Huddled together in the darkness, Phil and Madge endeavored to relieve the strain of the situation by talking, but the very sound of their voices dismayed them and they became silent. Finally Eleanor, who had been leaning against Madge's shoulder, laid her head in her cousin's lap and went to sleep. A little later Lillian, after receiving Madge's assurance that she and Phil intended to keep watch, went to sleep also.
"Madge," Phil's voice trembled a little, "what do you suppose poor Miss Jones will think? She won't have the least idea in which direction to look for us. Goodness knows how long we may have to stay here. We may never get out." Her voice sank to a whisper.
"Why, Phil," Madge feigned a hopefulness which she did not feel, "I am surprised at you. You haven't given up hope. It is just the darkness and being hungry that makes things appear so dreadful. I have been thinking about our plight, and when daylight comes I am going to try to climb up the wall to the window. The mud has broken away between some of the logs, so that I can get my foot in the opening. We shall have to dig it away in other places too."
"But what can we dig with, Madge? We haven't a knife."
"With our fingers and hairpins, if we must, Phil. Sh-sh, Nellie is waking. I want her to sleep on till daylight."
Toward morning, however, the two girls' eyes closed wearily. In spite of their resolve to keep awake, the gray dawn creeping in at the windows found them fast asleep. It was Phil who first opened her eyes. She touched Madge, who sat up with a start, then springing to her feet exclaimed, "I'm so glad it's morning. Now for my great circus stunt."
"You can't possibly climb up there without hurting yourself, Madge. You will surely fall," expostulated Eleanor. "Please, please don't try it."
"Please don't discourage me, Nellie. It is the only way I know to get out of this dreadful place. Phil, if you will try to brace me, I can climb up and dig in the mud farther up."
Eleanor was feeling down in her pocket. Suddenly she gave a little cry of surprise. "O, girls! I have something that may help. Here is a little pair of scissors. You can dig with them, Madge."
The girls hailed the scissors with exclamations of joy. They were very small embroidery scissors, but they were better than nothing.
Lillian, who was bent on a foraging expedition around the room, came back a moment later with a few big, rusty nails and an old brick she had picked up out of the tumbled down fireplace. "If you can hammer these nails in the wall, Madge, you will have something to hold on to as you climb."
For two hours Madge alternately dug and climbed. In each hole that she made between the big logs she would set her foot, then hammer a nail above her head and dig a new opening. At last she actually did climb up the side of the wall, but her hands were scratched and bleeding, and her hair and face were covered with mud. She had taken off her dress skirt, too, as she could climb better in her petticoat.
The three girls below held their breath when she came to the final stretch, and let go the last rickety nail to fling herself on to the window sill.
"Eureka, girls!" she called down cheerfully, when she got her breath. She was holding tightly to the window frame with both hands and endeavoring to make her voice sound gay, though she was nearly worn out with the fatigue of her dangerous climb. "Now I shall surely find a way out for us. Please don't be frightened, Nellie, darling, if I have to jump. It is not so bad." She gave a little inward shudder as she looked through the tiny window frame. She could easily wrench the broken bars away. That was not the trouble. But the window was so small and the sill so narrow that Madge realized she could not get into the proper position for a forward spring. However, she had made up her mind; she might break her leg, or her arm, but she would open that barred door if she died in doing it.
With determined hands she wrenched at one of the window bars. It gave way. She seized hold of another, clinging to the sill with her other hand, her feet in their insecure resting places.
"It's all right, chilluns," she smiled, as she swung herself up to the window, "I'm going to jump."
Eleanor had closed her eyes. Phil and Lillian watched their friend, sick with apprehension.
Madge gave one look down at the ground, at least fourteen feet below her. Then she uttered a quick, sharp cry, and dropped back to her resting place, her feet, almost by instinct, finding the open spaces in the wall.
"Come down, Madge," called Phil sharply. "I was afraid you'd find the distance too great. Don't try it again."
"No, no, it is not that," replied Madge, gazing through the window. "I don't believe I shall have to jump. I am sure some one is near."
