The tired girls could see that a sailboat was being anchored near the shore. A few moments later Mike, who insisted on being called "Captain," got into a skiff and rowed toward the land.

Madge sprang to her feet and ran down to the edge of the water. She wished to attract Mike's attention before he went aboard his own shanty boat. To think with her was to act. She realized that she must speak to the man before his wife could tell him the nature of their errand. If Mike Muldoon learned their real design, he might shut himself inside his shanty and refuse to talk to them.



Mike rowed toward his callers, who were anxiously waiting for him. As his boat scraped the shore his wife shrieked at him, "Come here fust, Mike! Don't you be goin' talkin' to the likes of them before I tells you somethin'."

She was too late. Captain Mike had already turned to Madge. He supposed the girls had come to engage his sailboat.

Captain Madge decided to try diplomacy. She did not wish to make the sailor angry. She hoped she might persuade him to do what they wished.

"We have not come to rent your sailboat today, Captain Mike," she announced cheerfully, "we are coming for that another time. What we wish now is to ask you what has become of your pretty daughter? We have crossed all the way over to the island to make her a call. And now we can't find her. We wish to make friends with her, if you don't mind."

"Moll can't make friends with nobody," Mike answered suspiciously, his skin turning a mottled red under its coat of tan. "I told you Moll was foolish."

"Yes, I know," answered Phil unwisely. "That is why we are so sorry for her."

Mike scowled darkly. "You ain't got no cause to be sorry for the gal. Who told you she was treated mean? Nobody don't hurt her. But you can't see her. She is sick."

"Why, your wife told us she had gone away!" exclaimed Phil impetuously.

She could have cried with regret the next moment, for she realized how foolish she had been.

"So she has gone away," Mike muttered, "and she is sick. I ain't no liar and my wife ain't neither."

"When will she come back, Captain Mike?" asked Madge in a friendly tone, hoping the title of "captain" would soften the surly sailor.

"She's not comin' back," the man replied impatiently. "I've got to go to my dinner, and I ain't goin' to answer no more questions. Don't you come foolin' around this way any more; my old woman don't like it. I warn you for your good."

Phil was tired of deceit. She knew Mike had not told them the truth. "Captain Mike," she demanded coolly, "have you put your daughter in an asylum? If you have, I think you have been both inhuman and cruel. Mollie is not crazy. If you will tell us where she is we will look after her, and she need not bother you any more." She raised her dark eyes and gazed defiantly at the angry sailor, who shook his great red fist full in her face.

"You'll take a man's own daughter away from him, will you?" he raged. "What makes you so interested in my gal? And who told you Moll was shut up with a lot of crazies? My Moll is going to be married; she has gone away to git her weddin' clothes."

He laughed tantalizingly into the girls' faces as though well pleased with his own joke.

"Mollie married?" Phil exclaimed in horror. "Why, she——" Then Phil stopped herself and inquired, with an innocent expression of interest, "Whom did you say Mollie was going to marry?"

"She is going to marry Bill Barnes, a friend of mine," retorted the sailor sarcastically, his heavy shoulders shaking with savage amusement. "He ain't much to look at. It's kind of a case of Beauty and the Beast with him and my Moll. But she's powerful fond of him."

"Mike!" a shrill voice screamed from the shanty boat kitchen, "come along in here."

Mike glared at his questioners, his face set in savage lines. "Don't never come here agin," he growled. "If you do, I ain't sayin' what will happen to you." Turning abruptly he strode toward his boat, leaving the girls standing where he had first met them.

There was nothing for Madge and Phil to do but to return once more to their own boat. "O Madge! it is too dreadful!" exclaimed Phil in a husky voice. "I understand now what poor Mollie meant. She said there was one thing she would never do, no matter how cruel her father might he with her. Of course, she knew they were going to try to force her to marry some frightful looking fisherman. We simply must try to find her and save her. It is a wicked shame!"

"Don't be so wretched, Phil," comforted Madge, though she felt equally miserable. "You are right; we must find out how to save poor, pretty Mollie. I can't think what we ought to do, just this minute, but we must do our best. Now I think we shall have to go home and talk things over with Miss Jenny Ann and the girls. We will come back to-morrow, prepared to make a fight to save Mollie. Surely she can't be married by that time."

The two friends stopped by the tent for their basket of food and sat down just outside it under a tree to eat their luncheon. Neither of them noticed that they had seated themselves with their backs to the water, and they were so interested in talking of Mollie that they gave no thought to the outgoing tide. By rising they could see their boat drawn up on the shore, where, as arranged with Lillian and Eleanor, it had been left by the farm boy. What they failed to notice, however, was the distance it lay from the water line, and they also had forgotten that it was time for the going out of the tide.

As they sat quietly eating their luncheon the sound of running feet was borne to their ears. Nearer and nearer they came. Then round the curve of the beach darted the object of their morning's search. With a wild cry she flung herself upon Phil. "You said you would help me," she moaned. "Oh, help me now." Little rivulets of water ran from her ragged clothing. The pupils of her dark blue eyes were distended with fear. Her dress was torn across her shoulder and an ugly bruise showed through it. There was a long, red welt on her cheek that looked as though it had been made with a whip, and another across one forearm.

Madge and Phyllis rushed toward the frightened girl. Phil put her arm protectingly about Mollie while Madge stood on guard. Resolution and defiance looked out from their young faces. They were not afraid of poor Mollie's captors. They would fight for her.

"How did you come to us? Where have you been?" questioned Phil.

Five minutes had passed and no one had appeared. "Sit down here, Mollie. We won't let any one hurt you."

"I was hidden in the shanty boat, locked in a dark closet," faltered Mollie, casting a terrified glance about her. "I heard you ask for me, but I could not come out. The woman is more cruel to me than the man. She would have killed me. But when my father came home he was so angry because you had been to see me that he beat me and said I must marry Bill to-morrow, before you could come back to help me. Oh, he is horrible! I won't marry him! I'll die first! I crawled through a porthole in the boat when I heard what they said. I dropped into the water and swam and swam until I could land on the beach out of sight of my father's boat. Then I ran until I found you. But they will try to find me. They may be looking for me now. Tell me, tell me what I must do?"

"Don't be frightened," soothed Madge. "They can't force you to marry Bill or any one else against your will. Phil and I will take care of you. Come with us. We are going over to our houseboat now. Your father need not know what has become of you. Hurry!" Madge was listening intently for sounds announcing the coming of Mollie's pursuers. So far the girls were safe. A moment more and they would be in their rowboat.

Linking their arms within Mollie's her rescuers hurried her along. Straight to the water's edge they ran, then a cry of consternation went up from the two girls.

"O Madge! what shall we do? We forgot all about the tide," mourned Phil. "It has gone out, and now we'll have to drag our heavy boat half a mile through the sand to the water or else wait until the tide runs in again before we can get away from the island."



CHAPTER XVII

THE CAPTURE

Madge hurried down to where their rowboat lay. She dragged the anchor out of the sand and pulled at the skiff with all her might. Phil also took hold and together the two girls worked like beavers, but without success. The boat was firmly wedged in the sand.

"Is there any place on the island where we can hide, Mollie?" questioned Phil as the two girls rested for a moment from their fruitless effort. "We can not leave here until the tide turns."

"I know a cave," said Mollie hesitatingly. "It is in the woods not very far from the beach. But I am afraid they will find us there."

"We had better go to it," urged Madge, wiping the perspiration from her tired face. "At least we can hide in the cave for a while, until we make up our minds what is best for us to do, We may not be discovered until the tide turns. Later on I shall slip down here again to see if things are safe, and then we can make a run for our boat. If we wait here along the shore, we shall not have the least chance of escaping. The first person who comes to look for Mollie will surely see us. Come on. We have no time to lose."

This time Mollie led the way through a tangle of trees and underbrush to the center of the little island. Here they found the cave which was only an opening behind an immense old tree that had been uprooted by a storm. A flat rock protruded over the hollow, and the sand had gradually drifted away until the cavity was hardly large enough to hold the three girls. These were cramped quarters, and they were only partially protected from view by the immense roots of the fallen tree, but they knew of no other refuge and resolved to make the best of it.

The girls had barely crept into their hiding place when they heard a noise of some one tramping through the underbrush. A few moments later a man slouched along a narrow path between the trees. His hat was pulled down over his face, but Madge and Phil recognized him by his dress as the man they had seen asleep on the ground earlier in the day.

Mollie made no sound. She was hidden between the two friends, and never in her life before, so far as she could recall, had she been so protected by affection. But her increased trembling told her rescuers that she had recognized the man who passed so near to them, and that she feared him.

"It's Bill," she faltered when the figure disappeared without having the slightest suspicion that he was being watched. "He is on his way to our boat. He will ask for me, and my father will be sure to find out that I have gone. Then they will come out here to hunt for me."

For a long time after Mollie's disquieting prediction none of the three prisoners spoke. They hardly dared to breathe. Their bodies ached from their cramped, uncomfortable positions; they were hungry, and, worse than anything else, Madge and Phyllis were tormented with thirst. Since leaving the houseboat early in the morning they had drunk no water. Phil was thinking remorsefully that all this trouble had come from her asking Madge to go with her to the island in search of Mollie.

Madge was wondering just what she would do and say if Mollie's father should find them, while Mollie's delicate face had lost its expression of apathy and now wore one of lively terror. Even the faint rustle of leaves as a passing breeze swept through the trees caused her to start. An hour passed and no one came to look for them. Either Mike had not learned of his daughter's escape, or else he had not taken the trouble to come to search for her. He must have believed that she would return to the boat later on of her own accord, driven by hunger and loneliness.

It was now growing late in the afternoon. Neither Madge nor Phyllis wore a watch, so it was impossible to tell how much time they had spent in the cave. Miss Jenny Ann would wonder what had happened. Of course, Lillian and Eleanor would explain matters. Miss Jones might remember the tide and understand what was keeping them away. Yet there was a lively possibility that she might fail to take the tide into consideration.

At last Madge decided to end the suspense.

