze blowing. The water was fairly choppy, but the boat sped along, occasionally dashing the spray into the two young faces. Madge wore a white cloth cap, with a visor, such as ship's officers wear, and looked as nautical as she felt. Both Tom and Madge were possessed with an unusual fondness for the water, and their common love of the sea was a strong bond between them.

"Have you ever heard of any one who could have locked you up in the old hut that night?" Tom asked as they sailed along.

Madge shook her head. "No; I have not the faintest idea. To tell you the honest truth, I had almost forgotten that unpleasant experience. We have been having such a beautiful time since that we haven't had time to think of disagreeable things."

"Do you think it is safe for five women to be aboard that houseboat by themselves?" asked Tom anxiously. "If your boat were farther out on the water you would be safer."

Madge laughed merrily. "Look here, Mr. Curtis, I don't think it is fair for you to question our safety when there are five of us, Wouldn't Phil be angry if she heard you say that! It makes her furious to hear a man or boy even intimate that girls can't take care of themselves. Why, we can swim and run and jump, and we could put up a really brave fight if it were necessary. Besides, Nell and I know how to shoot. Uncle taught us when we were very little girls. I have been duck shooting with him along this very bay. Look at that rowboat back there. I have been watching it for some time. It has been trying to follow us."

Tom turned about. The boat was only a skiff, and, though it was nearly in their course, there was no chance of its coming any closer, as their boat was sailing before the wind.

"I believe it is the same skiff I saw this morning," commented Tom. "I suppose it is some fellow who has been fishing out here. Just think of the fish in this wonderful bay—perch and pike and bass and a hundred other kinds! You must help me catch some of them some day."

"All right, I will," promised Madge merrily. As they went farther out into the bay they grew strangely silent. The spell of the sea was upon them and they were content to sail along, exchanging but little conversation. Chesapeake Bay was apparently in one of its most amiable moods and, lured on by its apparent good nature, Tom grew a trifle more reckless than was his wont and did not turn about to begin the homeward sail as soon as he had originally intended.

It was Madge who broke the spell. "I think we had better start back. Perhaps I merely imagine it, but it seems to me that the sun isn't shining as brightly as it shone a little while ago. I know the bay so well. It is so wonderful, but so treacherous. I was once out on it in a sailboat during a sudden squall and I am not likely to forget it." Madge gave a slight shudder at the recollection.

"All right," agreed Tom, "I'll turn about, but there isn't the slightest danger of a squall to-day." He brought his little craft about and headed toward the beach.

In spite of his assurance that there would he no squall, a black, threatening cloud had appeared in the sky, and now the wind shifted, blowing strongly toward land. Tom, who was nothing if not a sailor, managed the boat so skilfully that Madge's apprehensions were soon quieted and she gave herself up to the complete enjoyment of rushing along in the freshened breeze.

They were within a mile of their landing place when, off to their right and a little ahead of them, Madge spied the rowboat they had seen at the beginning of their sail.

The boat was now tossing idly on the waves, and its sole occupant, a young man, was trying vainly to guide it with a single oar.

"There is that boat again," called Madge to Tom, who was busy with his sails. "I believe the young man in it is in trouble and is signaling to us for help."

As Tom drew nearer to the rowboat the other man in it called out: "Say, can't you take me aboard? I've lost an oar, and it's a pretty tough job trying to get ashore with one oar in a sea like this."

Tom glanced quickly at Madge. He was quite ready to help the young man, but wished to be sure that his young woman guest had no objection to the stranger coming aboard their boat.

It took five minutes to bring the sailboat close enough to pick up the man. Tom threw him a rope and the stranger climbed aboard, making fast his rowboat to the stern of the sailing vessel. He was a peculiar, wild-looking fellow, with dark, shifting eyes and thick, curly hair that partly covered his ears. As be stepped into the sailboat his lips parted in a smile that showed his teeth, which Madge noted were long, very white and pointed at the ends. He was deeply tanned, yet, in spite of his rough appearance, seemed to be a gentleman.

"You are very kind," he said in a low, purring voice which caused Madge to eye him sharply. "I would not have troubled you, but there is a heavy squall coming up. I shall be greatly obliged to you if you will put me ashore."

"All right," assented Tom. "We are in a hurry to get to shore ourselves, as my mother will be anxious if the storm catches us."

Madge had continued to gaze at the new-comer. "Where have I seen him before? He is like a wolf. His teeth look almost like fangs, and I don't like his strange, shifting eyes," she mentally criticised.

Aloud she said to Tom: "Miss Jenny Ann will be worried. She has been very nervous about us since we were locked in that old cabin in the woods overnight."

The stranger regarded Madge quizzically. She could have sworn that a mocking light lay in his dark eyes. "Did you say you were locked in an old cabin in the woods overnight? How unfortunate."

"It will be more unfortunate for the fellow who locked the girls in, provided we find him," threatened Tom shortly. The stranger's suave tones aroused in him a peculiar feeling of antagonism.

The young man regarded Tom through half-shut eyes. "I must ask you to land me on the beach above here," he drawled.

"Sorry," answered Tom firmly. "I don't know any other pier along here except ours. I told you I was in a hurry to go ashore. I don't like to be disobliging, but you will have to go to our landing with us."

The black clouds were now chasing one another across the sky, and the wind made a curious whistling noise. Nevertheless the boat was sailing gloriously, and in spite of the oncoming squall Tom and Madge were enjoying themselves immensely, though neither of them was much pleased with their fellow traveler.

The stranger turned to Madge. "You must tell your friend that he'll have to land me somewhere else than in that picnic party," he muttered hoarsely. "I tell you I have a reason. I do not want to meet any society folks."

"I am sorry," answered Madge distantly, her eyes growing stormy at the young man's peremptory tone. "Mr. Curtis explained to you why we are in a hurry to land. As long as he took you aboard our boat with us as a favor, you have no right to ask us to change our course."

The stranger clenched his fists and glanced angrily at Tom.

"Ain't you going to land me somewhere else first?" he demanded in a snarling voice.

Tom quietly shook his head. The sailboat was now only a little more than half a mile from the pier. The wind was fair, blowing them almost straight to the pier.

Tom Curtis was not looking. Suddenly the fellow sprang up and threw the tiller over. The boat jibed sharply. Madge cried out in quick alarm. Her cry saved Tom Curtis from being knocked overboard by the boom as it swung over to the other side of the boat.

"Keep away from this tiller," Tom called out angrily, seeing that their boat had now entirely changed its course. "I am sailing this boat."