Sniffing the ground, near the side of the cabin, she had spied a dog with a soft brown nose, a shaggy, red brown body and a tail standing out tense and straight. It was a brown setter, and Madge knew he was probably hunting for woodchucks. Surely the presence of the dog meant a master somewhere near.
Her tired, eager eyes strained through the thick foliage of the woods they had traversed so happily only the afternoon before.
Yes, there was a man's figure! He was coming nearer. A young man in a hunting jacket, with a gun swung over his shoulder, was tramping along, with his eyes on the ground.
A pleading voice apparently came from the sky: "Please unbar the door of this old cabin. We are locked inside."
The young man stopped short. He took off his cap and ran his hand through his thick, light hair. He was too old to believe in fairies or elves. But he heard the voice again even more distinctly. "Oh, don't go away! Do open the log cabin door."
The young man looked up. There was a little, white face as wan and pale as the early daylight, with an aureole of dark red curls around it, staring at him through the broken window frame of the old log cabin that he had seen deserted a dozen times in his hunting trips through these woods.
"If there is some one really calling to me, please wave your hand three times from that window, so I will know you are not a spook," called the young man, "otherwise I may be afraid to open the door."
"I can't wave. I shall fall if I let go the window sill," answered Madge, trying to keep from bursting into tears. "Please don't wait any longer. We have been locked in all night."
The stranger drew back the heavy wooden bolt. He started when he saw three white-faced girls staring at him. But the face he had seen at the window was not among them. Clinging to the old window frame, her slender feet stuck in the cracks between the logs, was the witch who had summoned him to their rescue.
"Won't you please come help me down, Phil?" asked a plaintive voice.
"Just let go the window frame and drop," ordered the stranger quietly. "Don't be afraid. It is the only possible way."
Without hesitating Madge did as directed. "Thank you," she said coolly, when she got her breath. Then she staggered a little, and Phyllis and the young man who had come to their rescue caught her.
"We have been locked in so long," explained Phil. "No, we have not the least idea who could have played such a trick on us. We arrived in this neighborhood only yesterday afternoon."
Phil gave a short history of the houseboat, introducing her three friends and herself to him. "We must return to our chaperon at once," she added. "The poor woman will be dreadfully worried. Do you girls feel strong enough to walk? You see"—this time Phil turned to their rescuer—"it is not only that we have been shut up here for nearly fourteen hours, we are so hungry! We have had nothing to eat since yesterday at luncheon."
"Your poor, starving girls!" exclaimed their liberator, reproachfully. "At last I am convinced you are not fairies. And for once I am glad that my mother is always certain that I am on the point of starving."
He reached back into his pocket and brought out a package and a flask. "Here is some good, strong coffee. I am sorry it is cold, but it is better than nothing." He turned to Madge, who looked exhausted.
She shook her head, though she gazed at the flask wistfully. "I won't drink first. I don't need it as much as the other girls."
Eleanor took the bottle from his hands and held it to Madge's lips. The exhausted girl took a long drink. Then the others followed suit, while the young man watched them, smiling with satisfaction. He was tall and strong, and not particularly handsome, but he had fine brown eyes, a firm chin and thick, curly, light hair. After the girls had finished the coffee he broke open his package of sandwiches and found exactly four inside.
"Please take them," he urged, handing the open package to Lillian.
"We mustn't take them from you," protested Lillian. "We thank you for the coffee. That will do nicely until we get back to our boat."
The stranger laughed. "See here," he protested, "not an hour ago, when I left the hotel, where my mother and I are spending the summer, I ate three eggs, much bacon, four Maryland biscuit and drank two cups of coffee. Fragile creature that I am, I believe I can exist on that amount of refreshment for another hour or so. But whenever I go out on a few hours' hunting trip, my mother insists that the steward at the hotel put me up a luncheon. She is forever imagining that I am likely to get lost and starve, a modern 'Babe in the Woods,' you know. By the way, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Curtis, Thomas Stevenson Curtis, if you please, but I am more used to plain, everyday Tom."