She knew their skiff would float from the shore of Fisherman's Island several hours before full tide. They had tried to make their escape at the moment when the tide was almost at its lowest ebb. The tide had been high that morning. It was nearly two o'clock in the afternoon when they had attempted to leave the island. She now believed it to be almost five o'clock. At least, it was time to reconnoitre. She put her ear close to the ground. She could hear no sound of any one approaching.

"Phil," she whispered, "will you and Mollie please wait here for me. I am going down to the water to see if it is possible to get the boat off. It must be very late. Remember, high tide is at eight o'clock to-night. We ought to be able to pull away from here between five and six o'clock. When I come back to tell you how things are we can make a run for it to the beach, and perhaps get a fair start before we are seen."

"Let me go with you," insisted Phil, as anxious as her chum to get out of their close quarters.

"I don't think we ought to leave Mollie alone," demurred Madge. "But, if you think best, you may go and I will stay here."

Mollie's terror at Phyllis's suggestion of deserting her was too much for tender-hearted Phil. "No, I won't leave you," she said gently, taking Mollie's hand in hers. "You had better run along, Madge. I'll stay here. But, for goodness' sake, do be careful. If anything happens to you, Mollie and I will starve in this cave like Babes in the Woods, if you don't come back to find us."

Madge crawled cautiously out of the hole. Her muscles were so stiff that she rose to her feet with difficulty. But she soon started off through the narrow path between the trees, making as little noise as she possibly could. Her way through the grove of trees covered the greater part of the distance to the shore. But there was still a stretch of open beach, where she feared she would be discovered. When she came to the shelter of the last tree she stopped and peered cautiously up and down the line of the shore. As far as she could see the beach was empty. And, surely enough, the tide was coming in. Tiny waves touched the prow of the "Water Witch." It was true the water was not yet deep enough to float their boat, but in less than an hour they might be able to row away from danger with their new friend.

There was but one thing to do. She must return to Phyllis and Mollie, and they must make up their minds to remain in their hiding place for a little while longer. Madge hated to go back to the cave. She would have liked to linger in the woods, hiding behind the trees until they were able to leave the island. But she knew it would not be fair to Phyllis and Mollie to leave them any longer in suspense. They would think something had happened to her unless she returned to them at once. The knowledge that she had not been seen made her feel more cheerful. She was sure that she would yet outwit the brutal sailor, Mike Muldoon, and carry Mollie safe to the shelter of their houseboat, where Miss Jenny Ann, or perhaps Mrs. Curtis, would tell them how they could continue to take care of the poor girl.

Unfortunately, Madge's gown was of some soft, white material and altogether too conspicuous. She could be easily seen for some distance as she ran along the shore, and in her anxiety to return to her friends as soon as possible she did not look about her as carefully as she should have done. Therefore she missed seeing the cruel face that stared malignantly forth from the opening in the tent where Phil had her first talk with Mollie. The man's whole body was carefully concealed, and as Madge flitted by the tent his head disappeared from sight.

The man in the tent had caught sight of Madge's white gown the moment she stepped forth from the shelter of the woods. He had at once understood the situation, but he did not stir until she started to return to the cave. He knew that Madge had come down to see if she could get the boat off the beach and into the water. It was evident that the other girls must be hidden somewhere in the forest. There was nothing to be gained by capturing Madge alone; he must wait until she went back to her friends, then he could find out where Mollie was concealed.

The boat on the shore and the disappearance of the two girls who had visited him that morning told the whole story. Why had the two young women concealed themselves unless they meant to guard the fugitive Mollie?

When Madge started back through the woods the man followed her at a safe distance. He did not wish her to know that he was following her, for fear she would lead him off the trail, but he kept near enough to know exactly where she was going.

She arrived, as she believed undiscovered, at their hiding place in the woods.

Phyllis and Mollie heard her light footfalls and gave a united sigh of relief. Their friend had escaped discovery. So far all was well!

Madge leaned over the opening of the cave, to reassure her friends before she crawled into it again.

"It's all right!" she cried softly. "I saw no one, heard nothing. We can get away, without any trouble, in another hour."

She crouched down to slip into the place of concealment. At the same instant the three girls heard a noise. It was unmistakably the hurried tramp of heavy feet! Mike Muldoon burst through the thicket of trees, his face blazing with heat and anger.



CHAPTER XVIII

ON A STRANGE SHORE

Madge had just time enough to leap to her feet. She would not allow their determined enemy to catch her while in the act of hiding.

"Keep still," she whispered quickly to Phyllis and Mollie. Then she turned, with flashing eyes, to the approaching figure of Captain Mike Muldoon.

"What do you want?" she demanded imperiously, stamping her foot. "Why have you followed me through the woods?"

For a moment the man was speechless. It had not dawned on him that Madge would turn upon him. He had expected her to burst into tears and exhibit signs of fear.

"I want my daughter, and I want her quick, young woman," he answered gruffly. "When I find her I will settle with you." He pushed past Madge and dragged the unfortunate Mollie from her place of shelter. Phil sprang out after her. Her black eyes were flashing with anger and disappointment. She fastened a firm grip on Mollie's arm. If Mike Muldoon jerked or shook his daughter, he would jerk and shake Phyllis Alden, too, for nothing would induce her to let go her hold on Mollie.

"Let me go," whispered Mollie gently, looking affectionately into the faces of her new friends. "I don't want you to be in trouble for my sake. I ran away. It was no fault of yours." Mollie appeared to be quite rational. She seemed to appreciate the girls' loyalty to her.

"Give up my daughter and get back to where you came from, and I will let you off this time," roared Mike savagely. He did not think it wise to deal roughly with the girls. Their friends would surely come to look for them and hold him responsible for their disappearance.

"We won't go a step unless you will let Mollie go with us," returned Phil wrathfully. "You shan't make her marry that horrible Bill. It is unlawful for you to force her to marry against her will."

Mike moved stolidly ahead, gripping his daughter and pulling her along with him. Phyllis, who was still clutching Mollie's arm, followed after, while Madge walked valiantly by Phil's side.

"Leave go!" Mike shouted, raising his fist threateningly at Phyllis. Mollie cried out at the thought of possible hurt to her friend, but Phyllis did not falter. She gazed up at the burly sailor with a look of such intense scorn, mingled with defiance, that he dropped his hand to his side and said sneeringly: "Come back to my shanty boat, then. I will settle with you when we get there."

Tightening his hold on his daughter's arm he strode off toward the shanty boat, dragging poor Mollie along at a cruel rate of speed. Phil, still clasping Mollie's other arm, kept pace with her, while Madge marched a little to the rear with the air of a grenadier.

Mollie's beautiful white face was set in lines of despair, but her companions felt nothing save righteous indignation against the brutal man they were forced either to follow or else leave Mollie to her fate.

On the deck of the wretched shanty boat, this time, a man and a woman were waiting with burning impatience. The man was Bill and the woman was Mike Muldoon's wife. A group of fisher folk stood near, evidently anxious to know what was going to happen. It was late in the afternoon, and they had returned from the day's work on the water.

Madge broke away from her own party to run toward these men and women. There were about half a dozen in number. "Won't you help us?" she cried excitedly. "Captain Mike is trying to force his daughter to marry that dreadful Bill. He has beaten her cruelly because she refuses to do it. My friend and I tried to get Mollie away from him, but he found us and forced her to come back here."

"Don't hurt the young ladies, Mike," remonstrated one of the fishermen, with a satirical grin in their direction, "it wouldn't be good business." Then he turned to Madge and said gruffly: "It ain't any of our lookout what Mike does with his daughter. She's foolish, anyhow. Can't see why Bill wants to marry her."

Muldoon had jerked Mollie from Phil's restraining grasp and flung her aboard the shanty boat. The woman pushed the girl inside the cabin and closed the door. Then she stood waiting to see what her husband intended to do with the two girls.

Captain Mike was puzzled. He stood frowning angrily at Mollie's defiant champions. They had refused to go back home. He had given them their opportunity. It was just as well they had not taken it, for suddenly the man was seized with an idea.

"Git into my rowboat," he ordered Phil and Madge. "I am going to put you aboard my sailboat and carry you home to your friends. You had better take my offer. You'll only get into worse trouble if you stay around here. How do you think you are going to take care of Moll—knock me and Bill and my old woman down and run off with Moll?"

"Won't any one here help us?" asked Phil, turning to the grinning crowd.

"You had better go home with Mike. It's the only thing for you to do," advised a grizzled old fisherman. "Your hanging around here ain't going to help Moll."

Madge and Phil exchanged inquiring glances. For the time being they were beaten. It was better to go home. Later on they would see what could be done for their friend.

"We would rather go back in our own boat," Phil announced, making a last resistance. Madge, who was already in Mike's skiff, beckoned to Phil to join her. It was too undignified and hopeless for them to argue longer with these coarse, rough men. Phyllis followed her chum reluctantly. She hung back as long as she could, staring hard at the shanty boat. But there was no sight nor sound of Mollie.

Even after they were aboard Captain Mike's sailing craft Phil's eyes strained toward the receding shore. When it was no longer to be seen she sat with her hands folded, gazing into her lap. She was still thinking and planning what she could do to rescue Mollie. Madge sat with closed eyes; she was too weary to speak.

The sailor's boat had left the island far behind and was moving swiftly. It was after sunset, and the sun had just thrown itself, like the golden ball in the fairy tale, into the depth of the clear water. The girls were looking anxiously toward the direction of their boat, and wondering if their friends were worrying over their late return.

The houseboat lay a little to the southwest of Fisherman's Island, and so far they had not been able to catch sight of it. It was growing so dark that it was impossible to see the shore very clearly on either side of the bay. It was Madge's sharp eyes that first made the discovery that what she could see of the shore was unfamiliar. Captain Mike was not taking them to their houseboat. He was sailing in exactly the opposite direction. Madge glanced quickly at Phyllis, who was yet happily unconscious of their plight, then, turning to Muldoon, she said sharply: "You are sailing the wrong way to bring us to our houseboat. The boat lies southwest of the island and you are taking us due north. Turn about and take us to our boat instantly."

