"Madge, you must go over to Fisherman's Island with me," urged Phil a few days later. "I feel dreadfully about Mollie. I promised the poor girl that we would come to see her soon. Now, a long time has passed; we have never been there. Eleanor and Lillian are anxious to go along with me. Mollie is perfectly lovely, and I am heartily sorry for her. Do come with us, there's a dear. Don't pretend you are tired, or make Miss Jones think you are sick. You are just as well now as any of the rest of us. If you don't come, it is just because you want to stay here to read that silly novel. Real people are much more interesting than stories."
Madge yawned and stretched herself lazily in the steamer chair. "Phil, it is awfully hot on the water. Couldn't we go to see your girl some other time? If she has waited this long, she may as well wait a little longer. You see, I promised Mrs. Curtis I wouldn't go out in the sun."
"Madge Morton, you are putting on airs. Going out in the sun, indeed!" Phil sniffed disdainfully. "When did the sun ever hurt you? You just love to have people spoil you. You know there is nothing in the world the matter with you now. But please don't come, if you do not wish to. Nellie and Lillian and I are going now."
Phyllis walked quietly away, with her head in the air. Madge was really too provoking.
Madge closed her book with a bang and rushed after her friend. "Of course I wish to go with you, Phil. I am interested in your pretty girl. I had reached the most exciting part of my story when you asked me, and—— Now, you will hurt my feelings dreadfully if you don't let me go along with you! Just think, Phyllis Alden. You said I was spoiled, and that I liked to pretend I was sick, and I didn't get one bit angry. Don't you truly think my temper is improving?"
Phyllis laughed. "Oh, come on, if you like. Do you think Miss Jenny Ann would mind my taking the poor girl a basket of nice things? I mean things that any girl would like. My friend isn't in the least like a beggar."
"Of course, Miss Jones will let you do anything you like, Phil," replied Madge. "I am the only person she does not approve of." Madge felt angry because her chaperon had intimated that Madge was hurting Eleanor's feelings by talking so much of her Mrs. Curtis and the beautiful time she had spent with her. And Madge, though she needed criticism even more than most other girls, was just as little pleased at receiving it.
The girls rowed over to the island in a short time. It was a lovely day, and not too warm on the water.
"I wonder, Phil, if there is a chance of our coming across the thief who attacked you on the houseboat? He may he in hiding on this island," said Madge as the four girls pulled their skiff up on the beach. "From your description I feel almost certain that he is the same boy who went off with our sailboat. I'd like to come across him again."
"Well, I wouldn't," declared Lillian. "I am not so bloodthirsty as you girls are."
The girls met no one along the beach, except a few children. Phil led them straight to the tent, where she had talked with the afflicted girl. "Of course, there isn't much of a chance that we shall find Mollie in the tent," explained Phil, "but I thought I would look here first."
"Do you know the girl's name, Phil?" queried Eleanor.
Phyllis shook her head. "Not her real name. I only call her Mollie because her dreadful old father called her 'Moll,' and 'Moll' is an ugly name."
The tent was more forlorn and dilapidated than ever. It was empty. There was not a sign of life anywhere about, except for a few faded wild flowers cast carelessly in the corner of the tent.
Madge picked them up. "These flowers make me think of poor 'Ophelia' in the play of 'Hamlet.' Ophelia went mad, you know, and wandered about with wild flowers in her hair."
"Mollie isn't the least bit crazy, Madge. You will understand that as soon as you see her," protested Phil. "It is only that she is like a child, and does not remember things. Would you girls mind going around to the other side of the island? Mollie said their shanty boat was over there. I do so want to find her."
Lillian hesitated. "I don't think we ought to go among those rough fishermen again," she protested. "We are sure to see some rude sailors over there who might speak to us."
"Oh, don't worry, Lillian," reassured Madge. "I am sure no one would dare say anything to us."
Madge was now deeply interested in the discovery of Phil's friend and longing for any kind of adventure. She had fully made up her mind to see Mollie if it were possible.