The girls acknowledged the introduction, then by common consent they began walking away from the cabin.
A short distance was traversed in silence, then Madge said abruptly, "Who do you suppose locked us in, Mr. Curtis?"
"I don't know," answered Tom Curtis darkly, clenching his fist. "But wouldn't I like to find out! Have you an enemy about here?"
Madge shook her head. "No; as I said, we came to the neighborhood only yesterday. We have met only the farmer and his wife, who allowed us to land."
"I'll make it my business to find out who served you such a dastardly trick, Miss Morton," Tom returned. "I expect to be in this neighborhood all summer. My mother isn't very well, and we like this quiet place. Our home is in New York. I was a freshman last year at Columbia."
Only the day before Tom Curtis had informed his mother that he found the neighborhood too slow, and that if she didn't object he would be glad to move on. But a great deal can happen in a short time to make a young man of twenty change his mind.
"Thank you," replied Madge sedately. "I'll be on the lookout for the wretch, too. Now we must hurry back to our chaperon, Miss Jones. I won't ask you to come with us this morning, but we shall be very glad to have you come aboard our boat to-morrow. We haven't named her yet, but she is so white and clean and new looking that you can't possibly mistake her. She is lying on an arm of the bay just south of these woods."
"I'll surely avail myself of the invitation," smiled Tom Curtis as they paused for a moment at the edge of the woods. Below them the blue waters of the bay gleamed in the sunshine. And yes, there was their beloved "Ship of Dreams."
"Oh, you can see her from here!" exclaimed Madge, her eyes dancing with the pride of possession. "See, Mr. Curtis, it is our very own 'Ship of Dreams' until we give her a real name."
"She's a beauty," said Tom Curtis warmly, "and I really must have a closer look at her."
"Then come to see us soon," invited Phil audaciously.
"I will, you may be certain of it. Good-bye. I hope you won't suffer any bad effects from your strenuous night." The young man raised his cap and, whistling to his dog, strode off down the hill.
"What a nice boy," commented Lillian.
Madge, however, was not thinking of Tom Curtis; her mind dwelt upon their chaperon, and the long, anxious night she had spent alone on the houseboat.
Poor Miss Jones! Her vigil had indeed been a patient one. From the time the hands of the little cabin clock had pointed to the hour of six she had anxiously awaited the girls. She had cooked the dinner, then set it in the oven to warm. At seven o'clock she trudged up the hill to the farmhouse to make inquiries. No one had seen the young women since they passed through the fields early that afternoon. At nine o'clock a party of farmers scoured the country side, but the extreme darkness of the night had caused the young men to discontinue their search until daylight.
At dawn Miss Jones flung herself down on her berth, utterly exhausted. She would rest until the search party started out again, then she would hurry to the nearest town and inform the authorities of the strange disappearance of the girls. As she lay with half-closed eyes trying to imagine just what could possibly have happened to her charges, a familiar call broke upon her ears that caused her to spring up from her berth in wonder.
"We've come to see Miss Jennie Ann Jones," caroled a voice, and in the next instant the bewildered teacher was surrounded by four tired but smiling girls.
"We were locked up all night in a log cabin in the woods," began Madge. "Do say you are glad to see us and give us some breakfast, Miss Jennie Ann Jones, for we were never so hungry in all our lives before, and as soon as we have something to eat, we'll tell you the strangest story you ever heard."
With her arm thrown across the teacher's shoulders Madge made her way to the houseboat, followed by her friends. At that moment, to the little, impulsive girl, Miss Jennie Ann Jones seemed particularly dear, in spite of her mysterious ways, and Madge made mental resolve to try to believe in their chaperon, no matter what happened.
"Phil, it looks like only a little more than half a mile over to the island. Do you think we can make it?" asked Madge, casting speculative eyes toward the distant island.
"Of course we can," declared Phyllis. "I'm sorry that Eleanor and Miss Jones did not come with us. But they have become so domestic that they can't be persuaded to leave the houseboat. Nelly told me she positively loved to polish kettles and things," Phil replied.