"You are not sailing her, if you don't take her in where I say," the intruder declared fiercely. His eyes were bloodshot and his teeth closed together with a snap. He stood by as if he were going to spring at Tom Curtis.

Madge's cheeks were burning. She was so angry that her throat felt dry and parched. "Don't pay any attention to him," she called indignantly. Tom Curtis hesitated.

"I don't fight when I have a woman guest on board the boat," he declared doggedly. "Once I run my boat in to the pier, you will answer for this."

"Never mind threatening me: I'm not afraid of you. You know you have got to land me where I say. What do you care about where you land? It is where I land that is important." Again the stranger made a rush for the tiller.

Tom sprang upon him. The two were evenly matched, and Madge held her breath as she watched them struggle. Brownie, Tom's setter dog, sprang for the stranger's leg, then retreated to one end of the boat howling with pain. The intruder had swung back his foot and dealt the dog a savage kick.

The rain had now begun to fall heavily, and the deck soon became slippery as glass. The two young men continued to struggle. Tom realized that he was endangering Madge's life, as well as his own, in this reckless battle on the deck of a small boat. He thought he now had the advantage. If he could only settle his hateful passenger with one swift blow all would he well. With this thought in mind he tore himself from the grasp of his antagonist, but he had forgotten the slippery deck. His foot shot out from under him, and he went down in a heap, falling heavily on one shoulder. The stranger sprang upon him, and now it was the ungrateful passenger who had the advantage and was mercilessly pushing him with both arms toward the edge of the boat. Slowly Tom gave way, inch by inch. He was conscious of a racking pain in his shoulder. He tried to raise his right arm; then a feeling of faintness swept over him, he reeled, and, before Madge could move to his help, Tom Curtis fell backward into the water.



CHAPTER XII

A BRAVE FIGHT

"Bring her to!" cried Madge imperiously, starting toward the stranger, who now stood by the tiller.

"I can't bring her to, I'm no sailor," answered the young ruffian coolly. "I didn't push your friend overboard; he fell. You had better sail the boat yourself instead of standing there giving me orders."

Madge regarded the stranger with horrified eyes. "You did push him overboard," she accused. "I saw you do it. If he drowns, you will be held responsible."

"I didn't, I tell you. Better be careful what you say. It wouldn't take much to send you after him," was the stranger's menacing retort.

With a look of withering scorn Madge coolly turned her back on the intruder. She would not take the trouble to bandy words with him. She was too angry to experience the slightest fear of this scowling, ill-favored youth. Her superb indifference to his threat made a visible impression upon him. With a muttered word he slouched to the bow of the boat, where he crouched, glaring at her with the eyes of an angry animal brought to bay.

Although not more than a minute had passed since Tom disappeared over the side of the boat it seemed hours to the frightened girl. She must act quickly or Tom would be lost.

During their sail she had watched Tom Curtis manoeuvre the boat and had paid particular attention to his manner of "bringing it to." It had appeared to be a comparatively simple process and she laughingly remarked that she believed she could do it herself. Now the opportunity had come to prove her words. Grasping the tiller, she brought the boat directly into the eye of the wind. A moment later the sails flapped in the breeze, and the boat floated idly in the heavy rolling sea.

The stranger had not in reality given Tom the final shove that sent him overboard. At the edge of the boat he had suddenly relaxed his hold, and Tom, faint from the pain of his injured shoulder had toppled backward. The shock of striking the water revived him somewhat, and as he felt himself slipping down he made a brave effort to swim, then, finding it useless, managed to turn on his back and float.

Still keeping her hand on the tiller, Madge strained her eyes to watch his every movement. "Try to make it, Tom," she shouted encouragingly. "You've only a little farther to swim. Come on; I'll help you into the boat."

"I'm afraid I can't, Madge," he called faintly. "I've hurt my shoulder. I can't swim."

The girl at the tiller bent forward to catch the sound of her friend's voice. Then she answered with the bravery of despair: "You must keep on floating. You are not going to drown. I am coming after you."

At the same instant Madge divested herself of her coat, shoes and the skirt of her suit and poised herself for a dive into the angry water. "Keep the head of the boat to the wind," was her curt command to the stranger, "I am going after Mr. Curtis."

"You're crazy!" shouted the stranger, leaping to his feet. "You can never save the man in such a sea as this. You'll both be drowned!"

His tardy expostulation fell upon unheeding ears. Madge was in the water and swimming toward Tom. Expert swimmer that she was, she knew that she was risking her own life. The tide was against her, and even though she did reach Tom before he sank again, it would be hard work to support him and swim back to the boat in such a heavy sea.

The sky was now dark, the waves had grown larger, and a pelting rain had begun to beat down in Madge's face. Tom had risen to the surface of the water again, and was feebly trying to swim toward her. He had shuddered with despair when he first caught sight of her in the water. But his faint, "Go back! Go back!" had not reached her ears. Nor would she have heeded him had she heard.

His intrepid little rescuer was swimming easily along, with firm, even strokes. Little water-sprite that she was, she would have enjoyed the breakers dashing over her head and the tingle of the fine salt spray in her face if she had not realized the danger that lay ahead.

"Keep floating until I can get to you!" she called out to Tom. She did not speak again, for she did not mean to waste her breath.

Tom was making an heroic effort to keep himself afloat. But he was growing weaker and weaker, and the last vestige of his strength was giving way. As Madge reached him, he managed to reach out and clutch her arm, hanging to it with a force that threatened to pull them both under. He was making that instinctive struggle for life usually put forth by the drowning. Madge experienced a brief flash of terror. "Don't struggle, Tom," she implored.

Even in his semi-conscious state Tom must have heard his companion's words. He ceased to fight, his body grew limp, and, clasping one of his hands in her own strong, brown fingers, Madge swam toward the spot where she had left the sailboat. Never once did she relax her hold on the burden at her side. Now and then she glanced up at their boat. Each time she caught a glimpse of it it seemed to be farther away. Could it be possible that the wind and the tide were carrying the sailboat ashore faster than she could swim? Surely the youth on board would come forward to help them. Now the waves that dashed over Madge's head and lashed across her face sent echoing waves of despair over her plucky soul. Tom was too far gone to know or to care what was happening. The responsibility, the fight, was hers.

"I must save him," she thought over and over again. "It does not so much matter about me; I haven't any mother. But Tom——"

Her bodily strength was fast giving out, but her spirit remained indomitable. It was that spirit that was keeping them afloat in the midst of an angry sea.

But as for gaining on the sailboat, she was right. No matter how great her effort, she was not coming any nearer to it. The last time she looked up from the waves she could catch only a glimpse of the boat far ahead.

