Madge Morton, Captain of the Merry Maid Part 6

There was a heavy tug at the great rope that bound the houseboat to the little motor tug. The motor boat moved out into the bay, and with almost no perceptible motion and no noise, except the gentle ripple of the water purling against the sides of the craft, the houseboat followed it. The longed-for vacation on the water had begun.

CHAPTER VI

PLEASURE BAY

Just before twilight the boat reached a spot that seemed especially created for the travelers. For two hours they had been silently drinking in the beauty of the sun-lit bay and the green earth. They were not in the main body of the great Chesapeake Bay, but in one of the long arms of the bay that reaches into the Maryland coast.

"Look ahead of you, girls, to the left," called Phyllis Alden, as they glided slowly along.

Miss Jones and the three girls looked. There, in a curve of the land, was a low bank, with great cl.u.s.ters of purple iris growing along it, among the slender, long, green stems of the "cat-tails." An elm tree stood close to the edge of the water, spreading its branches out over the miniature sea. It was so strong, so big and enduring that it gave the home-seeking girls a sense of protection. The elm's branches could shelter them from the sun by day, and at night their boat could be tied to its trunk. Farther up the bank the girls could see a comfortable old, gray, shingled farmhouse. The farm meant water, fresh eggs, milk and b.u.t.ter.

Madge looked inquiringly at their chaperon, who nodded with an expression of entire satisfaction. Next, Madge glanced about the semi-circle of eager faces. "Shall we cast our anchor in Pleasure Bay?" she asked, and thus the pleasant little inland sea was named.

Madge signaled to the motor boat ahead, and the engineer stopped. He had several pa.s.sengers on board his motor boat, but the men had been inside the saloon most of the time, and no one on board the houseboat had noticed them.

Before the houseboat anch.o.r.ed Madge and Phil ran up the hill to ask at the farmhouse for the privilege of making a landing. They had learned a lesson they were not likely to forget.

Too tired to begin work, the girls ate their supper out of the luncheon baskets, then sat about on deck, singing and talking until the stars came out and twinkled down on their little houseboat with a million friendly eyes; then, urged by their chaperon and their own heavy eyes, they crept into their berths.

It was still night when Madge awakened with a start. She thought she heard some one talking. "To whit! to whoo!" It was only the call of a friendly owl. Yet the night seemed curiously lonely. It was strange to be asleep on the water instead of on the land! There was another weird sound, then something stirred outside on the deck of the boat.

From her cabin window Madge could see the line of the sh.o.r.e. It was quiet and empty.

This time she heard the sound of a voice. Another voice answered it.

Could it be possible that the second voice sounded like that of Miss Jones! What could have happened? Without pausing to put on her shoes Madge slipped into the next room. Eleanor lay breathing quietly in the upper berth and Miss Jones seemed to be asleep in the lower one. But the cover was drawn up almost to where her ears should be and Madge could not see her face.

She crept over to the chaperon's berth. It was necessary to waken Miss Jones and tell her of the mysterious sounds. She slipped her hand along the pillow in the dark. There was no response. She groped deeper under the covers. Still no movement or sound. Miss Jones was not in her berth. She was out on deck, talking to some one. Madge returned to her room. She did not intend to call the other girls until she knew what was the trouble. Phyllis was always brave and so were Lillian and Eleanor, but in this instance they could do nothing.

The girl stole softly to the cabin window and peeped out. She could just catch the outline of two figures that were standing well up toward the bow of the boat. One was a woman's figure, with a shawl thrown over her head, but Madge was sure that she recognized the chaperon.

Hurrying back to her berth she slipped on her steamer coat and slippers. She was trying every moment to fight down the distrust and dislike she had felt toward Miss Jones ever since their first acquaintance. She was trying to tell herself that she had invited their teacher to act as their chaperon from other motives, as well as from sympathy. But the finger of suspicion seemed to point plainly toward the teacher.

Madge walked quietly, and without any fear or hesitation, out on the deck of the houseboat, straight toward the two shrouded figures in the bow. Neither of them heard her coming, but she heard Miss Jones's distressed plea: "Won't you go away, and never come here again. I tell you, I can not do it. I simply can't----"

"Miss Jones," Madge's voice, clear and cold, sounded almost in her chaperon's ear.

The young woman turned so white that Madge could see her pallor in the moonlight.

The figure with her was shrouded in a long, black coat which was pulled up about its face. At the first sound of Madge's voice it made for the extreme end of the boat. With a quick turn, Madge ran after the escaping form. As it poised itself for a leap toward the sh.o.r.e, Madge caught at the cloak and dragged it away from the face, and for a brief instant she saw the face of a boy a little older perhaps than she was.

