Madge Morton, Captain of the Merry Maid Part 21

"Your confession," said he, speaking to Muldoon, "is all we need to enable us to take this girl away. Under the circ.u.mstances, 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 amus.e.m.e.nts, 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, cus.h.i.+oned 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, pus.h.i.+ng 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 fas.h.i.+on. "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."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I wish you to come and live with me, Madge."]

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 friends.h.i.+ps 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 s.p.a.ce 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 cus.h.i.+on 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 splas.h.i.+ng 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.