It was more than a mile walk around the island. But the girls came, at last, to a spot where they again beheld a dirty canal boat made fast to a tree on the sandy shore. A huge woman, with a coarse, dreadful face, sat out on deck holding a baby in her lap. Several small children played near her. But there was no sign of Mollie. Captain Mike was gone, and with him his sailboat.
Phil went as near the edge of the shore as she could. The woman gazed at the four chums with sullen curiosity. She presumed that they had come to ask her husband to take them out sailing. But Phil spoke up boldly: "May we see your daughter?" she inquired politely. "I met her the other day on the island and told her we would come to see her."
The woman's expression changed at once to an ugly scowl. Phil and Madge wondered why their request should make her so angry. What harm could come from their calling on the poor, half-crazed girl? Surely it was plain that they meant her no wrong.
"We want to be friends with your daughter," Madge declared haughtily; "we do not wish to injure her."
"Moll ain't here no more," the woman replied sulkily. "Her father has took her away. She ain't never coming back." The woman grinned as the four girls went away.
"O Madge!" Phil exclaimed, with her eyes full of tears, "I do feel so sorry. I am afraid we have come too late. Poor Mollie will think I have broken my promise. What could have happened to her? Do you think her horrible old father has put her in an asylum? She told me that he often threatened her, unless she did whatever he said."
"Don't worry, Phil dear," Madge replied sympathetically. "Perhaps the woman was telling us a story and simply did not wish us to see her daughter. I will come to the island with you again. Maybe we can find her next time."
The girls hurried on until they were almost at the place where they had left their rowboat. Phil was unusually sorrowful and silent. She still carried her little basket with the gifts for her new friend. The memory of a pair of wonderful blue eyes haunted her. Mollie's face had looked so longingly into hers; it was filled with a wistful sorrow and was haunted by fear and loneliness. It was not that of one who is mad.
"Girls," spoke Phil quickly, "will you go on down to the boat and wait for me? I am going to run over to the tent and take another look in there. At any rate, I am going to leave this basket of food. I won't be gone but a minute."
Phyllis walked rapidly toward the tent. She half hoped she would find the vanished girl inside it. But the tent was still empty. Phil set down her basket. She was strangely disappointed and grieved. She could do nothing more. There was nothing to do save go back to her friends. As she stepped toward the tent opening her foot caught in a piece of ragged carpet. Like a flash Phyllis remembered. Had she not told Mollie to slip a note under this carpet if she was ever in trouble or in danger and desired their help? Phil slid her hand under the rug and found a torn scrap of yellow wrapping paper. On it was penciled in the handwriting of a child:
"I am in much trouble. Please, please come to help me. You promised."
"I will go back to the shanty boat with you now, Phil," volunteered Madge when Phyllis returned to her chums, carrying the pathetic scrap of paper. "We have the food you brought in the basket, which we can eat for luncheon. Lillian and Nellie can row over to the houseboat to tell Miss Jenny Ann that we mean to spend the day here. Then, perhaps, they will row back for us this afternoon."
"I don't think we ought to leave you and Phil alone on this island," remonstrated Eleanor, "especially when you won't have a boat. If anything should happen, there would be no chance of your getting away."
"I'll tell you what to do, Nellie," suggested Phil. "Suppose you and Lillian go home and then send our boat over to us immediately. The farmer boy will bring it for us. He can tow it and then row back in his own skiff. Ask him to anchor our boat in this same place. Madge and I will come home as soon as we find out whether there is anything we can do for poor Mollie."
Lillian and Eleanor were reluctant to leave their two friends. But there seemed nothing else to be done. The thought of their chaperon's anxiety at last persuaded them to go, and they departed after promising to send the boat over immediately they reached the "Merry Maid."
"What do you think we had better do, Phil?" asked Madge as the other two girls rowed out of sight.
Phil frowned and shook her head. "I haven't the faintest idea, Madge; I am afraid we are too late to do anything. That dreadful Mike has already taken his daughter away. I believe she wrote us several days ago, when she first heard what they meant to do with her. But I can't understand why her father wishes to put her in an asylum. She is much too useful to them. She does nearly all the washing and cooking on that miserable old shanty boat."