It seemed incredible. It was too awful to believe. The stranger she had left on board the sailboat was not coming to their aid. He was deliberately taking their boat to shore, leaving them to the mercy of the sea.

Even with this realization Madge did not give up the battle. The arm that held Tom Curtis felt like a log, it was so stiff and cold. She could swim no longer, but she could still float. There were other craft that were putting in toward the shore. If she could only keep up for a few moments, surely some one would save them!

But at last her splendid courage waned. She was sinking. The rescuer would come too late! She thought of the circle of cheerful faces she had left two hours before. Then—a cold, wet muzzle touched her face, a pair of strong teeth seized hold of her blouse. Tom's setter dog, Brownie, had managed to swim to his master. The animal's gallant effort to save Tom inspired Madge to fresh effort, and once more she took up the battle for her life and that of her friend.



CHAPTER XIII

LIFE OR DEATH?

"Is there no hope?" a voice asked despairingly.

"There is hope for a long time," answered Phyllis Alden quietly. "I have heard my father say that people may sometimes be revived after being in the water for many hours."

"She must live, or I can not bear it," declared Tom Curtis brokenly. "Oh, won't some one go for a doctor? Can't you do something else for her?"

"The man has gone for a doctor, Tom," soothed Mrs. Curtis. "Does your arm pain you much?"

"Never mind my arm," groaned Tom. "She saved my life, mother, and now she's dead." His voice broke.

"You mustn't say that," cried Phyllis sharply. "She can't be dead."

"Phil," entreated Miss Jones, "let me take your place. I am sure I can do what you are doing."

Phyllis shook her head. "I can't leave her."

Phyllis Alden knelt on the ground on one side of the unconscious girl. Jack Bolling and an old fisherman knelt opposite her. The artist, Mr. Brown, was trying to assist in restoring Madge to consciousness. Phyllis Alden had been drilled in "first aid to the drowning" by her father. Long experience with the sea had taught the sailor what to do. But Madge had resisted all their efforts to bring her to consciousness. She had battled too long with the merciless waves and her strength was gone before the fisherman, coming home in his rowboat, had spied the three figures at the moment when Madge was about to give up the fight. He had hauled her and Tom inside his boat, and poor Brownie had somehow managed to swim ashore.

On the beach the fisherman found an anxious group of picnickers watching the storm with fearful eyes. Their fear was changed to horror, however, when the fisherman deposited his ghastly freight on the beach.

Fifteen minutes after being brought to shore Tom Curtis had returned to consciousness. His first words were for Madge. Although Tom had been a longer time in the water than his rescuer, his injured arm, which was sprained, but not broken, had prevented him from making so fierce a struggle; therefore he was far less exhausted than was his companion. To those who watched anxiously for the first faint sign of returning life it seemed hours since the fisherman had laid that still form on the sand. It was none other than the old fisherman who discovered the faint spot of color which appeared in Madge's cheeks, then disappeared. After that the work of resuscitation went on more steadily than ever, and slowly and painfully Madge came back to life. Strange noises sounded in her ears. A gigantic weight was pressing upon her chest. She tried to speak, but it was choking her, crushing her. She made an heroic effort to throw it off, and then her eyes opened and dimly she beheld her friends.

"She has come back to us." Phil's voice was ineffably tender. She glanced up and her eyes met those of Jack Bolling. Forgetting her dislike for him, she smiled. She remembered only that he was Madge's cousin. Jack had always thought Phil ugly, but as he gazed into her big, black eyes and white, serious face, he decided that she had more character than any other girl he had ever met, and he would never forget the splendid effort she had made to save his cousin.

As soon as the work of resuscitation was completed and Madge declared out of danger, Mrs. Curtis insisted that on their return to the mainland her son's brave little rescuer should be taken to the Belleview Hotel, where she would be able to rest far more comfortably than if carried on board the houseboat.

A yacht was chartered to take the picnic party home. The sailboat had completely disappeared, and Tom was able to tell only a part of their strange adventure. From whence the youth whom they had taken on board their boat had come and why he had made off with their boat and left them to drown were questions which no one seemed able to answer.

It was not until two days later that the fisherman, searching along the very shore from which they had started, found the sailboat resting quietly at anchor about two miles from the pier where the picnic party had landed. The boat was uninjured, and Madge's hat, coat and skirt lay on the deck, where she had thrown them when she dived into the bay. But the wild lad who had caused the mischief had vanished completely. No one near had seen or heard of him. His identity was a mystery. If any one of the fisher folk knew his name, or where he had gone, they did not betray that knowledge. Mrs. Curtis wished to offer a reward for the fellow's capture. Tom would not consent. He intended to find his enemy himself, and to settle his own score. At night Tom used to lie awake for hours to plan how he would track the stranger and at last run him down. But in the day time he was much too fully occupied with entertaining his mother's young guest to plan revenge.

Madge had been the guest of Mrs. Curtis at the Belleview Hotel for five days. It had taken but a day for her to recover from the effect of her narrow escape from drowning. She possessed far too happy a disposition to dwell long on an uncomfortable memory, and her recent mishap soon became like a dream to her. But her feeling of affection for Mrs. Curtis was not in the least like a dream, and grew stronger with every hour she spent in her new friend's company. It was a red letter time for Madge.

Mrs. Curtis tried in every possible way to manifest her gratitude. Had not Madge saved her son's life? She felt that she could make no adequate return for the heroic service the young girl had rendered her.

She insisted that the most attractive apartment in the hotel should be Madge's and surrounded her with all sorts of luxuries. The young girl's suite consisted of a cosy little sitting room and a wonderful bedroom with white, rose-bordered walls and Circassian walnut furnishings. There was a little, white bath leading out from the bedroom and Madge reveled in her new-found treasures.

All day long her apartment was lovely with flowers. Tom Curtis ordered a box of roses to be delivered to her each day from Baltimore. The roses were presented to Madge every morning when the maid brought up her breakfast-tray, and for the first time in her life Miss Madge enjoyed the luxury of eating her breakfast in bed. Boxes of candy became so ordinary that she fairly pleaded with her friends when they came to visit her to take them back to the houseboat.

"Madge will never be happy again on the 'Merry Maid,' will she, girls?" The four girls were rowing back to their floating home after a visit to their friend.

"Yes, she will," returned Phil stoutly, though she felt a slight pang when she remembered how cheerfully Madge had kissed them goodbye.