Lillian, Phyllis and Madge were in their own rowboat, the "Water Witch," which had been expressed to them from Harborpoint. They were no longer in the quiet inlet of the bay, where their houseboat was anchored, but rowing out toward the more open water. On one side of them they could see the beach in front of a large summer hotel. Across from it lay a small island, to which they were rowing.
"Miss Jones doesn't like to have us start off alone this way. She has grown dreadfully nervous about us since our experience in the cabin," remarked Lillian. "That is why she didn't approve of Madge's plan this morning."
"I thought Madge was going to fly into little bits when Miss Jones suggested it was not safe for us to row about here in our own little 'Water Witch,'" teased Phil.
"Phil, please don't discuss my temper," answered Madge crossly. "If there is one thing I hate worse than another, it is to hear people talk about my faults. Of course, I know I have a perfectly detestable temper, but I hardly said a word to Miss Jenny Ann. Please tell me what fun we could have on our holiday if we never dared to go ten feet away from the houseboat?"
"None whatever," answered Lillian, "only you needn't be so cross with Phil and me. We were not discussing your faults. You are altogether too ready to become angry over a trifle." There was indignation and reproof in Lillian's tone.
Madge plied her oars in silence. She knew that she had behaved badly. "Isn't it exactly like me?" she thought to herself. "If I am sweet and agreeable one minute, and feel pleased with myself, I can surely count on doing something disagreeable the next. Now I have made Lillian and Phil cross with me and probably have hurt Miss Jenny Ann's feelings and spoiled this beautiful day for us all."
Eleanor's soft voice broke in upon her self-arraignment. "Don't squabble, girls. The day is altogether too perfect. None of you are really cross. Now, are you?"
Three pairs of eyes met hers, then the little dispute ended in a general laugh.
Madge and Phil rowed faster than ever after this little falling out. They could see the shores of Fisherman's Island not far ahead, with several dories and small fishing craft anchored along the banks. They were heading toward an open beach, where there was no sign of life.
"Girls, look out!" warned Lillian. She was sitting in the bow of their skiff, and could see another rowboat moving toward them, the two pairs of oars rising and falling in perfect accord. The boat was so close to them that Lillian was afraid Phil and Madge might cross oars with it. But as the other boat glided smoothly up alongside of their skiff, the oars were drawn swiftly inboard, almost before the girls knew what had happened.
"I suppose you don't speak to people on the water whom you might be persuaded to notice on land," called Tom Curtis reproachfully.
"O Mr. Curtis! how do you do?" laughed Madge. "You see, we are not possessed with eyes in the backs of our heads, or we should have recognized you. Goodness gracious! If there isn't my cousin, Jack Bolling! I never dreamed you knew him. Why didn't you tell me? Jack, where did you come from?"
Tom looked at Jack, and Jack looked at Tom. "Age before beauty, Mr. Curtis," bowed Jack. "You answer first."
"To tell you the solemn truth, I did not know your cousin until this morning," Tom explained. "But when I saw a not specially bad-looking fellow mooning about our hotel as though lost I went over and spoke to him. It wasn't long before I found out he knew you young ladies. I told him about meeting you in the woods the other day, and we shook hands on it. Now, Bolling, it is your turn. How did you happen to turn up in this particular place?"
Jack was apparently looking at Lillian and Madge, but he had really glanced first at Phyllis Alden, to see how she had borne the shock of his presence. Jack had guessed correctly that Phyllis did not like him. To tell the truth, she looked anything but pleased. She did not like boys. She could do most of the things they could, and they were, to her mind, a nuisance. They were always on hand, trying to help and to pretend that girls were weaker than they were in order to domineer over them. The worst of it was, Madge, Lillian and Eleanor might think the newcomers would add to the fun. So, though Phyllis did not mean to be rude either to Tom or to Jack, she was far from enthusiastic, and could not help showing it.