"I do wish we had some money," declared Madge thoughtfully. "I believe Mike would do anything for money. If we could only take care of Mollie, perhaps her father would let us have her. But you and I are as poor as church mice, Phil. Isn't it horrid?"
"I don't believe the man would give his daughter to us if we merely offered to take care of her. She is too useful to him. But he might let her come with us if we could pay him a great deal of money besides. At least, if we offered him a bribe he might be influenced to tell us where poor Mollie is. However, there is no use in talking about money. We'll have to do the best we can without it," finished Phil.
The two friends were walking disconsolately along the shore of the island. Neither one of them was anxious to return to the shanty boat for another interview with the slatternly woman who presided over it.
"Phil," Madge's eyes brightened, "if we need any money to help this girl, I feel sure Mrs. Curtis will be glad to give it to us. She is rich and generous, and Tom says she dearly loves to do things for those who are in need. I should not mind in the least asking her help. She is very fond of young girls."
"She is very fond of you, at any rate," returned Phyllis, with a smothered sigh. "Sometimes I feel as though she wanted to take you away from us for keeps."
Madge laughed. "What nonsense, Phil. Why should she wish to take me away for 'keeps'?"
But Phyllis did not reply to the little captain's laughing question.
"Let's not go around to the shanty boat the way we did this morning. Let us go back the opposite way, and then we shall have encircled the whole island," planned Madge. "If Mollie is hidden anywhere, we might happen to discover her."
The loneliness of their walk affected both Madge and Phyllis. There were no houses on the island. It was visited in the autumn for duck shooting, and in the summer was used as a camping ground for a few fisher folk. The girls passed only one man in their entire journey. He was lying under a tree, fast asleep. A hat covered his face. As the two friends hurried by they did not seek to discover who the man was. He was a rough-looking fellow, and they preferred not to awaken him.
This time the deck of the shanty boat was deserted. It was noon. The other members of the small shanty colony must have been out on the water, for there was no one in sight.
The girls stood staring irresolutely at the boat. "I suppose the woman is indoors fixing the luncheon. I can see the smoke coming through the smokestack," declared Phil. "Shall we call to her, or just march boldly aboard her old boat?"
"I don't know," hesitated Madge. "I don't believe we ought to mention Mollie's note. We might get the child into more trouble."
Phyllis shook her head. "Well, then, you decide upon something. You always plan things better than I do. I think we had better say that we have come back to inquire of Captain Mike how long he expects Mollie to be away. Then we can insist on waiting until his sailboat returns."
The two girls strode bravely up the single, rickety board that served as the gangplank of the shanty boat. At their first step on the dock a yellow dog rushed to the door of the dirty kitchen and set up a furious barking. Behind him stood the menacing figure of the woman whom Madge and Phil had seen a short time before. About her torn skirts were clustered three or four stupid-looking, tow-headed children. It was impossible for Phil to conceive how beautiful Mollie could be a member of such a family. Yet the unfortunate girl had told Phyllis that she had known no other than the hard, joyless life she had always led.
It was Madge who opened the conversation this time. To her disappointment she received no different answer to her inquiries than had Phil. "Moll was gone." The woman did not know where she had gone and she didn't care. But she wasn't coming back. Further, Mollie's step-mother did not see what business Phil and Madge had in coming to ask about her.
"We are going to wait to talk to your husband," announced Phil with quiet decision.
"You git off my boat in a hurry," the woman snarled angrily. "You can stay on the island all day if you like, but you can't hang around here. Mike won't be home before night, and he ain't goin' to tell you nothin' then. You'll find the beach pretty comfortable; it's so nice and shady." The woman grinned maliciously.
The two girls sat down on the stretch of hot sand near the water. They were doggedly determined to wait as long as possible for Mike Muldoon's return. Mollie's pathetic appeal had touched Madge as deeply as it had Phil, and they were both resolved to help the child if they could.