"I am sure she is well enough to come home now," burst forth Lillian, "only Mrs. Curtis and Tom won't hear of it. Dear me! I suppose our little captain is happy at last. She has always dreamed of what it would feel like to be rich and a heroine, and now she is both. But nothing seems quite the same on the boat," she added wistfully. "I think we are all homesick for her."

Miss Jennie Ann laughed at their doleful faces. "She will soon be with us again," she declared. "I'll tell you a secret. She is coming home to the houseboat day after to-morrow. She whispered to me to-day that there was really no reason why she should stay any longer with Mrs. Curtis, and that she did not wish to presume on her hospitality. Mrs. Curtis is very fond of her. She does not wish Madge to leave her." Miss Jones looked so mysterious that the girls regarded her curiously. "I think it is a good thing for Madge and for Mrs. Curtis to spend a few days together. Mrs. Curtis is lonely and needs good company," added Miss Jones.

"So do we," murmured Phil, with a rueful laugh. "We need Madge as much as Mrs. Curtis does."

After the girls had left her, Madge lay back luxuriously among her linen pillows. She was looking very lovely in a pale pink silk tea gown Mrs. Curtis had insisted on her wearing, for Madge had arrived at the hotel with no clothes other than the wet garments she had on when rescued from the waves. Her fine clothes occupied very little of her thoughts, however. She had something of far greater import on her mind.

The time had come to tell Mrs. Curtis that she must go back to the houseboat. She was not sorry to go; she was only sorry to leave her new friends. During her stay at the hotel Mrs. Curtis had treated Madge as though she were her own daughter. The imaginative young girl was completely fascinated with the beautiful, white-haired woman, whose sad face seemed to indicate that she had suffered some tragedy in her life. While Madge lay thinking of the most courteous way in which to announce that she must return to the "Merry Maid" a light knock sounded on her door. Tom's mother came softly into the room, gowned in an exquisite afternoon costume of violet organdie and fine lace, which was very becoming to her white hair and youthful face.

"Are you awake, Madge?" were her first words. "How do you feel?"

Her guest smilingly raised herself from her pillows. "I am awake as can be, and as well as can be! To tell you the truth, Mrs. Curtis, I have never been in the least ill from my adventure. I was tired the day after it happened, but since that time I am afraid I have allowed you and Tom to believe that I was sick because I liked to be petted and made much of." Madge laughed frankly at her own confession. "You have been so good to me, and I do appreciate it, but now I must go home to my comrades. Eleanor was awfully disappointed to-day when I told her I was not going back with them this afternoon."

"I wish you would stay with me longer," pleaded Mrs. Curtis, taking the girl's firm brown hand in hers and looking down at it gravely, as it lay in her soft white one. She gazed earnestly at Madge's clear-cut, expressive face. "Tom and I will be lonely without you," she said. "I want a daughter dreadfully, and Tom needs a sister. If only you were my own daughter."

Madge sighed happily. "It has been beautiful to pretend that I was your real daughter. It has been like the games I used to play when I was a little girl. I have been lying here in the afternoons, when you thought I was asleep, making up the nicest 'supposes.' I supposed that I was your real daughter, that I had been lost and you had found me after many years. Just at first you did not know me, because time had made such a change in me. But—— Why, Mrs. Curtis, what is the matter?" There was wonder and concern in Madge's question. "You don't mind what I have said, do you? I have been making up things to amuse myself ever since I was a little girl." She looked anxiously into the face of the older woman. It was very white, and seemed suddenly to have become drawn and old.

"My dear child, I love to have you tell me of your little dreams and fancies," said Mrs. Curtis affectionately, laying her hand on Madge's head. "What made you think I didn't?"

"You looked as though what I said hurt your feelings," returned Madge, coloring at her own frankness.

"It was only that something you said brought back a painful memory," explained the older woman. "I would prefer not to talk of it. Tell me, is there nothing I can do to induce you to remain with me a little longer?"

Her guest shook her head. "Thank you," she replied gratefully, "but I must go back to my chums. It won't be going away, really, for I will come to see you as often as you like, and you and Tom and Jack must visit us on the houseboat. I want you to like the other girls almost as well as you do me," smiled Madge. "Please don't like them quite as well, though. That doesn't sound very generous, but I should like to feel that I was first in your heart."

"You shall be, my dear." Mrs. Curtis bent and kissed the young girl's soft cheek. "And to prove just how much I do care for you I wish to give you something which I hope you will like and keep as a remembrance of me. I know your uncle and aunt will be willing to let you have this little gift when they learn of the spirit which prompted the giving of it." Mrs. Curtis drew from a little lavender and gold bag which she carried a square, white silk box and laid it in the astonished little captain's hand.

"What—why—is it for me?" stammered Madge, sitting up suddenly, her eyes fastened on the box.

"It is for no one else," was the smiling answer. "Shall I open it for you?"

Mrs. Curtis touched a tiny spring in the white box. It flew open!

There before Madge's wondering gaze, coiled on its dainty silk bed, lay a string of creamy pearls. They were not large, but each pearl was perfect, an exquisite bit of jewelry. Mrs. Curtis took the necklace from its case. She leaned over and clasped it about Madge's slender throat, saying: "Tom and I talked a long time about what we wished to give you as a slight remembrance of our appreciation of what you did for us. At last we decided upon this as being particularly suitable to you. Then, too, we wished to give you something that came up out of the sea."

"It is the loveliest necklace in the world," declared Madge happily, touching the pearls. "It is far too beautiful for me. I shall love it all my life and never, never part with it. You have been too good to me, Mrs. Curtis," she added earnestly.

"But think what you did for me," reminded the stately, white-haired woman.

"That isn't worth remembering. I did only what any one else would have done if placed in the same circumstances."

"But you saved my son's life, and that is the greatest service you could possibly render me."

Yet before her vacation was over Madge Morton was to perform for her friend a further service equally great.



CHAPTER XIV

MADGE COMES INTO HER OWN AGAIN

Lillian and Eleanor were in the houseboat kitchen, making chocolate fudge and a caramel cake.

"I think it will be too funny for anything," laughed Eleanor. "Let's keep your surprise a secret from the others. It will be a delightful way to celebrate Madge's return. Do you know that we have a hundred and one things to do today?" she added, stirring her cake batter as fast as she could. "This boat must be cleaned from stem to stern. I told the boy from the farm to be here at nine o'clock this morning to scrub the deck. He hasn't put in his appearance yet. I wonder which one of us can be spared to go and hurry him along?"