"I am taking you to where I am going to land you, all right," the sailor replied gruffly. "You have got to learn that you can't come foolin' in my business without getting yourselves into trouble. I'm goin' to learn you."

"You had better do as we ask you to do or you may regret it," put in Phyllis.

The sailor appeared not to have heard her threat.

"Don't speak to him, Phil. He isn't worth wasting words over."

The sailboat was evidently making for the land. The long line of a pier was faintly visible. A few lights shone along a strange shore.

It was plain that Captain Mike meant to land at this pier. The girls did not know why he meant to take them there, but they were too proud to ask him his reason.

Mike drew his boat close along the flight of steps that led to the top of the pier.

"Jump off, quick!" he called sharply.

It was night. Neither Madge nor Phyllis had the faintest idea of the hour. Neither one of them knew in what place they were being cast ashore, nor had they a cent of money between them. But anything was better than to remain longer on the sailboat.

With a defiant glance at the scowling man Madge climbed out on the steps of the pier. She gave her hand to Phyllis, who leaped after her.

Captain Mike watched them walk up the steps to the top of the pier. Then, turning his boat about, he sailed away, leaving the two girls to the darkness of an unknown shore.



CHAPTER XIX

FINDING A WAY TO HELP MOLLIE

Girls do not keep silent long, no matter how grave the situation. The two castaways were no exception.

Madge shook her clenched fist after the retreating mast of the sail boat. "You horrid, horrid old man!" she cried. "We won't give up trying to save poor Mollie, no matter what you do to us. Come on, Phil," she said, taking Phyllis by the hand, "let us go up to the shore and ask some one where we are. I suppose nobody will believe our story, because it seems so improbable, but perhaps some kind soul will give us a drink of water, even if we do look perfectly disreputable."

Phyllis giggled softly in spite of their plight. Madge had lost her hat. Her curls had long since come loose from the knot in which she wore them, and her gown was sadly wrinkled.

Madge was in no mood for laughter. "You needn't make fun of me, Phyllis Alden," she said reproachfully. "You are just as tattered and torn as I. We do look like a couple of beggars. Your hair is not down, but your collar is crumpled and your dress is almost as soiled as mine."

"I look much worse than you do, Madge, I am sure of it," conceded Phil cheerfully. "You see, I am not pretty to begin with." To this speech Madge would not deign to reply. Phyllis laughed good-humoredly. "Loyal little Madge, you won't acknowledge my lack of fatal beauty." Then in a graver tone she added, "What do you think we had better do, Madge?"

"Find out where we are and how far away the 'Merry Maid' is," returned Madge decisively. "We must reach there to-night, Phil. Miss Jenny Ann and the girls will believe something dreadful has happened to us."

The chums had walked to the end of the pier. Between them and the nearest house lay a stretch of treacherous marsh. They paused irresolutely, staring at the marsh with anxious eyes. "I am afraid we shall get lost in the marsh if we try to find our way through it on a dark night like this," faltered Phyllis.

Madge shook her head determinedly. "We must try to pass through it. I don't like the looks of it any better than you do, but we can't stay here all night, that is certain. Come on. Here goes."

Phyllis obediently followed her companion into the marsh, and then began a never-to-be-forgotten walk. With each step they took the salt water oozed up from the ground and covered their shoes. Madge felt her way carefully. She was obliged to put one foot cautiously forth to see if the earth ahead were firm enough to bear the weight of her body. On she went, with Phyllis close behind her. In spite of the difficulty the girls were plainly making headway. "Hurrah!" called Madge, "we are almost out of this quagmire. There is dry land ahead!" With one long leap she made the solid ground which stretched just ahead of her. Phyllis was not so fortunate. She lunged blindly after Madge, struck an unusually bad part of the marsh and sank knee deep in the soft mud. With a terrified cry she began struggling to free herself, but the harder she struggled the deeper she became imbedded in the marsh.

The moon was just coming up. Madge could faintly see what had happened to her friend. She ran toward Phyllis, but the latter cried out warningly: "Go back. If you try to help me, you'll only sink into this marsh with me."

Madge hesitated only a minute. "Don't move, Phil, if you can possibly help it," she cried. "But in a few minutes from now call out, so that I can tell where you are. Good-bye for a little while; I am going for help." Madge never knew how she covered the space that lay between her and the nearest house. This house had a low stone wall around it, and stood on top of a steep hill that sloped down to this wall. Madge scrambled over the wall and climbed the hill, sometimes on her feet, but as often on her hands and knees. There was a light in a window. She staggered to it and rapped on the window pane. A moment later a man appeared in a doorway at the right of the window.

"Who's there?" he called out sharply. "What do you mean by knocking on my window? Answer me at once!"

Madge stumbled over to him. "Oh, won't you please come with me?" she said. "My friend Phyllis is stuck fast in the marsh. I must have help to get her out."

Without a word the man disappeared into the house. For one dreadful instant, Madge thought he did not intend to help her; she thought he must believe that she was an impostor and was making up her story. The next minute the man returned, wearing a pair of high rubber hoots and carrying a dark lantern and a heavy rope.

"Don't be frightened," he said kindly to her as she walked wearily after him. "People often lose their way in this marsh after dark. We'll soon find your friend."

But to himself Judge Arthur Hilliard asked the question: "What in the world are two young girls doing alone on this dangerous shore at such an hour of the night?"

It was well that Phyllis remembered Madge's order, else they might have had some trouble in locating her. As soon as Phyllis saw the friendly light from the oncoming lantern she called at the top of her lungs: "Here I am! Here I am!"

"Keep perfectly still!" Judge Hilliard commanded. "I'll have you out in a short time." He waded into the marsh, his high boots protecting him from the black ooze. When he was about five yards from Phil he flung her the rope. "Now work your way along toward us," he directed. Phyllis obeyed his command and in an incredibly short time was safe on dry land, her shoes heavy with mud.

"It is bad enough to be lost," declared Phil as she thanked the stranger, "but it is worse to be not only lost, but stuck in the mud as well."

"You were in a most unpleasant, though I can hardly say a dangerous plight," returned the stranger. "Can I be of further service to you?"

"Would you—could you tell us where we can get a drink of water?" asked Madge. "We are so tired and thirsty."

"My name is Arthur Hilliard," returned the man. "If you will come to my house, my mother will be glad to offer you refreshment."

"Thank you," bowed Madge sedately. "We will go with you."

Mrs. Hilliard, a stout, comfortable looking old lady, received the wanderers with true Southern hospitality. Without waiting to hear their story, she insisted that they change their bedraggled clothing for two comfortable looking dressing gowns which she laid out for them, and by the time they had washed their faces and hands and dressed their hair they found a hot supper ready for them in the dining room.

"We are so sorry to have troubled you," declared Madge apologetically, as Mr. Hilliard entered the dining room when they were finishing their meal. "Now we must tell you who we are and how we came to be floundering in the marsh so late in the evening."

Beginning with their visit to the island that morning Madge related all that had transpired during that long day of adventures. Judge Hilliard shook his head disapprovingly as the tale continued, but listened with grave interest to the part of the story relating to Mollie, the sailor's daughter.

"This girl of whom you speak is like the girl in the fairy story, who has a cruel step-mother and an ogre of a father," he commented when the story had ended.

"Of course she is," answered Madge; "only our girl is not in a fairy story, she is real. I can't believe that that dreadful Mike Muldoon is her father, and I know there must be some way to take her from him and make her happy."

"We are going to save her yet," declared Phyllis stoutly. "I don't see just how we are to manage it, but to-morrow we are going to try again. How far are we from Fisherman's Island?"

"About thirty miles," Judge Hilliard replied. "I have telephoned to the nearest town to let your chaperon know you are safe. The message will be taken over to your houseboat tonight, and I will take you home in the morning. My mother insists that you remain here tonight. She will join us in the library in a few minutes."

"Thank you again," said Madge gratefully. "It was very thoughtful in you to send a message to our friends. In the morning we wish to go first to the Belleview Hotel. We wish to see a friend of ours who is staying there. Her name is Mrs. Curtis."

"Mrs. Curtis is an old friend of mine," said Judge Hilliard in pleased surprise. "I have known her ever since I was a little boy. Now I have something to say to you that may interest you. I told you I was a judge. It is my business to look into people's legal difficulties. This trouble which concerns your friend looks to me as though it might have a legal side to it. We are in the State of Maryland. Fisherman's Island is in my jurisdiction. Suppose I issue an injunction forbidding the marriage between Mollie and the sailor, and take you up to the island in the morning to see it served. I have a steam yacht, and I think I shall take along two court officers or policemen, who will terrify your dreadful Captain Mike. At any rate, I'll see justice done his afflicted daughter, if I have to take the law in my own hands."

Madge clapped her hands joyously. Tears stood in Phil's dark eyes. "Oh, how splendid!" she breathed.

At this juncture Mrs. Hilliard entered the library, and after a little further talk the two girls announced themselves as being quite ready to retire.

"Be ready at seven o'clock," Judge Hilliard reminded them, as he bade his guests good night. "We shall reach Captain Mike's shanty boat before he has time to proceed with the marriage. They won't expect you at your houseboat until after breakfast, and I hope to have three girls to deliver aboard, instead of two."

Phyllis and Madge dropped asleep that night the instant their heads touched their pillows. They had asked to share the same room, and as they had sleepily undressed, they congratulated each other on the fact that Mike Muldoon's cowardly act had resulted in nothing but good to them. It looked as though it might even prove a boomerang to him.

By seven o'clock the next morning the girls had breakfasted and said good-bye to Mrs. Hilliard, after promising to visit her at some future time.

"Judge Hilliard," announced Madge, as the yacht "Greyhound" steamed out from the pier, "we forgot to tell you last night that we think Mollie is old enough to come away from her father if she wishes. She doesn't know how old she is. That is one of the queer things about Mollie. She seems quite sensible until you ask her to recall something, and then she becomes confused. Still, I am sure she is several years older than either Phil or I."