The hours dragged by on leaden wings. Madge's head ached violently. Phil was beginning to think longingly of the basket of food which she had left in the tent and wondering if it would do for her to go after it while Madge stayed on guard. As she sat deliberating as to what course of action would be the wisest, a sudden commotion arose among the children playing on the deck of the shanty boat. The dog began to bark furiously. "Mammy, here comes Pap," the oldest child cried.
The tired girls could see that a sailboat was being anchored near the shore. A few moments later Mike, who insisted on being called "Captain," got into a skiff and rowed toward the land.
Madge sprang to her feet and ran down to the edge of the water. She wished to attract Mike's attention before he went aboard his own shanty boat. To think with her was to act. She realized that she must speak to the man before his wife could tell him the nature of their errand. If Mike Muldoon learned their real design, he might shut himself inside his shanty and refuse to talk to them.
Mike rowed toward his callers, who were anxiously waiting for him. As his boat scraped the shore his wife shrieked at him, "Come here fust, Mike! Don't you be goin' talkin' to the likes of them before I tells you somethin'."
She was too late. Captain Mike had already turned to Madge. He supposed the girls had come to engage his sailboat.
Captain Madge decided to try diplomacy. She did not wish to make the sailor angry. She hoped she might persuade him to do what they wished.
"We have not come to rent your sailboat today, Captain Mike," she announced cheerfully, "we are coming for that another time. What we wish now is to ask you what has become of your pretty daughter? We have crossed all the way over to the island to make her a call. And now we can't find her. We wish to make friends with her, if you don't mind."
"Moll can't make friends with nobody," Mike answered suspiciously, his skin turning a mottled red under its coat of tan. "I told you Moll was foolish."
"Yes, I know," answered Phil unwisely. "That is why we are so sorry for her."
Mike scowled darkly. "You ain't got no cause to be sorry for the gal. Who told you she was treated mean? Nobody don't hurt her. But you can't see her. She is sick."
"Why, your wife told us she had gone away!" exclaimed Phil impetuously.
She could have cried with regret the next moment, for she realized how foolish she had been.
"So she has gone away," Mike muttered, "and she is sick. I ain't no liar and my wife ain't neither."
"When will she come back, Captain Mike?" asked Madge in a friendly tone, hoping the title of "captain" would soften the surly sailor.
"She's not comin' back," the man replied impatiently. "I've got to go to my dinner, and I ain't goin' to answer no more questions. Don't you come foolin' around this way any more; my old woman don't like it. I warn you for your good."
Phil was tired of deceit. She knew Mike had not told them the truth. "Captain Mike," she demanded coolly, "have you put your daughter in an asylum? If you have, I think you have been both inhuman and cruel. Mollie is not crazy. If you will tell us where she is we will look after her, and she need not bother you any more." She raised her dark eyes and gazed defiantly at the angry sailor, who shook his great red fist full in her face.
"You'll take a man's own daughter away from him, will you?" he raged. "What makes you so interested in my gal? And who told you Moll was shut up with a lot of crazies? My Moll is going to be married; she has gone away to git her weddin' clothes."
He laughed tantalizingly into the girls' faces as though well pleased with his own joke.
"Mollie married?" Phil exclaimed in horror. "Why, she——" Then Phil stopped herself and inquired, with an innocent expression of interest, "Whom did you say Mollie was going to marry?"
"She is going to marry Bill Barnes, a friend of mine," retorted the sailor sarcastically, his heavy shoulders shaking with savage amusement. "He ain't much to look at. It's kind of a case of Beauty and the Beast with him and my Moll. But she's powerful fond of him."
"Mike!" a shrill voice screamed from the shanty boat kitchen, "come along in here."
Mike glared at his questioners, his face set in savage lines. "Don't never come here agin," he growled. "If you do, I ain't sayin' what will happen to you." Turning abruptly he strode toward his boat, leaving the girls standing where he had first met them.
There was nothing for Madge and Phil to do but to return once more to their own boat. "O Madge! it is too dreadful!" exclaimed Phil in a husky voice. "I understand now what poor Mollie meant. She said there was one thing she would never do, no matter how cruel her father might he with her. Of course, she knew they were going to try to force her to marry some frightful looking fisherman. We simply must try to find her and save her. It is a wicked shame!"