"Let's ask Miss Jenny Ann," suggested Lillian slyly. "She has done her share of the work already, and Mr. Brown is sketching the old garden near the farmhouse. Haven't you noticed that our chaperon has been very much interested in art lately? Mr. Brown wishes to paint a picture of our houseboat. He has a fancy for this neighborhood. He thinks it is so picturesque. 'Straws show which way the wind blows,' you know. Watch the candy for me. I'll go ask Miss Jenny Ann if she will go out and round up our faithless boy."

Miss Jones was quite willing to go, and started out, leaving the girls to their cleaning. Every now and then they were seized with a desire to work, which caused them to fall upon the houseboat and clean it from end to end. This morning the fever had been upon them from the time they had risen, and by the time Miss Jenny Ann started upon her errand it was in full swing.

Jack Bolling and Tom Curtis were to bring Madge home late in the afternoon, and, as a surprise for Madge, the boys had been invited to remain to tea. It was therefore quite necessary that their floating home should be well swept and garnished.

"Where's Phil?" asked Lillian, stepping from the kitchen out onto the deck, where Eleanor had gone after having seen her cake safely in the oven.

There came a series of raps on the cabin roof. Phil leaned over among the honeysuckle vines on the upper deck. "I am up here, maiden, digging in our window boxes. Want me for anything?"

"No," returned Eleanor, as she vanished inside the kitchen again. "But sing out if you see Miss Jenny Ann and the boy coming."

A little while later Phil saw the figure of a young man coming slowly down the path toward the houseboat. She thought, of course, that it was the boy from the farm. She did not turn around. She was too deeply engrossed in pulling up the weeds that had mysteriously appeared in their window boxes. When his footsteps sounded on the floor of the lower deck she called out carelessly, "Miss Seldon and Miss Butler are in the cabin waiting for you. Miss Jones is not here. I suppose she gave you the message."

The youth, who had been moving cautiously toward the houseboat, was not the boy for whom the girls were waiting. This one had black, curly hair and wild dark eyes. He looked up and down the shore. There was no one in sight.

Although there were several farmhouses beyond the embankment that sloped down to the inlet of the bay, there was no house within calling distance of the "Merry Maid." Their boat was anchored to the pier only a few yards from the shore, tied firmly to one of the upstanding posts. The youth grinned maliciously. He decided that he had met with an unexpected stroke of good luck. He was hungry and penniless. Nothing could be easier than to terrify the girls on board into submission, take what money and food they had, and be off with it before any one appeared to help them. If it was a desperate venture, well, he must take a desperate chance. He could not wander around in the woods forever with no food or money.

Meanwhile Phil had not once glanced behind her. "You'd better begin scrubbing at once," she directed. "We have been waiting for you a long time. We wish to get our houseboat in order. We are going to give a party for our friends. Do hurry, there is such a lot to do."

The young man below was not troubling himself about the amount of work to be done; he had other matters to consider. This girl on top the cabin deck was evidently expecting some one. She would not come down her little ladder unless she heard a noise or disturbance from below. The next question was, how many girls were on board and where were they?

Eleanor and Lillian had finished the cake and the fudge. They had brought them into the living room and set them on the table to wait for the evening tea party. Eleanor was tired.

She had thrown herself down on a lounge and her eyes were closed. Lillian, with her back to the door, stood talking to her friend. They did not hear the intruder's light footfalls.

Suddenly Lillian felt her two hands caught roughly behind her in such a powerful grasp that she staggered back. Eleanor sprang from the couch, opening her eyes in amazement! She saw Lillian struggling with a man whose face wore the expression of a hungry animal.

"Don't scream," he ordered harshly. "Give me what food and money you have and I will let you go. If you scream, you will be sorry." He glared savagely at the two girls.

Lillian tried to wrench her hands from his grasp. They were pinioned so tightly behind her that she could not move. Eleanor slipped off her divan. She and Lillian had no weapons with which to defend themselves. Eleanor thought if she could get out of the room, while the man held Lillian, she could cry for help. Her first scream would bring Phyllis to their aid, and Phil would come to their assistance prepared to fight.

Eleanor looked so young and girlish that no one would have expected her to show resistance. She tried to look even more frightened than she really felt. "We haven't any money on board," she said quietly. "We don't keep our money here, but if you are hungry, we will give you something to eat without your being so fierce." Eleanor was edging slowly away from her couch.

"I don't want a slice of pie and your stale bread," the man replied angrily. "I want everything you have got, and I want it quick."

Now was Eleanor's chance. Lillian gave another frantic tug, attempting to free her hands. She had not cried out since the man seized her, but her face was contracted with pain. The robber was so fully occupied with holding her he was not looking at Eleanor, although his eyes slanted go curiously that he could apparently see on all sides of him.

Eleanor made a quick rush forward. With a thud she fell to the floor, and lay stunned by the force of her fall. The tramp, still holding Lillian by her wrists, had jerked her backward, thrown out his foot and tripped Eleanor. Now, before Lillian could scream, he whipped out a dirty handkerchief and tied it so tightly about her mouth that she could scarcely breathe. He next took a piece of twine and twisted it about Lillian's wrists, so that the cord cut into them.

While this scene of violence was being enacted Phil was perfectly happy and strangely unconscious of any trouble. She was still at work, sweeping the upper deck and clearing it of the trash she had made with her gardening. She was humming gayly to herself or she would have heard the sounds below more plainly. "There was a man in our town, and he was wondrous wise." She stopped short. She had heard a noise, as though something had fallen. But then, the girls were always dropping things and stumbling over their few pieces of furniture. There was no further noise. Phil went on with her singing. But why did Lillian and Eleanor not start the farmer boy to scrubbing? It was getting late, and they wished to decorate the boat. Phil was too busy at her own task to go down to discover the reason.

The tramp gazed sarcastically at Lillian, whose eyes watched him defiantly, then at Eleanor, who was still lying on the floor. "Now, girls," he began with mock politeness, "I imagine you will be kind enough to be quiet for a time at least. So I think I will look around to see if there is anything here that I would like." He seized poor Lillian's plate of chocolate fudge and stuffed the candy into his pockets. Then he left the sitting room and crept into the bedroom which was used by Miss Jones and Eleanor. He found Eleanor's purse under her pillow and pocketed it. On the small dressing-table was Miss Jenny Ann's purse. He chuckled softly. This was the best of the sport.

Phil's humming upstairs stopped. Why did that lazy farmer boy not get to his work? And where were Lillian and Nellie? Phil listened. She thought she heard such an odd noise. It was as though some one were trying to talk while choking. She ran lightly down the outside cabin steps, her broom still in her hand. She peered into the kitchen. It was empty. Phil did not go into the sitting room next. Some instinct must have guided her. Had she seen the plight poor Lillian and Eleanor were in, she must have screamed and betrayed herself. Instead she stepped into Miss Jones's bedroom.