The shanty boat colony on the east side of Fisherman's Island had also risen early on this warm morning in July. Bill crossed over to the mainland in his sailboat to bring a Justice of the Peace back with him to marry him to Mollie. Captain Mike was determined to have his way with his daughter. Once she was married to Bill, her new friends would find it difficult to get her away from him.

Since Mollie's return to the shanty boat she had made no further outcry. She did not seem to know what was going on. The vacant, hopeless look had come over her face. The fright and ill treatment of the day before had completely subdued her. She seemed to have forgotten everything.

All night long she had lain awake in her miserable berth in the dirty shanty boat. She lay still, with her eyes closed, until the breathing of her family told her they were fast asleep. Then she crept out on the deck of the boat. She sat for hours without moving, her wonderful blue eyes, with the empty look in them, staring out over the silent waters. She was waiting, wistful and patient, for something to come to save her. When the dawn broke, and a rosy light bathed the bay and the sky, she rose, went quietly into the cabin and lay down in her berth again. She stayed there while the family ate their breakfast. She made no resistance when her step-mother came toward her, grinning maliciously, and bearing a coarse white cotton dress, which she called "Moll's wedding gown."

Mollie let the woman put the dress on her. She even combed her own sun-colored hair; and, for the first time in her life, she knotted it on her head, instead of letting it stream in ragged, unkempt ends over her shoulders. A loose lock of hair over Mollie's low forehead covered the ugly scar that was her one disfigurement. She was so startlingly lovely that her stupid step-mother stared at her in a kind of bewildered amazement. Mollie was pale and worn, and painfully thin, yet nothing could spoil the wonderful color of her hair and eyes, nor take away the peculiar grace of her figure. Her expression was dull and listless. Even so Mollie looked like a lily transplanted to some field of dank weeds, but growing tall and sweet amid their ugliness.

Mike looked at his daughter curiously when her step-mother dragged her out before him. Brutal as he was, a change passed over his face. He glanced over the water to see if Bill's boat were approaching. "I ain't never understood how things has turned out," he muttered to himself. "If Mollie wasn't foolish, I wouldn't let Bill have her. She is a pretty thing, and she looks like a lady. That's what makes it so all-fired queer."

Mollie sank down on the bench that ran around the deck of the shanty boat. She dropped her head in her hands. What she was thinking, or whether she was thinking at all, no one could know or tell. She heard a boat coming through the water, then a cry from her father. If she believed the hour had arrived for her marriage, she gave no sign. She did not raise her head when Mike Muldoon cried out savagely.

Captain Mike went ashore. He stood with his heavy arms folded, smoking and scowling.

Judge Hilliard stepped up to Captain Mike. Two police officers accompanied him. Madge and Phil were directly behind their new friend. They did not like to call to Mollie, but they wished she would look up at them.

"I have an injunction forbidding the marriage of your daughter, Mollie Muldoon, to a fisherman named Bill," Judge Hilliard's peremptory voice rang out. "You are forcing your daughter into this marriage against her will."

"I ain't forcing Moll," denied Captain Mike, glaring at Phil and Madge. He was driven into a corner, and he knew nothing else to say.

"I would like to ask the girl what she desires," the judge announced.

"Moll," called Mike.

For the first time Mollie lifted her head. She left the boat and came slowly toward the little party.

Judge Hilliard stared, and for a moment he forgot to speak to her. Madge and Phil had assured him that their protege was beautiful, but he had expected to behold the simple beauty of a country girl; this young woman was exquisitely lovely.

Madge and Phil trembled with excitement. Suppose Mollie should not understand the Judge's question and make the wrong answer? Suppose the poor girl had been bullied into submission? Suppose she should not even recall the struggle of yesterday? She forgot so much—would she forget this?

"Do you desire to marry this 'Bill'?" Judge Hilliard queried, looking with puzzled wonder into Mollie's lovely, expressionless face.

Mollie shook her head gently. Madge and Phil held their breath.

"I will not marry him," Mollie answered simply. "Nothing could make me do so."

"Then you will come home to the houseboat with us, Mollie," Madge and Phil pleaded together, taking hold of the girl's hands to lead her away.

"I am sorry," interposed Judge Hilliard, speaking to the girls, "but we can't take her away at once. We must observe the law. Muldoon," continued the Judge as he took a document out of his pocket and handed it to the sailor, "of course you know that you can not force this girl to marry against her will whether she is of age or not, but, aside from that, here is an order of court directing you to show cause why the girl should not be taken from you upon the ground of cruelty and neglect. The case will be heard in the court at the county seat of Anne Arundel County five days hence, the 30th of the month. You will, of course, be expected to prove that the girl is your daughter. This order also contains an injunction forbidding you to take the girl out of this jurisdiction within that time. These officers will remain here to see that the order of the court is carried out. If you make any attempt to remove the girl from this vicinity, you will be arrested at once."

"And now, ladies," said Judge Hilliard, turning to the girls, "we will go aboard the 'Greyhound'."

"I say, Judge," broke in Muldoon, starting hurriedly after Judge Hilliard, "I don't want to get mixed up in the law. I'll tell you something if you won't be too hard on me. Moll isn't my daughter! I picked her up almost drowned on a beach on the coast of Florida. My first old woman took a liking for the kid, so we just kept her. We didn't intend her any harm. That was ten or twelve years ago."

Judge Hilliard did not appear to be surprised; in fact, he had expected some such statement.

"Your confession," said he, speaking to Muldoon, "is all we need to enable us to take this girl away. Under the circumstances, it will not be necessary to serve this paper," he continued, taking the order of court away from Muldoon. "We shall take the girl with us now. Muldoon, see to it that you don't get into any other trouble. You are getting off easily. Your carrying off these two young ladies under false pretence and depositing them against their will in an unknown place, as you did last night, is very much like abduction, and abduction is a penitentiary offence."

There being nothing left to do, Judge Hilliard and his party, now including the rescued Mollie, went aboard the "Greyhound" and steamed away toward the houseboat.



CHAPTER XX

MADGE'S OPPORTUNITY

Mollie slipped into her place as a member of the little houseboat family as quietly as though she had always been a part of it. She was shy and gentle, and rarely talked. She was more like a timid child than a woman. She liked to cook, to wash the dishes, to do the things to which she was accustomed, and to be left alone. At first the houseboat girls tried to interest her in their amusements, but Miss Jenny Ann persuaded them that it was wiser to let Mollie become accustomed to the change in her life in any way she could. Mollie never spoke of the past, and she seemed worried if any one of the girls questioned her about it. They did not even know whether she feared the return of Captain Mike or Bill. The girls hoped that Mollie's lack of memory had made her quickly forget her unhappy life.

One thing haunted Mollie: it was her fear of strangers. If a visitor came aboard the houseboat the young girl would disappear and hide in the cabin until there was no danger of her being noticed. Jack Bolling and Tom Curtis came calling nearly every day, but neither one of them had seen anything of Mollie, except her flying skirts as she ran away to hide from them. They were vaguely aware of her unusual beauty, but neither of them knew what she actually looked like.

Madge was particularly sorry that Mollie would not see Mrs. Curtis. The houseboat holiday could only last a short time longer. Mr. and Mrs. Butler had written that they expected to return from California in about ten days, and must have Madge and Eleanor back at "Forest House." Lillian's and Phil's parents were also clamoring for their girls to spend a part of their summer vacation at home. So the question must soon arise: What could be done with Mollie when the crew of the "Merry Maid" disbanded? Madge felt they needed their friend's advice. But neither Mrs. Curtis nor Miss Jenny Ann thought it best to force Mollie to see people until she became more used to the atmosphere of affection about her, and had learned that no one meant to harm or ill treat her. Once Mrs. Curtis caught a brief glimpse of Mollie, standing framed in the cabin doorway. The girl had given a frightened stare at her, and then had fled inside her room. She could not be coaxed out again. Mrs. Curtis was curious. The one quick look at Mollie seemed oddly to recall some friend of her youth. It was nothing to think of seriously. She would know better when she saw the girl another time.

Daily Mrs. Curtis seemed to grow more and more fond of Madge. If Madge failed to come to see her every day or so, she would send Tom over as a messenger to bring her little friend back with him to luncheon or to dinner. She and the little captain used to have long, confidential talks together, and Mrs. Curtis seemed never to weary of the young girl's romantic fancies. She used to make Madge tell her of her family and what she knew of her dead father and mother. At times Madge wondered idly why Mrs. Curtis was interested in them, and every now and then she thought Tom's mother wished to ask her an important question. But Mrs. Curtis always put off the inquiry until another time.

Toward the close of their stay on the "Merry Maid" the girls were invited to a six o'clock dinner at the Belleview, given in their honor by Mrs. Curtis and Tom. On the day of the dinner Tom was sent to the "Merry Maid" to ask Madge to come to his mother an hour earlier than the others were expected. Miss Jenny Ann had elected to stay at home with Mollie. Nothing would induce Mollie to attend the party, and Miss Jenny Ann would not allow any one of the girls to remain on the houseboat with her.

Tom and Madge went up to the hotel on the street car, since it was impossible for Tom to row with his lame arm. They found Mrs. Curtis on a little balcony that opened off her private sitting-room. The piazza overlooked the waters of the small bay. It was a wonderful summer afternoon; white clouds were rioting everywhere in the clear, blue sky; the water was astir with white-masted boats, dipping their sails toward the waves like the flapping wings of sea gulls.

Madge was looking her prettiest. She had on her best white frock, and as a mark of her appreciation of Mrs. Curtis wore the string of pearls about her throat. Without making any noise, she crept out on the balcony and kissed Mrs. Curtis lightly on the forehead. Then she dropped into a low, cushioned chair near her friend's side.

"Here I am, dressed for the dinner," she announced happily. "How do you like me? Tom said you wanted me to come before the other girls, and that this was perhaps our farewell dinner with you, for you might be going away in a few days. Dear me, I am sorry. Are you going to Old Point Comfort for the rest of the summer, or to your own summer place?"