"Of course, I had to come down to see what your houseboat looked like after I got your note telling me where you were," explained Jack. "I knew there was a hotel near here, so, as soon as school closed, I ran down for a few days to see how you were getting on. You see, I was really very much interested in the houseboat." Jack made this last remark directly to Phyllis. She merely glanced carelessly away in the opposite direction.
"We rowed up from the hotel to the houseboat, but we couldn't see a soul aboard. 'The ship was still as still could be,'" declared Tom. "Then we started for a row and found you." There was no doubt that Tom was looking straight at Madge.
"We are rowing over to the island," remarked Lillian graciously.
"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" ashore, 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 canal 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, coarse 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.
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 sturdy, 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, stitched 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 shore.
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.
Madge was the first to act. In her hand was a large white and green striped umbrella. The girls had lately bought two of them to use out on deck as a protection from the sun, and Madge had caught up one of them as they started out. In the next instant she had climbed the fence that separated her from the field in which the teacher was running and was making for the frightened woman at the top of her speed.
But by this time Miss Jones was completely exhausted. Summoning all her will power, she staggered a few steps, then dropped to the ground, with the bull not more than four yards behind her.
On it came, its head lowered almost to the ground. Then a huge green and white monster loomed up before the animal, and with a snort of mingled rage and horror the bull stopped short in its tracks. The strange green and white object now lunging at full tilt was far more terrible than the small, red, flame-like object that fled its approach. Rage conquering fear, the bull gave a dreadful roar and made a quick lunge at Madge. She sprang to one side but managed to thrust her umbrella full in the animal's face. With a rumble of defiance the bull dodged the umbrella and made another lunge at Madge. Its lowered horns never reached her. A rope swung skilfully forward caught the animal by the leg just in time. One swift pull and the bull went down. The owner of the animal had witnessed its charge upon Miss Jones and, rushing across the field, had roped it. The artist who had attracted Miss Jenny Ann's attention had also come to the rescue, but it was really Madge with her green and white umbrella who had saved their chaperon from the bull's horns.
Miss Jones, who had raised herself to a sitting position, stared wildly about her, still firmly clutching the red parasol.
The artist sprang to her side and raised her to her feet. "It was this that made the mischief," he said, touching her parasol. "I shouted to you to drop it."
"But I didn't hear you," defended the teacher faintly. Her two long braids of fair hair had become unfastened and were now hanging down her back, giving her the appearance of a girl. "I heard some one calling to me, or I would never have entered that dreadful field." Miss Jones eyed the artist reproachfully. "Was it you who shouted my name?"
"Was it I?" repeated the young man in astonishment. "Certainly not. I do not know your name."
"My name is 'Jones,'" Miss Jenny Ann faltered weakly. She was still feeling dazed and weak.
"And my name is 'Brown,'" the artist answered, with an expression of solemn gravity. But the corners of his lips twitched in amusement.
There was a faint chuckle from Madge that went the round of the group and, despite the fact that the chaperon's narrow escape had been far from ludicrous, the whole party burst into laughter.
"I am sorry," apologized the artist. "Please forgive me for laughing."
The farmer had in the meantime led the bull away, and now Eleanor and Lillian came running toward the group to see if Miss Jenny Ann were truly hurt. When they saw the whole party shaking with laughter, the two girls exchanged curious glances. "Luncheon has been waiting half an hour," Eleanor declared rather crossly. "Do come and eat it. We would not have come after you if we had known that you were having such a good time."
Madge glanced at their chaperon, then at the artist. He was evidently a gentleman, and she recognized that he was possessed of a keen sense of humor. It would seem rude and ungrateful to run away and leave him just as their luncheon was announced, when he had raced all the way across the meadow to assist in the rescue of their Miss Jenny Ann.
"Won't you come and eat luncheon with us?" asked Madge boldly, fearing their chaperon would be dreadfully shocked.
The artist shook his head. "I'd like to accept your invitation if Miss Jones will second it," he replied, looking at Miss Jenny Ann.
"You would he delighted to have Mr. Brown take luncheon with us, Miss Jenny Ann, wouldn't you?" Madge turned coaxing eyes upon their teacher.