The youth, with his back to the door, had ears like the creatures of the woods. Under other circumstances he would have heard Phyllis's approach. But something in the discovery of Miss Jenny Ann's poor little purse seemed to give him special joy. He was opening it and emptying it of its last penny.

Phil saw him from the open cabin door. She did not think—she acted. She saw, as she supposed, the farmer lad, intent on robbing them. Phil brought her broom down on the boy's head with a resounding whack.

The tramp started forward with a growl. For the moment he was nearly blinded from the pain of the blow.

Phil recognized that discretion was now the better part of valor. She dashed out of one door, then into another, the youth stumbling after her, raging with anger. She knew every turn and twist of the tiny cabin. Instead of running around the deck, where she would surely have been captured, she darted in and out of the cabin doors, those on the inside, swinging backward and forward, sometimes closing a door in the face of her pursuer.

She was almost overcome with horror when she saw Lillian and Eleanor in the sitting-room. Lillian could not speak, but her eyes pleaded with Phil. Phyllis had no reason not to cry out. As she ran she screamed with all her might:

"Help, help, help!" Some one would soon be passing along the shore who would come to their aid.

The thief did not like the noise Phyllis made. He also thought her cries would be heard on the shore. He had found what he wanted. He had no idea of being caught on the houseboat. But he had spied Eleanor's caramel cake on the table. He would take that and be off in a hurry.

As he grabbed Eleanor's cake, the product of her morning's work and the chief ornament of their tea party, Eleanor opened her eyes. The sight was more than she could bear. She gave a heart-rending scream. It added to the tramp's alarm. He made for the shore as fast as he could run.

Phil saw him start. She ran back of the kitchen and caught up something that lay coiled in a heap on the deck. As the thief ran down the gang plank and leaped on the land, it flew through the air with a hissing, swinging noise. The youth fell face downward, his arms close to his sides, letting the beloved cake drop to the ground.

Not for nothing had Miss Phyllis Alden seen Miss Jenny Ann rescued from a wild bull by means of a lasso. Not for nothing had she spent hours of her time, and one of her few dollars, in acquiring the skill necessary to the swinging of a lariat. She now had her enemy held fast. At the same instant that Phil caught her prey, before he had time to jerk away, she knotted her rope about the cleat that held the anchor.

On the shore, the youth tugged and strained. He ran back into the water. It struck him that he might climb aboard the boat again. But his arms were caught down at his sides. It was impossible for him to get at a knife to cut the ropes. He could ease off the noose with his teeth, but it would be a slow process of escape.

As soon as Phil had her victim fast, she rushed back into the sitting room. She found Eleanor on her feet, engaged in untying the handkerchief from Lillian's face and cutting the twine that was bound about her swollen wrists.

"I've caught the enemy and he is ours," declared Phil cheerfully. "I have him tied to the side of the boat. I can't say how long it may take him to get away, and he may climb back on the boat and try to eat us up. But, at least, we can get ready for him."

The robber was doggedly working at the rope that bound him. "I am going to get back at you," he yelled savagely.

"Oh, why doesn't some one come?" cried Eleanor. "I am so afraid he'll get away."

There was a cheerful whistle at the top of the embankment. It turned to one of horrified amazement as the artist, Theodore Brown, took in the situation.

"What has happened?" he called out as he ran down the hill, swinging a small stick in his hand. "I heard your screams away over in the fields. What have you got there?"

Phil told the story, "What shall we do with our prisoner, Mr. Brown? We can't be bothered with him. We must get ready for our tea party," she concluded.

"I don't know what you wish to do with the young rascal," rejoined Mr. Brown, "but I know very well what I intend to do." The artist's face was set and stern. His eyes gleamed with righteous anger. Then he began calmly rolling up his sleeves. He went forward to the prisoner. "I am going to give you a taste of this," he declared, swinging his stick through the air. It hit Phil's captive with a swish, once, twice, three times. Mr. Brown was just warming up to his work.

"Leave me alone," the fellow howled. "Aren't you a coward to hit me when I can't get at you!"

"You were not troubled about being a coward when you tried to terrorize three girls and got pretty badly left," Mr. Brown answered coolly, giving the youth another cut.

The bully groaned. The girls could not endure it. If the lad had taken his medicine like a man they might have borne the sight of his punishment. But there is nothing more sickening than the fear of a coward.

"Please stop now, Mr. Brown," entreated Lillian. "I am sure you have punished the boy enough. Make him give up the money he has stolen, but don't beat him any more."

"No, please, don't beat him any more," echoed Eleanor.

Phil could have endured to see the thrashing continue a little longer. But she did not wish to appear hard-hearted.

"Just as you like," answered Mr. Brown. "I am enjoying myself, but I will quit if you say so. Don't you think I had better turn him over to the police?"

"No," Phil protested. "He won't trouble us again, now he knows we can look after ourselves. Next time he wouldn't get off so easily."

The youth vowed never to come within the range of the houseboat if he were permitted to go free this time. As he got out of sight he stopped to shake his fist at the distant houseboat, and he vowed to be revenged for the punishment he had received if it cost him his life.

The girls begged Mr. Brown to say nothing to their chaperon of their encounter. Miss Jenny Ann was already dreadfully nervous about them and, besides, it would spoil Madge's home coming.

By the middle of the afternoon Eleanor had made another caramel cake and Lillian another plate of fudge. The farmer boy had come down after luncheon, and had scrubbed the decks of the houseboat to the last degree of cleanliness. The girls had hung flags everywhere, and on the outside of the cabin, facing the water, Phyllis had hung a piece of white bunting with the word "Welcome" stamped on it in large letters. This was the first thing Madge would see as she came within sight of the houseboat.

Inside the cabin the table was set for tea. It held the best pickles, preserves, cold meats and jellies that the houseboat larder could furnish. Lillian had made a pitcher of lemonade and another of iced tea. Miss Jones had roasted potatoes, and her corn muffins were ready to slip into the oven as soon as she heard their friends approaching.

The three girls and their chaperon wore simple white frocks, with blue sashes knotted about their waists, for blue and white were the houseboat colors.

They were watching a golden sunset from the deck of their ship when, together, they espied a figure standing up in a small skiff that was moving in their direction. The boat was rowed by one man. The other man sat with his arm in a sling. The upright figure was waving a great bunch of flowers.

"Madge is coming!" cried Phil. The four women got out their handkerchiefs and shouted across the water.