"Don't be so wretched, Phil," comforted Madge, though she felt equally miserable. "You are right; we must find out how to save poor, pretty Mollie. I can't think what we ought to do, just this minute, but we must do our best. Now I think we shall have to go home and talk things over with Miss Jenny Ann and the girls. We will come back to-morrow, prepared to make a fight to save Mollie. Surely she can't be married by that time."
The two friends stopped by the tent for their basket of food and sat down just outside it under a tree to eat their luncheon. Neither of them noticed that they had seated themselves with their backs to the water, and they were so interested in talking of Mollie that they gave no thought to the outgoing tide. By rising they could see their boat drawn up on the shore, where, as arranged with Lillian and Eleanor, it had been left by the farm boy. What they failed to notice, however, was the distance it lay from the water line, and they also had forgotten that it was time for the going out of the tide.
As they sat quietly eating their luncheon the sound of running feet was borne to their ears. Nearer and nearer they came. Then round the curve of the beach darted the object of their morning's search. With a wild cry she flung herself upon Phil. "You said you would help me," she moaned. "Oh, help me now." Little rivulets of water ran from her ragged clothing. The pupils of her dark blue eyes were distended with fear. Her dress was torn across her shoulder and an ugly bruise showed through it. There was a long, red welt on her cheek that looked as though it had been made with a whip, and another across one forearm.
Madge and Phyllis rushed toward the frightened girl. Phil put her arm protectingly about Mollie while Madge stood on guard. Resolution and defiance looked out from their young faces. They were not afraid of poor Mollie's captors. They would fight for her.
"How did you come to us? Where have you been?" questioned Phil.
Five minutes had passed and no one had appeared. "Sit down here, Mollie. We won't let any one hurt you."
"I was hidden in the shanty boat, locked in a dark closet," faltered Mollie, casting a terrified glance about her. "I heard you ask for me, but I could not come out. The woman is more cruel to me than the man. She would have killed me. But when my father came home he was so angry because you had been to see me that he beat me and said I must marry Bill to-morrow, before you could come back to help me. Oh, he is horrible! I won't marry him! I'll die first! I crawled through a porthole in the boat when I heard what they said. I dropped into the water and swam and swam until I could land on the beach out of sight of my father's boat. Then I ran until I found you. But they will try to find me. They may be looking for me now. Tell me, tell me what I must do?"
"Don't be frightened," soothed Madge. "They can't force you to marry Bill or any one else against your will. Phil and I will take care of you. Come with us. We are going over to our houseboat now. Your father need not know what has become of you. Hurry!" Madge was listening intently for sounds announcing the coming of Mollie's pursuers. So far the girls were safe. A moment more and they would be in their rowboat.
Linking their arms within Mollie's her rescuers hurried her along. Straight to the water's edge they ran, then a cry of consternation went up from the two girls.
"O Madge! what shall we do? We forgot all about the tide," mourned Phil. "It has gone out, and now we'll have to drag our heavy boat half a mile through the sand to the water or else wait until the tide runs in again before we can get away from the island."
Madge hurried down to where their rowboat lay. She dragged the anchor out of the sand and pulled at the skiff with all her might. Phil also took hold and together the two girls worked like beavers, but without success. The boat was firmly wedged in the sand.
"Is there any place on the island where we can hide, Mollie?" questioned Phil as the two girls rested for a moment from their fruitless effort. "We can not leave here until the tide turns."
"I know a cave," said Mollie hesitatingly. "It is in the woods not very far from the beach. But I am afraid they will find us there."
"We had better go to it," urged Madge, wiping the perspiration from her tired face. "At least we can hide in the cave for a while, until we make up our minds what is best for us to do, We may not be discovered until the tide turns. Later on I shall slip down here again to see if things are safe, and then we can make a run for our boat. If we wait here along the shore, we shall not have the least chance of escaping. The first person who comes to look for Mollie will surely see us. Come on. We have no time to lose."