"I should be very ungracious if I were not," laughed their chaperon, the color rising to her brown cheeks. "Mr. Brown will be a welcome guest."
And five minutes later Mr. Brown was triumphantly escorted aboard their beloved "Merry Maid."
"Don't you think it would be perfectly lovely to have a mother as rich and beautiful as Mrs. Curtis?" asked Madge, as she tied a black velvet ribbon about her auburn curls and turned her head to see the effect. She and Phil were dressing for Tom Curtis's sailing party, to which he had invited them the day before and which was to start within the next hour.
"Almost any mother is pretty nice, even if she isn't rich or beautiful," answered Phil loyally. She was wearing a yachting suit of navy blue while Madge was dressed in white serge. Eleanor, Lillian and Miss Jones, clad in white linen gowns, were ready and waiting on the houseboat deck for the arrival of the sailing party. True to his word, Tom Curtis had brought his mother to call on the four girls the afternoon of the day before.
"I know," answered Madge slowly. "But sometimes, when I was a very little girl, I liked to think that perhaps I was a princess in disguise, and that Uncle and Aunt had never told me of it. I used to look out of the window and wonder if some day a carriage would drive up to hear me away to my royal home. That doesn't sound very practical, does it? But, when one has no memory of father or mother, one can't help dreaming things. Don't you think Mrs. Curtis is simply beautiful?" Madge abruptly changed the subject. "Her hair is so soft and white, and she has such a young face, but she looks as though she were tired of everything. Persons who have that wonderful, world-weary look are so interesting," finished Madge, with a sigh. "I am afraid I shall never have that expression, because I never find time to get tired of things."
"Come on, Madge," laughed Phil. "You can mourn some other day over not having an interesting expression."
"Girls," called Lillian, "the Curtis's boat is coming."
"In a minute," answered Madge, giving a final pat to her curls.
"Do hurry along, children. The sailboat is nearly here." This time it was Miss Jenny Ann's voice. "They signaled us several minutes ago. They have several other persons on board."
Mrs. Curtis and Tom signaled as they approached the "Merry Maid." Their guests were the artist, whom the girls had met the day before, Jack Bolling, and one or two strangers from the big summer hotel. Mike Muldoon, the owner of the boats, had another sailor on board to help him. Tom soon transferred the girls and their chaperon from their craft to his. The party intended to sail down the coast to a point of land known as Love Point and to eat their luncheon somewhere along the shore.
Mrs. Curtis sat across from Madge during their sailing trip, but every now and then she would look over to laugh at one of the young girl's amusing sallies. It was evident that the little captain of the "Merry Maid" had found favor in her eyes. Mrs. Curtis had planned a dainty luncheon, to which the steward at the hotel had given special attention, even to the sending of a man to serve it. There were delicious sandwiches of various kinds, chicken and Waldorf salads, olives, salted nuts, individual ices sent down from Baltimore and bonbons. It was quite the most elaborate luncheon the girls had ever eaten and they were rather impressed with both it and the service.
After luncheon the party sat for a long time on the clean, white sand, laughing and talking gayly. It was a perfect day and everyone was in the best possible spirits. Later on they divided into little groups. Lillian and Phil wandered off with Jack Bolling. Eleanor found a congenial companion in one of the young women guests from the hotel, while Tom, Miss Jones and Mrs. Curtis sat under a tree with the artist, watching him sketch. Madge, alone, flitted from one group to another, a little, restless spirit.
"Why don't you take Miss Morton for a sail, Tom?" suggested his mother. "You will have time to go a short distance out. We shall not start for the hotel until four o'clock."
"A good suggestion. Thank you, Mother," cried Tom. "Come on, Miss Morton."
Madge and Tom went gayly down to the boat. Tom's big setter dog, Brownie, dashed after them, pleading so hard to be taken aboard that Tom at last consented to have him, though he gravely assured the animal that three was a crowd, to which statement Brownie merely gave a joyful yelp and darted on board without further ceremony.