As Madge climbed aboard the boat a strange, squeaky sound greeted her. First it played fast, then slow. It was undoubtedly music.

"My bonnie lies over the ocean, My bonnie lies over the sea, My bonnie lies over the ocean, Oh, bring back my bonnie to me."

The tune was old as the hills.

"What on earth is that?" demanded Madge, as she kissed her chaperon and started around the semi-circle of her chums.

"It's Lillian's surprise!" Eleanor explained. "It's a hurdy-gurdy. We found it in the village. I know it is pretty old. But Lillian persuaded the man to bring it on board, as we thought it would be jolly to have a dance on the deck to-night in honor of Miss Madge Morton, captain of the 'Merry Maid.'"



CHAPTER XV

A CALL FOR HELP

"Madge, you must go over to Fisherman's Island with me," urged Phil a few days later. "I feel dreadfully about Mollie. I promised the poor girl that we would come to see her soon. Now, a long time has passed; we have never been there. Eleanor and Lillian are anxious to go along with me. Mollie is perfectly lovely, and I am heartily sorry for her. Do come with us, there's a dear. Don't pretend you are tired, or make Miss Jones think you are sick. You are just as well now as any of the rest of us. If you don't come, it is just because you want to stay here to read that silly novel. Real people are much more interesting than stories."

Madge yawned and stretched herself lazily in the steamer chair. "Phil, it is awfully hot on the water. Couldn't we go to see your girl some other time? If she has waited this long, she may as well wait a little longer. You see, I promised Mrs. Curtis I wouldn't go out in the sun."

"Madge Morton, you are putting on airs. Going out in the sun, indeed!" Phil sniffed disdainfully. "When did the sun ever hurt you? You just love to have people spoil you. You know there is nothing in the world the matter with you now. But please don't come, if you do not wish to. Nellie and Lillian and I are going now."

Phyllis walked quietly away, with her head in the air. Madge was really too provoking.

Madge closed her book with a bang and rushed after her friend. "Of course I wish to go with you, Phil. I am interested in your pretty girl. I had reached the most exciting part of my story when you asked me, and—— Now, you will hurt my feelings dreadfully if you don't let me go along with you! Just think, Phyllis Alden. You said I was spoiled, and that I liked to pretend I was sick, and I didn't get one bit angry. Don't you truly think my temper is improving?"

Phyllis laughed. "Oh, come on, if you like. Do you think Miss Jenny Ann would mind my taking the poor girl a basket of nice things? I mean things that any girl would like. My friend isn't in the least like a beggar."

"Of course, Miss Jones will let you do anything you like, Phil," replied Madge. "I am the only person she does not approve of." Madge felt angry because her chaperon had intimated that Madge was hurting Eleanor's feelings by talking so much of her Mrs. Curtis and the beautiful time she had spent with her. And Madge, though she needed criticism even more than most other girls, was just as little pleased at receiving it.

The girls rowed over to the island in a short time. It was a lovely day, and not too warm on the water.

"I wonder, Phil, if there is a chance of our coming across the thief who attacked you on the houseboat? He may he in hiding on this island," said Madge as the four girls pulled their skiff up on the beach. "From your description I feel almost certain that he is the same boy who went off with our sailboat. I'd like to come across him again."

"Well, I wouldn't," declared Lillian. "I am not so bloodthirsty as you girls are."

The girls met no one along the beach, except a few children. Phil led them straight to the tent, where she had talked with the afflicted girl. "Of course, there isn't much of a chance that we shall find Mollie in the tent," explained Phil, "but I thought I would look here first."

"Do you know the girl's name, Phil?" queried Eleanor.

Phyllis shook her head. "Not her real name. I only call her Mollie because her dreadful old father called her 'Moll,' and 'Moll' is an ugly name."

The tent was more forlorn and dilapidated than ever. It was empty. There was not a sign of life anywhere about, except for a few faded wild flowers cast carelessly in the corner of the tent.

Madge picked them up. "These flowers make me think of poor 'Ophelia' in the play of 'Hamlet.' Ophelia went mad, you know, and wandered about with wild flowers in her hair."

"Mollie isn't the least bit crazy, Madge. You will understand that as soon as you see her," protested Phil. "It is only that she is like a child, and does not remember things. Would you girls mind going around to the other side of the island? Mollie said their shanty boat was over there. I do so want to find her."

Lillian hesitated. "I don't think we ought to go among those rough fishermen again," she protested. "We are sure to see some rude sailors over there who might speak to us."

"Oh, don't worry, Lillian," reassured Madge. "I am sure no one would dare say anything to us."

Madge was now deeply interested in the discovery of Phil's friend and longing for any kind of adventure. She had fully made up her mind to see Mollie if it were possible.

It was more than a mile walk around the island. But the girls came, at last, to a spot where they again beheld a dirty canal boat made fast to a tree on the sandy shore. A huge woman, with a coarse, dreadful face, sat out on deck holding a baby in her lap. Several small children played near her. But there was no sign of Mollie. Captain Mike was gone, and with him his sailboat.

Phil went as near the edge of the shore as she could. The woman gazed at the four chums with sullen curiosity. She presumed that they had come to ask her husband to take them out sailing. But Phil spoke up boldly: "May we see your daughter?" she inquired politely. "I met her the other day on the island and told her we would come to see her."

The woman's expression changed at once to an ugly scowl. Phil and Madge wondered why their request should make her so angry. What harm could come from their calling on the poor, half-crazed girl? Surely it was plain that they meant her no wrong.

"We want to be friends with your daughter," Madge declared haughtily; "we do not wish to injure her."

"Moll ain't here no more," the woman replied sulkily. "Her father has took her away. She ain't never coming back." The woman grinned as the four girls went away.

"O Madge!" Phil exclaimed, with her eyes full of tears, "I do feel so sorry. I am afraid we have come too late. Poor Mollie will think I have broken my promise. What could have happened to her? Do you think her horrible old father has put her in an asylum? She told me that he often threatened her, unless she did whatever he said."

"Don't worry, Phil dear," Madge replied sympathetically. "Perhaps the woman was telling us a story and simply did not wish us to see her daughter. I will come to the island with you again. Maybe we can find her next time."

The girls hurried on until they were almost at the place where they had left their rowboat. Phil was unusually sorrowful and silent. She still carried her little basket with the gifts for her new friend. The memory of a pair of wonderful blue eyes haunted her. Mollie's face had looked so longingly into hers; it was filled with a wistful sorrow and was haunted by fear and loneliness. It was not that of one who is mad.