This time Mollie led the way through a tangle of trees and underbrush to the center of the little island. Here they found the cave which was only an opening behind an immense old tree that had been uprooted by a storm. A flat rock protruded over the hollow, and the sand had gradually drifted away until the cavity was hardly large enough to hold the three girls. These were cramped quarters, and they were only partially protected from view by the immense roots of the fallen tree, but they knew of no other refuge and resolved to make the best of it.
The girls had barely crept into their hiding place when they heard a noise of some one tramping through the underbrush. A few moments later a man slouched along a narrow path between the trees. His hat was pulled down over his face, but Madge and Phil recognized him by his dress as the man they had seen asleep on the ground earlier in the day.
Mollie made no sound. She was hidden between the two friends, and never in her life before, so far as she could recall, had she been so protected by affection. But her increased trembling told her rescuers that she had recognized the man who passed so near to them, and that she feared him.
"It's Bill," she faltered when the figure disappeared without having the slightest suspicion that he was being watched. "He is on his way to our boat. He will ask for me, and my father will be sure to find out that I have gone. Then they will come out here to hunt for me."
For a long time after Mollie's disquieting prediction none of the three prisoners spoke. They hardly dared to breathe. Their bodies ached from their cramped, uncomfortable positions; they were hungry, and, worse than anything else, Madge and Phyllis were tormented with thirst. Since leaving the houseboat early in the morning they had drunk no water. Phil was thinking remorsefully that all this trouble had come from her asking Madge to go with her to the island in search of Mollie.
Madge was wondering just what she would do and say if Mollie's father should find them, while Mollie's delicate face had lost its expression of apathy and now wore one of lively terror. Even the faint rustle of leaves as a passing breeze swept through the trees caused her to start. An hour passed and no one came to look for them. Either Mike had not learned of his daughter's escape, or else he had not taken the trouble to come to search for her. He must have believed that she would return to the boat later on of her own accord, driven by hunger and loneliness.
It was now growing late in the afternoon. Neither Madge nor Phyllis wore a watch, so it was impossible to tell how much time they had spent in the cave. Miss Jenny Ann would wonder what had happened. Of course, Lillian and Eleanor would explain matters. Miss Jones might remember the tide and understand what was keeping them away. Yet there was a lively possibility that she might fail to take the tide into consideration.
At last Madge decided to end the suspense.
She knew their skiff would float from the shore of Fisherman's Island several hours before full tide. They had tried to make their escape at the moment when the tide was almost at its lowest ebb. The tide had been high that morning. It was nearly two o'clock in the afternoon when they had attempted to leave the island. She now believed it to be almost five o'clock. At least, it was time to reconnoitre. She put her ear close to the ground. She could hear no sound of any one approaching.
"Phil," she whispered, "will you and Mollie please wait here for me. I am going down to the water to see if it is possible to get the boat off. It must be very late. Remember, high tide is at eight o'clock to-night. We ought to be able to pull away from here between five and six o'clock. When I come back to tell you how things are we can make a run for it to the beach, and perhaps get a fair start before we are seen."
"Let me go with you," insisted Phil, as anxious as her chum to get out of their close quarters.
"I don't think we ought to leave Mollie alone," demurred Madge. "But, if you think best, you may go and I will stay here."
Mollie's terror at Phyllis's suggestion of deserting her was too much for tender-hearted Phil. "No, I won't leave you," she said gently, taking Mollie's hand in hers. "You had better run along, Madge. I'll stay here. But, for goodness' sake, do be careful. If anything happens to you, Mollie and I will starve in this cave like Babes in the Woods, if you don't come back to find us."
Madge crawled cautiously out of the hole. Her muscles were so stiff that she rose to her feet with difficulty. But she soon started off through the narrow path between the trees, making as little noise as she possibly could. Her way through the grove of trees covered the greater part of the distance to the shore. But there was still a stretch of open beach, where she feared she would be discovered. When she came to the shelter of the last tree she stopped and peered cautiously up and down the line of the shore. As far as she could see the beach was empty. And, surely enough, the tide was coming in. Tiny waves touched the prow of the "Water Witch." It was true the water was not yet deep enough to float their boat, but in less than an hour they might be able to row away from danger with their new friend.
