Madge Morton, Captain of the Merry Maid Part 10

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

quizzed Tom.

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

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

The party started off, Phyllis keeping strictly in the background.

Madge walked with Tom and Lillian with Jack, so she felt a little out of it.

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

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

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

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

Although the figure she had seen was almost that of a woman, the sobbing sounded like that of a child. There was no other noise in the tent, so Phil knew the girl was alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We have come here for many years, I think," the girl answered confusedly. "In the early spring my father catches shad along the bay.

Then all summer he takes people out sailing from the big place over there." She pointed across the water in the direction of the hotel.

"Our boat is on the other side of the island." The girl clasped her head in her long, sun-burned hands. "It is there that it hurts," she declared, touching the ugly, jagged scar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now good-bye."

The girl stood in the door of her tent to watch Phyllis on her way.

She stared intently after her until her visitor turned the curve of the beach and was lost to view, then, leaning her head against the side of the tent, she burst forth into low, despairing sobs.

CHAPTER X

AN EXCITING RACE

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

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

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

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

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

One would hardly have known Miss Jenny Ann Jones--a week in the fresh air had done her so much good. Then, too, Phil and Lillian had persuaded her to cease to wear her heavy, light hair in an English bun at the back of her neck. Lillian had plaited it in two great braids and had coiled it around her head like a dull golden coronet. She had a faint color in her cheeks, and, instead of looking cross and tired, she was as merry and almost as light-hearted as the girls. The lines of her head were really beautiful, and her sallow skin was fast becoming clear and healthy. For once in her life Miss Jones looked no older than her twenty-six years. Eleanor watched her as she started off on her walk dressed in white, carrying a red parasol, and decided that Miss Jones was really pretty. Since her advent among the girls she had begun to look at life from a different standpoint. She had almost ceased worrying and she meant to grow well and strong if she could. Since her mysterious visitor the first night she spent aboard the boat nothing had happened to disturb her. She walked slowly on, so occupied with her own thoughts she did not notice that she was in a lane between two fields enclosed by fences. Some one called to her.

She could not distinguish the voice. It called and called again. She thought it must be one of the girls who had come out in the field to meet her. As there was no one looking, Miss Jones managed to climb over the rail fence, and now she walked in the direction from which the sound of the voice came. After a time the voice ceased. It was a shorter stroll to the boat across this field, so the teacher went leisurely on. In a far corner of the meadow she saw an odd object unlike anything she had ever seen. It consisted of two sticks that looked like the legs of a scarecrow which had a square board fastened in front of them. From between the sticks were two other brown objects, long and thin, and behind it sat a young man busily engaged in transferring the peaceful scene to canvas. Miss Jones was gazing curiously at this object, with her red parasol hung over her shoulder, so that it was impossible for her to see anything behind her. But she did hear an unusual noise--a snort, then a bellow--the sound was unmistakable. With a sense of sickening terror she gave one horrified glance behind her. She had been mysteriously lured into a field where a bull was loose. It never occurred to Miss Jones to throw away her red parasol. She ran on, waving it wildly over her shoulders, maddening the enraged animal behind her. Miss Jones did not believe she could run fast. Usually her breath was short, and even a rapid walk fatigued her. Now she ran on and on. Once again she half heard a mocking voice cry after her, but she paid no attention to it. In her fright she was also oblivious to the fact that the strange object in the corner of the field fell to the ground with a bang, while a man sitting on a stool behind it rose to right his overturned canvas.

"Drop it, drop it!" he shouted, running after Miss Jones and repeatedly urging her to throw away her bright red parasol.

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

Miss Jones thought there was a gate at the end of the field in which she was running. She made for this gate, as she knew she would not have time to get over the fence before the animal would be upon her.

In her terror she had but one idea, one hope, that was to reach the safety of the gang-plank and to climb aboard the houseboat.

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

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

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