"Girls," spoke Phil quickly, "will you go on down to the boat and wait for me? I am going to run over to the tent and take another look in there. At any rate, I am going to leave this basket of food. I won't be gone but a minute."

Phyllis walked rapidly toward the tent. She half hoped she would find the vanished girl inside it. But the tent was still empty. Phil set down her basket. She was strangely disappointed and grieved. She could do nothing more. There was nothing to do save go back to her friends. As she stepped toward the tent opening her foot caught in a piece of ragged carpet. Like a flash Phyllis remembered. Had she not told Mollie to slip a note under this carpet if she was ever in trouble or in danger and desired their help? Phil slid her hand under the rug and found a torn scrap of yellow wrapping paper. On it was penciled in the handwriting of a child:

"I am in much trouble. Please, please come to help me. You promised."



CHAPTER XVI

THE ATTEMPTED RESCUE

"I will go back to the shanty boat with you now, Phil," volunteered Madge when Phyllis returned to her chums, carrying the pathetic scrap of paper. "We have the food you brought in the basket, which we can eat for luncheon. Lillian and Nellie can row over to the houseboat to tell Miss Jenny Ann that we mean to spend the day here. Then, perhaps, they will row back for us this afternoon."

"I don't think we ought to leave you and Phil alone on this island," remonstrated Eleanor, "especially when you won't have a boat. If anything should happen, there would be no chance of your getting away."

"I'll tell you what to do, Nellie," suggested Phil. "Suppose you and Lillian go home and then send our boat over to us immediately. The farmer boy will bring it for us. He can tow it and then row back in his own skiff. Ask him to anchor our boat in this same place. Madge and I will come home as soon as we find out whether there is anything we can do for poor Mollie."

Lillian and Eleanor were reluctant to leave their two friends. But there seemed nothing else to be done. The thought of their chaperon's anxiety at last persuaded them to go, and they departed after promising to send the boat over immediately they reached the "Merry Maid."

"What do you think we had better do, Phil?" asked Madge as the other two girls rowed out of sight.

Phil frowned and shook her head. "I haven't the faintest idea, Madge; I am afraid we are too late to do anything. That dreadful Mike has already taken his daughter away. I believe she wrote us several days ago, when she first heard what they meant to do with her. But I can't understand why her father wishes to put her in an asylum. She is much too useful to them. She does nearly all the washing and cooking on that miserable old shanty boat."

"I do wish we had some money," declared Madge thoughtfully. "I believe Mike would do anything for money. If we could only take care of Mollie, perhaps her father would let us have her. But you and I are as poor as church mice, Phil. Isn't it horrid?"

"I don't believe the man would give his daughter to us if we merely offered to take care of her. She is too useful to him. But he might let her come with us if we could pay him a great deal of money besides. At least, if we offered him a bribe he might be influenced to tell us where poor Mollie is. However, there is no use in talking about money. We'll have to do the best we can without it," finished Phil.

The two friends were walking disconsolately along the shore of the island. Neither one of them was anxious to return to the shanty boat for another interview with the slatternly woman who presided over it.

"Phil," Madge's eyes brightened, "if we need any money to help this girl, I feel sure Mrs. Curtis will be glad to give it to us. She is rich and generous, and Tom says she dearly loves to do things for those who are in need. I should not mind in the least asking her help. She is very fond of young girls."

"She is very fond of you, at any rate," returned Phyllis, with a smothered sigh. "Sometimes I feel as though she wanted to take you away from us for keeps."

Madge laughed. "What nonsense, Phil. Why should she wish to take me away for 'keeps'?"

But Phyllis did not reply to the little captain's laughing question.

"Let's not go around to the shanty boat the way we did this morning. Let us go back the opposite way, and then we shall have encircled the whole island," planned Madge. "If Mollie is hidden anywhere, we might happen to discover her."

The loneliness of their walk affected both Madge and Phyllis. There were no houses on the island. It was visited in the autumn for duck shooting, and in the summer was used as a camping ground for a few fisher folk. The girls passed only one man in their entire journey. He was lying under a tree, fast asleep. A hat covered his face. As the two friends hurried by they did not seek to discover who the man was. He was a rough-looking fellow, and they preferred not to awaken him.

This time the deck of the shanty boat was deserted. It was noon. The other members of the small shanty colony must have been out on the water, for there was no one in sight.

The girls stood staring irresolutely at the boat. "I suppose the woman is indoors fixing the luncheon. I can see the smoke coming through the smokestack," declared Phil. "Shall we call to her, or just march boldly aboard her old boat?"

"I don't know," hesitated Madge. "I don't believe we ought to mention Mollie's note. We might get the child into more trouble."

Phyllis shook her head. "Well, then, you decide upon something. You always plan things better than I do. I think we had better say that we have come back to inquire of Captain Mike how long he expects Mollie to be away. Then we can insist on waiting until his sailboat returns."

The two girls strode bravely up the single, rickety board that served as the gangplank of the shanty boat. At their first step on the dock a yellow dog rushed to the door of the dirty kitchen and set up a furious barking. Behind him stood the menacing figure of the woman whom Madge and Phil had seen a short time before. About her torn skirts were clustered three or four stupid-looking, tow-headed children. It was impossible for Phil to conceive how beautiful Mollie could be a member of such a family. Yet the unfortunate girl had told Phyllis that she had known no other than the hard, joyless life she had always led.

It was Madge who opened the conversation this time. To her disappointment she received no different answer to her inquiries than had Phil. "Moll was gone." The woman did not know where she had gone and she didn't care. But she wasn't coming back. Further, Mollie's step-mother did not see what business Phil and Madge had in coming to ask about her.

"We are going to wait to talk to your husband," announced Phil with quiet decision.

"You git off my boat in a hurry," the woman snarled angrily. "You can stay on the island all day if you like, but you can't hang around here. Mike won't be home before night, and he ain't goin' to tell you nothin' then. You'll find the beach pretty comfortable; it's so nice and shady." The woman grinned maliciously.

The two girls sat down on the stretch of hot sand near the water. They were doggedly determined to wait as long as possible for Mike Muldoon's return. Mollie's pathetic appeal had touched Madge as deeply as it had Phil, and they were both resolved to help the child if they could.

The hours dragged by on leaden wings. Madge's head ached violently. Phil was beginning to think longingly of the basket of food which she had left in the tent and wondering if it would do for her to go after it while Madge stayed on guard. As she sat deliberating as to what course of action would be the wisest, a sudden commotion arose among the children playing on the deck of the shanty boat. The dog began to bark furiously. "Mammy, here comes Pap," the oldest child cried.