Mrs. Curtis shook her head. "I don't know, Madge, just where I shall go," she answered, pushing Madge's curls to one side of her white forehead. It was the way that Mrs. Curtis liked best to have Madge wear her hair. "But, wherever we go, can't you go with us?" she concluded.

Madge sighed. "I'd love to go with you," she sighed, "but I can't. You see, Nellie and I have to go back to 'Forest House,' to spend the rest of our holiday with Uncle and Aunt. They would be dreadfully hurt if I suggested making a visit to you, instead of coming home to them."

"Then I wonder if your uncle and aunt would allow me to make them a short visit?" questioned Mrs. Curtis gravely.

Madge opened her blue eyes. Why in the world should Mrs. Curtis wish to go to "Forest House"? But she answered her friend promptly. "Of course Uncle and Aunt would be most happy to have you, and Nellie and I would be perfectly delighted."

"Why do you think I am anxious to come, Madge?"

Madge smiled in her sauciest fashion. "To see me, of course," she replied. "Doesn't that sound conceited?"

But Mrs. Curtis was not smiling. She was looking at Madge so seriously that the young girl's merry face sobered.

"I am not coming merely to see you, dear. I am coming to ask if I may take you away with me for always. Haven't you guessed, that I want you to come to live with me, to be my daughter? Tom and I are lonely. My husband is dead, and I have no other child now, except Tom. I can't tell you how much I want a daughter. I have plenty of money, dear—more than I know what to do with. So we could have wonderful times together, and do anything we chose to do. Only I would wish you with me all the time. I couldn't let you wander off with the girls or go to boarding school. Tom has to be away so much. You haven't any own father and mother, and you told me that you were poor and would have to earn your living some day. So I thought perhaps your uncle and aunt would give you up to me. But, first, I wish to know whether my plan pleases you."



Mrs. Curtis stopped talking to gaze earnestly at Madge. The girl had turned so white that her friend was startled. She did not realize what a surprise her suggestion had been to the little captain. She believed that Madge must have partly guessed her intention. Miss Jenny Ann and Phil had understood that some day Mrs. Curtis might make just this proposal to Madge Morton. But to Madge it was a complete surprise. She had never for an instant dreamed of such a thing.

In a moment all the young girl's familiar world fell broken at her feet—the old childhood home in the country, her happy friendships at school. She saw a new world, like a vision in a fairy tale. It was a wonderful world, that contained all the marvels of which she had dreamed—wealth, position, admiration. Yet it was a homesick world, for it was peopled with few of the friends whom Madge loved, with none of the familiar places. In spite of the girl's fancies, the actual every-day life of poverty and hope was too dear to be laid lightly aside.

Mrs. Curtis still waited for Madge to speak.

"Uncle and Aunt——" she faltered. "They—would miss me——"

"Yes, I know," returned Mrs. Curtis sympathetically. "Of course, your own people will find it hard to give you up just at first, and Eleanor will miss you. But I do not believe your uncle and aunt will stand in your way if you really wish to come to me."

Mrs. Curtis concluded in the tone of a woman accustomed to having her own way. She was puzzled at Madge's indecision.

"Are you sure you care for me enough to wish me to live with you, Mrs. Curtis?" asked Madge quietly. "You see, you know only the nicest part of me, but I have a miserable temper. Nellie and my friends are used to me. Suppose you should take me away to live with you, and then grow tired of me?" The girl's clear eyes questioned her new friend gravely.

Mrs. Curtis smiled and shook her head. "No; I shouldn't grow tired of you. People may sometimes grow vexed with you, but they are not going to become tired of you. Now sit quite still. I want you not to speak, but to think very hard for three minutes and then to tell me whether you wish to be my adopted daughter. I do not wish to trouble your uncle and aunt unless you feel sure of yourself."

Mrs. Curtis took out her watch and laid it in her lap.

She did not look at the watch; she kept her gaze on Madge's face.

The little captain did not speak. She knew her eyes were filled with tears. She was so young, and it was hard to decide her whole future life in the space of three minutes. She realized that if Mrs. Curtis adopted her, she would have to give up her gay, independent existence among her old friends, the joy of doing for herself and of learning to overcome obstacles. Then, on the other hand, Mrs. Curtis loved her and she would give her everything in the world that a young girl could desire.

"Mrs. Curtis," declared Madge, when the three minutes had gone by, "I can't—I can't decide what you ask me now. Please don't think I do not love you. It is too wonderful for you and Tom to wish me to come to live with you. But may I have a few days to think things over before I give you my answer? The thought of leaving Aunt Sue and Uncle William and Nellie does—does——" Madge could not go on.

"Never mind, dear," soothed Mrs. Curtis. "It was not fair in me to take you unawares, and then expect you to make up your mind so soon. Suppose I give you three days, instead of three minutes, to think things over. Even then, Madge, we can't be sure that your uncle and aunt will be willing to let you be my girl instead of theirs."



CHAPTER XXI

MOLLIE'S BRAVE FIGHT

Mollie was sitting alone on the deck of the houseboat. She and Miss Jenny had just finished an early tea. The girls were still away at their dinner, and Miss Jenny Ann had gone up to the nearest farmhouse to get some eggs for breakfast. It was the first time Mollie had ever been left by herself on the houseboat. But Miss Jenny Ann did not think there was any possible danger. Neither Captain Mike nor Bill had made the slightest attempt to get possession of Mollie. Nor did Miss Jones intend to be out of call for more than fifteen minutes.

Mollie had begun to lose the vague dread that had haunted her all her life. The peaceful hours of the past ten days seemed more real to her than the dreary, ugly years of her childhood. She began faintly to realize what life could mean when one was not afraid.

Mollie's hands, a little roughened from hard work, were folded peacefully in her lap. Her beautiful head, with its crown of sun-colored hair, was resting against the cushion of the big steamer chair. She was on the small upper deck, facing the bow of the boat. A strolling breeze had blown the hair back from her forehead, and the ugly scar was visible. But, now that Mollie's head no longer ached from the hard work she had been forced to endure, the throbbing and the old pain in this scar had almost gone. The girl was slowly finding herself. So far she had accepted her new life without a question, taking what was done for her like a contented child. Now she sat looking up the bay for the return of her friends. They would not be at home for several hours, but time meant very little to Mollie, and she had been lonely since they had gone away.

A skiff came down the bay with a single figure seated in it.

Mollie heard the faint splashing of the oars, but since water sounds had been familiar to her all her life she did not even turn her head to see if any one were coming near to the houseboat.

She knew the girls were due from the other direction.

The boat moved slowly in toward the shore. It made almost no sound, now that it drew nearer the land. With a final dip of the oars and a strong forward movement the small boat glided well within the shadow of the stern of the houseboat. There it stopped.

Mollie did not see nor hear it. For some moments the boat rested quietly in the shallow water, moving only with the faint movement of the evening tide. The solitary boatman sat without stirring. He leaned forward, listening intently for any sounds of life aboard the houseboat. He had espied the deserted figure on the upper deck.

In almost complete silence the man fastened his boat to the houseboat and in his stocking feet clambered up the side of "The Merry Maid" and came aboard. He slipped around the deck, crouching on his hands and knees. He listened at the doors of each room in the cabin. No one was about except the girl in the steamer chair. The man moved like a cat, with almost complete noiselessness. He made no effort to onto the deserted cabin. Nor did he, at first, make any movement that showed the least interest in Mollie.

At the farther end of the deck, outside the kitchen, the prowler made a discovery which caused him great satisfaction. He smiled. He picked it up and shook it furtively. The treasure was a big tin can, nearly full of kerosene.

Still on his hands and knees, the man tilted the can until the oil ran in a little stream down the deck and soaked well into the wood. He then put his hand in his pocket to look for something.

Mollie did not hear him. At least, her ears were not conscious that they caught a distinct sound. Finally she became conscious of the presence of some one near her. She got quickly up out of her chair and leaned over the railing of the top deck.

At this moment the man, with his back toward her, struck a match. Mollie beheld the crouching figure. She could not tell who the man was. Was it Bill or her father come to steal her away? The old, dreadful fear swept over her, with enough of memory to make her realize what her capture would mean. The girl's first instinct was to hide. She did not realize how poor a refuge the houseboat offered her. It seemed to her that, if she could only get into one of the cabin bedrooms and conceal herself in her berth, she might escape. Poor Mollie had no better idea to aid her. She came running down the outside steps and ran toward the cabin door.

The man rose quickly. He did not move toward Mollie. Outside the cabin kitchen was a big box filled with chips and bits of kindling, used to light the kitchen stove. The man gathered up a handful of these pieces of wood and ran back to his old position. He glanced at Mollie. But it was easy to see that she was trying to get away, not to hinder him in what he was doing. He picked up the oil can again. This time he poured the few remaining drops on a little pile of chips and lit another match. The tinder blazed up. The man fanned the tiny flames with the brim of a torn hat. The flare of light grew brighter; a great flame leapt up and then a snake-like curve of fire followed the oil-soaked wood.

When the man did not move toward Mollie she stopped in the cabin door. She was afraid of him. She was not like other girls. Ever since she had been able to know anything she had felt a curious, confused feeling in her head. She did not know who the man was on the deck of the boat. But she did know that he was trying to set their houseboat afire.

Mollie paid no further attention to the man. She did not scream at him, nor try to stop what he was doing. She rushed forward and began stamping on the pile of blazing sticks.

The man did not attempt to prevent her. He was watching the increasing length of flame spread over the deck. A second later he sprang up, ran across the deck, slipped over the side of "The Merry Maid," dropped into his rowboat, and rowed swiftly out of sight.

Mollie flew for the big bucket of water, which they always kept in a certain spot. She flung the water on the flames, but water will not quench the flames made from oil. The rail began to crackle, the sparks to fly. The "Merry Maid" was afire, with only one, feeble girl to save it!