It was a wild and elfish face, while a pair of ears, ending almost in points, stuck up through the ma.s.ses of thick, curly hair that covered his head. But before she could get a distinct impression of his face the young man was gone, racing up the low embankment with great leaps, like a hunted deer.

Madge turned to their chaperon, waiting for the latter to offer some explanation. Miss Jones said nothing, but regarded Madge with distressed eyes.

"Who was your visitor? I did not know that any one knew we were anch.o.r.ed here. We did not know, ourselves, that we were to land here until we spied the place. Was that boy a stranger to you? Why didn't you call one of us if he frightened you?" Madge's tone was distinctly unfriendly.

Miss Jones only shook her head. Big tears were rolling down her cheeks. She was trembling so that Madge, much against her will, took her by the arm and a.s.sisted her across the deck.

"I can tell you nothing, Madge," was the teacher's husky reply. "I am perfectly aware that you have a right to know. Still, I simply can't tell you. But I can go away, if you like, and I will, as soon as you can get some one else to chaperon you. Only I must ask you not to tell the other girls what has happened to-night, or why I must leave you.

You see, dear," Miss Jones ended wistfully, "the other girls are fond of me. You never have been. I can not bear to lose their faith and trust."

There was a significant silence after this remark.

"Did you really see who it was with me?" Miss Jones questioned anxiously. "Would you know the face if you saw it again?"

"I don't know," was Madge's stiff reply, "but I believe I should."

"Won't you promise me that you will not tell the other girls?" Miss Jones whispered, as they crossed the deck and came to the door of their little cabin. "I am not asking you to do anything wrong, only asking you to trust me and believe that I do not think I am doing a wrong by not taking you into my confidence."

"Very well, I will keep your secret," returned Madge slowly. "I do not wish you to leave us, Miss Jones. I wish you to stay and take care of us, just as you planned to do."

"You are only saying that, dear, because you know I have no other place to go for my holiday, and you are afraid my health will suffer. You must not think of my health. I can not stay with you just for my own sake."

"Then stay for ours," said Madge shortly, and without further words she went into the cabin and climbed into her berth.

Sleep was far from weighing down her eyelids. She lay awake for some time, wondering why clouds and distrust should so often spring up among human beings when everything seemed arranged for their perfect happiness.

She generously made up her mind, however, never to trouble their chaperon with questions about her mysterious visitor, but she determined to discover for herself who that boy was, and whether he had come aboard the boat to rob them.

CHAPTER VII

THEIR UNKNOWN JAILER

"Madge Morton, what do you mean sleeping until seven o'clock, the first morning we are on our houseboat?" cried Phil, poking her head in the cabin door. "I would have awakened you before now, only Miss Jones would not let me. Lillian and Eleanor have been waiting for you in their bathing suits for a long while. Do let's have a salt water plunge before breakfast."

Springing from her berth, Madge made a dash for her bathing suit, which she had laid out the night before.

The girls were over the side of the boat in a hurry, swimming about in the water with gleeful shouts. The odor of frying bacon, which was presently wafted to their nostrils from the door of the houseboat kitchen, was something the bathers were too hungry to resist, and with one accord, they swam toward their boat.

It had been arranged that Miss Jones was to get the breakfast, Lillian and Eleanor the luncheon, and Phil and Madge, who were the most ambitious of the cooks, though not the most proficient, were to cook the dinner.

Madge noticed that Miss Jones looked whiter than usual, but the other girls saw no difference in their chaperon as they clambered up over the side of the boat to get ready for breakfast.

"Girls," Miss Jones remarked, as she put down a big plate of corn m.u.f.fins before her hungry charges, "Phil accused me once of being mysterious and never talking about myself. Well, I am going to make a confession about myself at once."

Madge raised her eyes in surprise. After all, was Miss Jones going to tell of last night's adventure? But the chaperon was not looking at her. She was smiling at Phil, Lillian and Eleanor.

"Well, out with it, Miss Jones," laughed Phil. "What is the confession?"

"It is a foolish one, perhaps. I hate the name of 'Jones.' I have despised it all my life. There, that is my confession. Won't you girls please call me something else while we are having our holiday together? I know Madge can find a name for me." She looked rather timidly at Madge.

The girl blushed, though she felt vastly relieved at Miss Jones's confession. "What do you wish us to call you? I saw your initials in some of your books, 'J. A. Jones,' so we might call you Jenny Ann Jones, because, when Nellie and I were children, we used to play an old nursery game: 'We're going to see Miss Jenny Ann Jones, Miss Jenny Ann Jones, and how is she to-day?'" Madge's explanation ended with a song.

Miss Jones laughed. "My name is worse than Jenny Ann, it is Jemima Ann."