Madge Morton, Captain of the Merry Maid Part 13

The sky was now dark, the waves had grown larger, and a pelting rain had begun to beat down in Madge's face. Tom had risen to the surface of the water again, and was feebly trying to swim toward her. He had shuddered with despair when he first caught sight of her in the water.

But his faint, "Go back! Go back!" had not reached her ears. Nor would she have heeded him had she heard.

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

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

Tom was making an heroic effort to keep himself afloat. But he was growing weaker and weaker, and the last vestige of his strength was giving way. As Madge reached him, he managed to reach out and clutch her arm, hanging to it with a force that threatened to pull them both under. He was making that instinctive struggle for life usually put forth by the drowning. Madge experienced a brief flash of terror.

"Don't struggle, Tom," she implored.

Even in his semi-conscious state Tom must have heard his companion's words. He ceased to fight, his body grew limp, and, clasping one of his hands in her own strong, brown fingers, Madge swam toward the spot where she had left the sailboat. Never once did she relax her hold on the burden at her side. Now and then she glanced up at their boat.

Each time she caught a glimpse of it it seemed to be farther away.

Could it be possible that the wind and the tide were carrying the sailboat ash.o.r.e faster than she could swim? Surely the youth on board would come forward to help them. Now the waves that dashed over Madge's head and lashed across her face sent echoing waves of despair over her plucky soul. Tom was too far gone to know or to care what was happening. The responsibility, the fight, was hers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XIII

LIFE OR DEATH?

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

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

"She must live, or I can not bear it," declared Tom Curtis brokenly.

"Oh, won't some one go for a doctor? Can't you do something else for her?"

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

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

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

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

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

Phyllis Alden knelt on the ground on one side of the unconscious girl.

Jack Bolling and an old fisherman knelt opposite her. The artist, Mr.

Brown, was trying to a.s.sist in restoring Madge to consciousness.

Phyllis Alden had been drilled in "first aid to the drowning" by her father. Long experience with the sea had taught the sailor what to do.

But Madge had resisted all their efforts to bring her to consciousness.

She had battled too long with the merciless waves and her strength was gone before the fisherman, coming home in his rowboat, had spied the three figures at the moment when Madge was about to give up the fight.

He had hauled her and Tom inside his boat, and poor Brownie had somehow managed to swim ash.o.r.e.

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

Fifteen minutes after being brought to sh.o.r.e Tom Curtis had returned to consciousness. His first words were for Madge. Although Tom had been a longer time in the water than his rescuer, his injured arm, which was sprained, but not broken, had prevented him from making so fierce a struggle; therefore he was far less exhausted than was his companion.

To those who watched anxiously for the first faint sign of returning life it seemed hours since the fisherman had laid that still form on the sand. It was none other than the old fisherman who discovered the faint spot of color which appeared in Madge's cheeks, then disappeared.

After that the work of resuscitation went on more steadily than ever, and slowly and painfully Madge came back to life. Strange noises sounded in her ears. A gigantic weight was pressing upon her chest.

She tried to speak, but it was choking her, crushing her. She made an heroic effort to throw it off, and then her eyes opened and dimly she beheld her friends.

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

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

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

It was not until two days later that the fisherman, searching along the very sh.o.r.e from which they had started, found the sailboat resting quietly at anchor about two miles from the pier where the picnic party had landed. The boat was uninjured, and Madge's hat, coat and skirt lay on the deck, where she had thrown them when she dived into the bay.

But the wild lad who had caused the mischief had vanished completely.

No one near had seen or heard of him. His ident.i.ty was a mystery. If any one of the fisher folk knew his name, or where he had gone, they did not betray that knowledge. Mrs. Curtis wished to offer a reward for the fellow's capture. Tom would not consent. He intended to find his enemy himself, and to settle his own score. At night Tom used to lie awake for hours to plan how he would track the stranger and at last run him down. But in the day time he was much too fully occupied with entertaining his mother's young guest to plan revenge.

Madge had been the guest of Mrs. Curtis at the Belleview Hotel for five days. It had taken but a day for her to recover from the effect of her narrow escape from drowning. She possessed far too happy a disposition to dwell long on an uncomfortable memory, and her recent mishap soon became like a dream to her. But her feeling of affection for Mrs.

Curtis was not in the least like a dream, and grew stronger with every hour she spent in her new friend's company. It was a red letter time for Madge.

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

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

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

"Madge will never be happy again on the 'Merry Maid,' will she, girls?"

The four girls were rowing back to their floating home after a visit to their friend.

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

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

Miss Jennie Ann laughed at their doleful faces. "She will soon be with us again," she declared. "I'll tell you a secret. She is coming home to the houseboat day after to-morrow. She whispered to me to-day that there was really no reason why she should stay any longer with Mrs.

Curtis, and that she did not wish to presume on her hospitality. Mrs.

Curtis is very fond of her. She does not wish Madge to leave her."

Miss Jones looked so mysterious that the girls regarded her curiously.

"I think it is a good thing for Madge and for Mrs. Curtis to spend a few days together. Mrs. Curtis is lonely and needs good company,"

added Miss Jones.

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