Mollie knew that there were steamer blankets in the bedrooms of the cabin. She often had one to cover her when she took her afternoon rest. Remember, Mollie had had little education, but she had been brought up to work and to do practical tasks. It was but the work of a moment to drag out two blankets and spread them over the flames. The fire died down for a moment; then it crept through the fringe of the rugs, and a choking smell of burning wool showed that the blankets also were beginning to burn. But the brave girl had no intention of giving up the fight.

There were two other blankets left. Mollie started back to the cabin for these, when to her terror she discovered that the skirt of her cotton dress was in names. She tried to beat it out with her hands, but it crept steadily up toward her head. She cried aloud, but she could see no one coming to save her. The pain was more intense every moment. She could not keep still. She ran toward the edge of the deck. Before her the placid water lay cool and sweet. With a cry of pain, Mollie threw herself over the side of the houseboat. She did not realize how shallow the water was. She flung herself with all her force. Her head struck against the bottom with a heavy thud. At least the water was cool; the fire no longer burned her.

Miss Jones and Mr. Brown, who had joined Miss Jenny Ann on her way back from the farmhouse, heard Mollie's first cry of alarm. The artist had been coming down to the houseboat to make an evening call. Two strangers, a man and his wife, were strolling along the top of the small embankment. They also heard the call. The four of them started down the hill almost at the same time. Before they reached the houseboat, the odor of burning wood was borne to their nostrils. Miss Jenny Ann cried out for Mollie, but Mollie did not answer. Mr. Brown and the two strangers began beating out the fire on the boat. It had not spread far; the blankets had covered the flames and kept them from increasing. The overturned oil can gave the clue to the mystery. Mr. Brown dashed into the kitchen for a bag of salt, because salt more quickly puts out the flames from burning oil.

Miss Jenny Ann had, so far, been unable to find Mollie. Now she looked over the side of the boat, and Mollie's body could be plainly seen lying in the shallow water. Mr. Brown and the stranger together brought the girl back to the houseboat. She was insensible. In her plunge into the water she had struck her head with great force against the bottom of the bay. She was stunned by the shock, and when she returned to consciousness the pain from the burn and the blow made her delirious. As she alone could tell what had transpired in that brief hour, the cause of the fire remained a mystery.



CHAPTER XXII

THE EVIL GENIUS

"I think I had better go up to the hotel to prepare the girls for what has happened," suggested Mr. Brown a short time afterward.

Miss Jenny Ann seemed surprised at the thought of his leaving her alone with Mollie, and said so.

"Yes; I think I had better go at once," he announced decisively. "The doctor will be here in a few minutes. I can do nothing for you or for Mollie, but I can save the girls from the shock of returning to find their houseboat damaged and their friend so ill."

Miss Jenny Ann agreed quietly. If Mr. Brown thought it best to go, it did not really matter. "Ask the girls to come home as soon as they can," she added. "Phil is so clever in cases of illness."

"I'll borrow the 'Water Witch.' I think I can get up to the Belleview quicker if I go by water than if I wait for the street car to take me there. The girls will bring the boat home with them."

Mr. Brown disappeared from the deck of the boat a few moments later. He climbed into the "Water Witch" and rowed very swiftly up the bay.

Miss Jones had taken it for granted that their houseboat had caught fire by accident. She had not had time to give much thought to the matter. But Mr. Brown had other views. He remembered the boy who had attempted the robbery, and he had other reasons for his suspicions. A can of oil might very easily have turned over on the deck, but was there any reason to suppose that a pile of matches would be left lying at one side of the can? The young artist meant to make a thorough search for the possible offender. He wished to get out on the water as soon as he could, because he believed the incendiary had escaped that way. Mr. Brown and Miss Jenny Ann had been walking down the embankment at the very time the trespasser must have made his escape. If he had gone by land, one of them must have caught sight of him.

Theodore Brown was an ex-member of a Yale boat crew. He made the "Water Witch" skim through the waters, and at the same time he kept a sharp lookout for a small boat. There were a number of skiffs filled with young girls and men. But Mr. Brown was looking for a boat with the single figure of a boy in it.

He went toward the hotel, believing that the boatman would feel more secure if he were swallowed up in a crowd, than if he were seen in a more deserted part of the bay. Mr. Brown had almost reached the hotel pier before he came up to the character of skiff he desired to find. Then he was embarrassed how to accost the young man in it, as it was possible for him to see only the oarsman's back. Mr. Brown. came as close up alongside the stranger's boat as he could. Still he could not see the man's face. He leaned out of his own boat and called: "I want to drift along here and smoke. Would you be kind enough to lend me a match?"

The other oarsman apparently did not hear him. He rowed on faster. Again Mr. Brown caught up with him. He called, in an even more friendly fashion, "Haven't you that match?"

The stranger fumbled a minute in his pocket. "Sorry to disoblige you," he answered. "I haven't a match about me."

Theodore Brown laughed. The two small boats were almost touching each other. "Sorry to have troubled you," continued Mr. Brown, leaning as far over the side of his boat as he could. "After all, I find I have some matches in my own pocket. You had better take a cigar to show you forgive me for annoying you."

The artist struck a light and held it for a moment full in the other oarsman's face. It was only a second; the light flickered and went out. The man in the boat winced as the light shone on his face. "No, thank you; I don't smoke," he answered politely. With that he shot his skiff on ahead.

Mr. Brown followed behind him. He saw the other man was about to land at a deserted beach a short distance to the left of the Belleview Hotel pier. Mr. Brown did not make for the same shore immediately. He waited until the man was on land and striding out of sight; then the artist jumped from his own boat and went after the other man. Not many yards away was the side lawn of the hotel. It was a warm summer night, and a number of guests were strolling about under the trees. Mr. Brown put his hand on the arm of the fellow whom he had been following.

The boy leaped forward in an effort to wrench himself away. At this moment he recognized the artist and knew he had been overtaken. Mr. Brown kept a firm hold on his arm.

"What do you want with me?" demanded the lad, trying to appear at his ease. "Aren't you the fellow who came alongside of me in the boat?"

"I am," was the curt reply, "and I don't wish to ask a great favor of you. I simply wish you to come over to the hotel with me to see some friends of mine. We would like to ask you a few questions. Of course, if you can answer them satisfactorily, I shall let you go with my best apologies. I would advise you not to make any resistance here. You will attract the attention of the people on the lawn."

Mrs. Curtis and her guests were rather surprised when a hotel boy came up to her sitting room to say that Mr. Theodore Brown and some one else would like to speak to Mr. Tom Curtis for a few minutes, if that were possible.

Tom came back to his mother a little later, his eyes flashing. He related a part of Mr. Brown's story.

"If you don't mind, Mother, I think we had better have the fellow up here for the girls to see. I know he is the man who took the sailboat from Madge and me, and Mr. Brown says he is the fellow who attempted to rob the houseboat; but whether he has set it afire and nearly been the death of Mollie, we have no way of finding out. He vows he has not been near the houseboat since the day he promised never to return. If we cross-examine him up here, perhaps we can get at the truth."

Eleanor had slipped out of the room to find her coat and hat as soon as she learned of the accident to Mollie. The other young women were trembling with sympathy and alarm, but they waited to see the boy brought upstairs.

The girls were not long in agreeing to the identity of the prisoner as the evil genius of their past experiences. But there was no way of proving that he had actually set fire to the houseboat, for he still absolutely denied all knowledge of it.

Eleanor came back to the sitting-room. "Aren't you ready to leave, girls?" she demanded. "Miss Jenny Ann and Mollie need us."

Eleanor sniffed the air daintily. "What is that curious odor of kerosene, Mrs. Curtis?" she inquired curiously. "Do you think any of the lamps could be leaking?"

"Good!" Mr. Brown ejaculated. "What a chump I am! I have been conscious of that smell all this time and had not associated it with the houseboat."

Mr. Brown put his nose down to his prisoner's hands. Then he inhaled the scent of his coat. Tom Curtis followed suit. The odor was unmistakable. The lad was well smeared with oil. The circumstantial evidence was strong against the captured boy when Mr. Brown related the discovery of the overturned can and the spread of the kerosene on the houseboat deck.

"I am awfully sorry to have made this scene, Mrs. Curtis," apologized the young artist, "but I knew no other way for us to settle the matter at once. This young man has done too much mischief to our friends to be allowed to go free again. But you need not think further of the experience, I'll take the lad and give him up to the police to-night. Your son and I will be able to identify him. It will not be necessary to draw you girls into the business. We can manage without you."

Mrs. Curtis looked exceedingly uncomfortable. She had been bitterly angry at the way the lad had served Tom and Madge, and at that time she would have given a great deal to have had him properly punished. Since then he had added one evil deed to the other. But the boy, who was being led away to prison, seemed so young, not much older than Tom. He was wild and reckless in his appearance, yet he had the aspect of having been born of gentle people.

The youth had not spoken since the discovery of the oil on his hands and clothes. Now, as he was being led from the sitting room, he turned on his cross-questioners and shook with swift laughter. He threw back his head, so that his long, dark hair uncovered his ears. His eyes gleamed.

Madge, who was staring hard at the boy from her position on the far side of the room, gave an unexpected movement of surprise. She waited for the young prisoner to speak.

"You needn't trouble your girls to appear against me," he said savagely, "but you will have to introduce their chaperon in court, and a pretty thing it will be for a sister to appear as a witness against her own brother!"

A frozen silence fell on the group of listeners. Phil shook her head emphatically. "You are not our Miss Jenny Ann's brother," she retorted decidedly. "It would be perfectly impossible for her to have a wicked brother like you."

Theodore Brown's face flushed and paled. He would have liked to drag the lad out of the room without waiting another instant. Yet he feared to make the scene even worse. He did not have the slightest faith in the lad's statement; he was only fiercely angry at the boy's impudence and wondered if the fellow even knew the name of the chaperon of the "Merry Maid."

Lillian and Eleanor were flushed with indignation. Tom Curtis was equally so. But Mrs. Curtis happened to catch a glimpse of Madge's face. Her expression was a puzzle. She ran forward and touched Mr. Brown on the sleeve. "Wait a minute, Mr. Brown," she pleaded. "Don't take the boy to jail yet. What he says may be true. Don't you think we ought to ask him some questions first?"

The entire company stared at Madge in amazement. But in the single moment when Mr. Brown's captive started to leave the room, the little captain had seen the tips of his pointed ears. She had caught the wild, almost animal gleam in his eyes. She recalled the midnight visitor to their chaperon on the first night their houseboat had rested at anchor. She remembered Miss Jenny Ann's curious behavior, and how she had absolutely refused to give the name of her caller. All this swept through Madge's mind and now she understood Miss Jenny Ann's poverty, her reticence about her own affairs, her unhappiness when the girls first knew her at school. Of course, this wicked brother was the cause of their chaperon's difficulties. If they punished the boy, Miss Jenny Ann must suffer more than he would. She had lately grown to be as merry as any of the girls on board the "Merry Maid."

"O Mrs. Curtis!" exclaimed Madge, "please don't let Tom and Mr. Brown take him off to jail. I think he is our Miss Jenny Ann's brother. I wouldn't have her find out the wicked things he has done for all the money in the world." Madge was almost in tears as she made her plea to Mrs. Curtis.

"Never mind, dear," replied Mrs. Curtis soothingly. "If the lad really turns out to be your chaperon's brother, you are right; his behavior must be kept a secret from her."

Mrs. Curtis, Mr. Brown and Tom afterward found the statement of the wild boy to be true. He was really Miss Jones's brother. His parents had died when he was a little boy, and his sister had sacrificed her life's hopes to him. Yet her efforts had been in vain. He had always been hard to control. In the last few years he had broken away from all restraint. He had been concealed in the motor boat that first towed the girls and their chaperon to their anchorage and had seen his sister on the houseboat. His plan had been to get money from her. When she told him that she had none to give him he had devoted his time to tormenting the crew of the "Merry Maid" in order to be revenged on his sister.

After long consultation it was decided not to send him to prison. Mrs. Curtis gave him the money to sail for South Africa, after making him promise to try to turn over a new leaf, and not to write to his sister until he was safely out of the country. And so Miss Jenny Ann's ghost was laid without her knowing it until some time afterward.



CHAPTER XXIII

"MOTHER"

Not one of the four girls closed her eyes during the long night following the dinner given by Mrs. Curtis. Miss Jenny Ann sat by Mollie until toward morning, when Eleanor and Lillian relieved her. Madge and Phil walked up and down the deck in order to be ready if they were called. But as the long night wore on, Mollie exhibited no sign of returning consciousness.

After an early breakfast the next morning Miss Jones went back to her charge, and the girls lingered in the cabin sitting room talking together in low tones.

Madge kept her arms about Eleanor. Every now and then she would lean over to kiss her cousin.

Nellie laughed softly. "What's the matter, Madge? Why are you so affectionate with me all of a sudden? Does it make you care more for me because poor, lovely Mollie is so ill, and because it might just as easily have been me, or Phil, or Lillian?"

Madge nodded. "Perhaps that is the reason."

Neither Lillian nor Eleanor even faintly dreamed that their friend had anything on her mind to worry her, except the critical condition poor Mollie was in; but Phil knew differently. She had long suspected what Mrs. Curtis's preference for Madge meant. Phyllis and Miss Jenny Ann had even discussed the possibility of their captain leaving them. However, Phil had never broached the subject to Madge. She Phil couldn't, she wouldn't think of it.

Mrs. Curtis and Tom arrived at the houseboat just as Madge and Phil were about to relieve Miss Jenny Ann's second watch. The physician had said that he expected Mollie to regain consciousness some time during the morning, and that she must not be left alone for a moment.

"Mrs. Curtis, slip into the room to see Mollie," whispered Madge. "Phil and I must go to her now. She is unconscious, so your presence could not frighten her. I want you to see how beautiful she is. She is really the prettiest person I ever saw, except you," Madge declared, as she threw a kiss to her friend and hurried after Phil into the cabin.

Miss Jenny Ann went into the sitting-room to lie down. Eleanor and Lillian went into the kitchen to wash the dishes.

Madge and Phil sat side by side at Mollie's berth. Madge's eyes were fixed on Mollie's unconscious face, but Phil looked often at her chum. Phyllis cared very little for wealth and position, for fine clothes and servants, but she knew these things were very dear to her friend. Yet, in a vague way, she realized that Madge would be likely to grow into a finer, sweeter woman without them. Phyllis understood their little captain. She knew that Madge was full of fine impulses, was brave and loyal in the midst of difficulties; but she also knew that she was easily spoiled and that too much money and admiration would not be good for her.

"Phil," asked Madge, "isn't Mollie stirring? Is there anything we ought to do for her?"

Phil bent over to gaze more attentively at their patient. She studied every curve and line in the girl's exquisite face. Now that Mollie's eyes were closed, and the vacant, pathetic stare was no more visible in them, her beauty was the more remarkable. Something in Mollie's quiet features seemed to surprise Phyllis, but she said nothing.

"We can't do anything but wait," answered Phil. "The doctor said that quiet is all Mollie needs. She is sure to come to herself some time to-day."

Phil slid her chair up close beside her chum's and kissed her friend on the cheek. It was an unusual demonstration for the reserved Phyllis. Madge stared at her. Then she turned a little pale. "You know what has happened to me, don't you?" she whispered. "I am sure you must know."

Phil bowed her head.

"Can't you help me decide?" begged Madge.

"No." Phil shook her head sadly. "You'll have to make up your mind for yourself."

The two girls sat in silence after this. They heard Mrs. Curtis come softly into the room and take a low chair in the far corner of the cabin, so as not to disturb Mollie if the girl should awake. She could just see the bed, but not the face of the girl on the pillow.

By and by Mollie stirred. "I am thirsty," she said distinctly. "Will some one please get me a glass of water?"

Phil rose quickly. "Here it is, Mollie," she answered, handing the girl the water, and trying to lift her with the other arm. Madge stooped over to aid her.

"Thank you," responded Mollie gently. "But why do you call me Mollie? My name isn't Mollie."

"We never liked to call you 'Moll'," replied Madge soothingly. "Mollie seemed to us to be a prettier name."

The girl laughed lightly. "No, I shouldn't think you would. My name is Madeleine, not Mollie. And you are Phyllis and Madge. I wonder why I never told you before that my name is Madeleine." Mollie's eyes had lost their pathetic stare. They were quiet and reasonable.

"Don't try to talk, Mollie—Madeleine, I mean," murmured Phil. "You must try to go to sleep again."

She and Madge never changed their positions until the ill girl's head grew heavy on their arms and she slept peacefully.

"O Phil!" Madge faltered, "you don't think Mollie is going to——"

"Sh-sh!" returned Phyllis warningly. "Don't show her you are surprised at anything she says."

Madge clenched her hands to keep them from trembling, but she could feel her knees shaking under her.

The patient opened her eyes again. "I fell off the yacht, didn't I?" she inquired. "It's funny, but I couldn't think what had happened to me for a long time. I was trying to remember all night. It was such a long night. I kept seeing dreadful, rude men, who were cruel to me. I must have been dreaming. Where is my mother? Why doesn't she come to me?"

"Your mother!" exclaimed Madge. A glance from Phil silenced her.

"Your mother can't come to you now, she is——" Phyllis faltered.

"Never mind," the gentle girl spoke faintly. "Mother may be resting. She must have been dreadfully frightened when she learned I had tumbled overboard. I think something fell and struck me on the head."

"Don't talk any more, please, dear," entreated Phyllis. "You can tell us all about what happened when you have rested a little longer. You are very tired."

The sick girl dozed again. Phyllis and Madge slipped their aching arms out from under their patient's pillow.

"Mollie's memory has come back to her, hasn't it?" Madge breathed in her chum's ear. "I wonder if it will go away again, or if she will remember more about herself when she is stronger?"

"I believe her memory has returned," Phil answered softly. "It is a miracle. We must be very careful. Any excitement or surprise might kill her. I wish the doctor were here."

Some one stole across the room without a sound. The girls knew it must be Mrs. Curtis. Neither one of them stirred nor for the instant glanced at their friend; they were too intent on their patient. But they were grateful for her presence. She had heard Mollie's peculiar remarks. She would know what they ought to do when Mollie began to talk again.

Mrs. Curtis came so close to the sick girl's bed that Madge and Phil stepped back to let her have the nearest place. She leaned over and looked at Mollie as though she would never grow tired of gazing at her. Once her lips moved, but it was impossible to tell what she said. Then Mrs. Curtis's strength seemed to give way. She dropped on her knees, with her arms resting on the edge of Mollie's bed.

Ten minutes passed. No one moved or spoke in the tiny cabin chamber. Mollie slept peacefully. Mrs. Curtis did not stir. She was like a figure carved in stone. She was waiting for something to happen. Was it for the girl on the bed to speak again?

Madge and Phil scarcely dared to breathe. They did not understand the situation, but they felt themselves to be in the presence of a mystery. A drama was being enacted in the tiny room, and they were the only audience to it.

"Mother, where are you?" Mollie's voice sounded clear and strong.

"I am here," Mrs. Curtis replied softly, not stirring from her position by the bed.

"Why hasn't Tom been here to see me? And why are Phyllis and Madge so good to me? I don't understand."

Mollie turned restlessly on her pillow. Her hair fell away from her forehead and revealed the jagged, ugly scar. Mrs. Curtis saw it. For the first time she gave an involuntary shudder of emotion. Mollie put up her hand to her head with the old, familiar gesture of pain.

"My head hurts," she announced, as though she had not known of her injury before. "Have I been sick a long time? Somehow, you look so different."

Mrs. Curtis nodded. "Yes, daughter, you have been ill a long, long time. But you will be well and happy when you wake up again. You are with Mother now."

Mrs. Curtis gathered Mollie into her arms and the two girls stole out of the tiny cabin, closing the door behind them. The mother and daughter were alone.

"What has happened to you, Madge Morton? Why do you girls look so strangely at me?" demanded Tom Curtis as he caught sight of Madge's face. He was leaning against the deck rail staring curiously at his friends. "Is Mollie worse?"

"Oh, no; she is not worse. She is well. That is, she can remember. She is—— Oh, I don't know what I am saying," cried Madge in confusion.

Miss Jenny Ann came out of the sitting room. Lillian and Eleanor also joined the little group on deck. Still Madge was silent.

"Ought I to tell?" she faltered, looking at Phyllis. "Don't you think Mrs. Curtis ought to tell Tom?"

"If you have bad news for me speak quickly!" returned Tom. "I would rather hear it from you than anybody in the world. You are almost like a sister to me, Madge."

The little captain went forward and put her hand gently on Tom's arm. "You won't need me for a sister now, Tom," she said gently. "Phil and I do not understand what has happened. Your mother will have to explain to you. But our Mollie is not Mollie at all. Her name is Madeleine. Her memory has come back to her. She thinks your mother is her mother. And Mrs. Curtis called her daughter!"

The cabin door opened. Mrs. Curtis walked out, moving like a woman in a dream. "Don't speak loudly," she said. "Madeleine has gone to sleep." She crossed over to Tom. "Tom," she explained quietly, "the girls have found your sister after twelve years; my baby is a young woman."

Tom put his arm about his mother. Mrs. Curtis spoke rapidly now, as though she feared her voice would fail her. "Miss Jones, years ago my little daughter, who was ten years old, fell from our steam yacht. She had been left alone by her nurse for a few minutes. When the woman came back the child was not to be found. No one saw or heard her fall overboard. The boat was searched, but Madeleine had disappeared. We were off the coast of Florida. For months and months we searched for my daughter's body. We offered everything we had in the world for news of her. No word came. I used to think she would come back to me. Long ago I gave up hope. Now, when I saw this poor Mollie, I thought I recognized my child, and when she opened her eyes her memory returned to her. She knew I was her mother, in spite of my white hair. I think it is because she now remembers nothing of her unhappy past. She thinks she was hurt only a short time ago. She must not learn the truth until she is stronger. Will you keep me here with you until I can take my daughter home?"

Mrs. Curtis staggered slightly and grew very white. It was Madge who sprang to her side and led her to a chair. "You have found what you want most in the world," she whispered, "I am so glad for your sake."



CHAPTER XXIV

FAREWELL TO THE MERRY MAID

"Miss Jenny Ann, I can't get all these things packed in this barrel," protested Madge despairingly. "I don't see how they ever got in here before."

Miss Jenny Ann laughed from the depths of a large box, where she was folding sheets and placing them in neat piles. "Remember, we have added a number of tin pans to our store since we came aboard the houseboat. But don't worry, dear. We will get all the belongings packed in time."

"Isn't it too awful that the houseboat has to be left to its poor dear self for the rest of the summer? Just think, we have had over six weeks' holiday, and, if it weren't for Madeleine, it would seem like six days."

"I have something to tell you, Madge," announced Miss Jenny Ann, raising a flushed face from her task. "Do you remember when you came into the library, at school, and found me crying over a letter? I told you that I was frightened at what my doctor had written me. I have a different story to tell now. I am well as well can be. I have gained ten pounds in six weeks; that is a record, isn't it?"

"I am so glad," bubbled Madge. "You've been the jolliest kind of a chaperon, dear Miss Jenny Ann, and we love you. You know I am sorry I used to be so disagreeable to you at school, and you do like me now, don't you?"

Miss Jenny Ann and Madge desisted from their labors long enough to embrace each other.

"Here, here, what is all this love-feast about?" demanded Tom Curtis cheerfully. He had come quietly aboard the houseboat, and was standing at the cabin door, smiling cheerfully at the little captain.

"Go away, Tom," returned Madge reproachfully. "I told you we couldn't have any company to-day. I said good-bye to you last night. We are getting things in shape to leave the houseboat. A man who has a boat-house is going to take care of the 'Merry Maid' for us until we come into another fortune and have another holiday."

"What time does your train leave?" inquired Tom coolly, picking up a hammer and preparing to fasten the top on Madge's barrel.

"At four o'clock," sighed Madge. "We are going to Baltimore together, and start home from there."

"It is all right, then," answered Tom Curtis placidly. "I have plenty time to stay to luncheon."

"Tell him he can't, Miss Jenny Ann Jones," declared Madge inhospitably, "we haven't a thing to eat except some crackers and stale bread, and a few odd pieces of cold meat. And I am so dreadfully hungry that I can eat them all myself."

"I am going to stay just the same," asserted Tom. "I am going to be the busiest little worker on the 'Merry Maid'."

The houseboat party would never have finished its packing except for their uninvited visitor. He sat on trunks, fastened locks and doors. At one o'clock "The Merry Maid" was in order to be deserted.

"Let's go up to the farmhouse to get some food," suggested Tom. "I am hungry as a bear, and I know they will give us some milk and bread."

Madge demurred, but the other three girls and Miss Jenny Ann were much too hungry to stand on ceremony.

Tom led the way to the farmhouse as though he felt sure of his welcome.

At the old gate, however, they found Mrs. Curtis and Madeleine apparently waiting for them. "We couldn't bear that yesterday should be good-bye," explained Mrs. Curtis, putting her arm about Madge and drawing her away from the others.

Madeleine held out her hands to Phyllis. She still looked white and fragile from her illness, but she was so exquisitely lovely that people turned about to gaze at her as she passed by them. Her face wore the expression of a serious child. She could not immediately make up for the lost years of her life, and she never left her mother or her brother but for a short time. Still she was at ease with the girls and talked a little with them. Her memory had come back to her, whether from the second blow on her head, or from the quiet life—which, the medical men could not say. After a while Madeleine would be able to take the place in the gay world which her beauty and wealth made for her. For the present she needed rest, quiet, and absolute peace of mind.

"You haven't changed your mind, have you, Madge?" asked Mrs. Curtis, as she and the little captain walked side by side to the farmhouse together.

Madge shook her bead. "It isn't a case of changing my mind. I had not decided. Now that you have found your real daughter you surely do not wish to be burdened with an imitation one."

"But I still want you, my dear. A woman is richer with two daughters than with one," replied Mrs. Curtis.

"No; you and Madeleine ought to be together," concluded Madge wisely. "You are awfully good, and I shall always feel that you are the best friend I have. But I had not been able to make up my mind to leave my own people and the girls, so, of course, everything has turned out for the best, and I am so happy for you and Tom and Madeleine. It is as good as playing a part in a fairy story to see one come true before your very eyes. Have you seen Captain Mike?" Madge lowered her voice, so that Madeleine could not overhear her.

Mrs. Curtis flushed. "Once, and for always. I hope never to look upon the dreadful man again. Tom felt that he and I must go to this Mike to ask him something of my little girl's history. He claims to have picked her up and, thinking her dead, left her for a few hours unnoticed in his sailboat. The man had done something reprehensible while in Florida, and was sailing for the Atlantic Ocean to flee from justice, so he did not stop to inquire about my child, or to give her more than a passing thought. His first wife was evidently a better woman than this second one. She worked with my Madeleine, brought her back to life and must have been good to her. But my baby could never remember her name, nor tell anything about herself. Captain Mike was on the ocean for two weeks, and too ignorant to study the papers afterward. The first wife wished to keep the child. After a short time she died, and then——" Mrs. Curtis stopped abruptly.

"We won't ever mention it again," said Madge tactfully. "I can only say I am so glad you found her."

Mrs. Watson, the farmer's wife, met the houseboat party with a smiling face. She conducted them into the dining room. Miss Jenny Ann and the four girls sighed with satisfaction for they were very hungry. The great mahogany table was weighted down with food—roast chicken, ham, salad, doughnuts.

"This is Tom's party," smiled Mrs. Curtis, in answer to a look of delighted astonishment from Madge. "It was his idea to say a last good-bye to our houseboat friends, and to see them safely started on their journey toward home. But, Miss Jenny Ann, I have something to say. I wish to tell you a story and I wish you to tell me what you think without any reference to anybody or anything at this table."

"Of course I will," answered Miss Jenny Ann lightly, not dreaming what Mrs. Curtis intended to say.

"Suppose, once upon a time you had lost something very precious," continued Mrs. Curtis. "Say it was a mine of precious stones. Suppose you had hunted for years but could never find it. After a while some friends discover the treasure for you, and give it back to you? Don't you believe you would like to do something to show your gratitude?"

"Certainly I should," replied Miss Jenny Ann promptly, falling into the trap.

"Then why not let me have a houseboat party this fall?" proposed Mrs. Curtis. "Madeleine and I will be staying near Old Point Comfort. Tom will be camping with some boy friends near Cape Charles. I am going to count on your bringing the houseboat down the shore to pay us a visit and you are to be my guests from the moment you set foot on the boat."

The four chums looked at Mrs. Curtis, their eyes shining with delight. Another holiday on their beloved houseboat! But ought they accept so great a gift from Mrs. Curtis. They understood that it was her intention to finance the trip.

Tom looked at his watch. "It's a pity to break up the party. But as we are to drive to the village we must soon be off. The expressman has already taken the trunks. You'd better accept mother's invitation."

"We thank you," said Madge slowly, "but will you give us a few days in which to decide? Then we will write you at Old Point Comfort."

"Very well," replied Mrs. Curtis, "but let us hope that your answer will be 'yes.' I wish you would look upon the trip as a love offering from Madeleine."

Mrs. Curtis looked wistfully at the circle of girlish faces. Her eyes, mute with pleading, met Madge's. They seemed to say, "Why not decide now, and make us happy?"

Their appeal was too strong for Madge. "Girls, I think we ought to accept Mrs. Curtis's gift to us. It is right and she wishes us to do so. Of what use is it to wait three days. Let us say 'yes' now and then we shall all he happy. All together! Is it 'yes'?"

THE END