There was but one thing to do. She must return to Phyllis and Mollie, and they must make up their minds to remain in their hiding place for a little while longer. Madge hated to go back to the cave. She would have liked to linger in the woods, hiding behind the trees until they were able to leave the island. But she knew it would not be fair to Phyllis and Mollie to leave them any longer in suspense. They would think something had happened to her unless she returned to them at once. The knowledge that she had not been seen made her feel more cheerful. She was sure that she would yet outwit the brutal sailor, Mike Muldoon, and carry Mollie safe to the shelter of their houseboat, where Miss Jenny Ann, or perhaps Mrs. Curtis, would tell them how they could continue to take care of the poor girl.
Unfortunately, Madge's gown was of some soft, white material and altogether too conspicuous. She could be easily seen for some distance as she ran along the shore, and in her anxiety to return to her friends as soon as possible she did not look about her as carefully as she should have done. Therefore she missed seeing the cruel face that stared malignantly forth from the opening in the tent where Phil had her first talk with Mollie. The man's whole body was carefully concealed, and as Madge flitted by the tent his head disappeared from sight.
The man in the tent had caught sight of Madge's white gown the moment she stepped forth from the shelter of the woods. He had at once understood the situation, but he did not stir until she started to return to the cave. He knew that Madge had come down to see if she could get the boat off the beach and into the water. It was evident that the other girls must be hidden somewhere in the forest. There was nothing to be gained by capturing Madge alone; he must wait until she went back to her friends, then he could find out where Mollie was concealed.
The boat on the shore and the disappearance of the two girls who had visited him that morning told the whole story. Why had the two young women concealed themselves unless they meant to guard the fugitive Mollie?
When Madge started back through the woods the man followed her at a safe distance. He did not wish her to know that he was following her, for fear she would lead him off the trail, but he kept near enough to know exactly where she was going.
She arrived, as she believed undiscovered, at their hiding place in the woods.
Phyllis and Mollie heard her light footfalls and gave a united sigh of relief. Their friend had escaped discovery. So far all was well!
Madge leaned over the opening of the cave, to reassure her friends before she crawled into it again.
"It's all right!" she cried softly. "I saw no one, heard nothing. We can get away, without any trouble, in another hour."
She crouched down to slip into the place of concealment. At the same instant the three girls heard a noise. It was unmistakably the hurried tramp of heavy feet! Mike Muldoon burst through the thicket of trees, his face blazing with heat and anger.
Madge had just time enough to leap to her feet. She would not allow their determined enemy to catch her while in the act of hiding.
"Keep still," she whispered quickly to Phyllis and Mollie. Then she turned, with flashing eyes, to the approaching figure of Captain Mike Muldoon.
"What do you want?" she demanded imperiously, stamping her foot. "Why have you followed me through the woods?"
For a moment the man was speechless. It had not dawned on him that Madge would turn upon him. He had expected her to burst into tears and exhibit signs of fear.
"I want my daughter, and I want her quick, young woman," he answered gruffly. "When I find her I will settle with you." He pushed past Madge and dragged the unfortunate Mollie from her place of shelter. Phil sprang out after her. Her black eyes were flashing with anger and disappointment. She fastened a firm grip on Mollie's arm. If Mike Muldoon jerked or shook his daughter, he would jerk and shake Phyllis Alden, too, for nothing would induce her to let go her hold on Mollie.
"Let me go," whispered Mollie gently, looking affectionately into the faces of her new friends. "I don't want you to be in trouble for my sake. I ran away. It was no fault of yours." Mollie appeared to be quite rational. She seemed to appreciate the girls' loyalty to her.
"Give up my daughter and get back to where you came from, and I will let you off this time," roared Mike savagely. He did not think it wise to deal roughly with the girls. Their friends would surely come to look for them and hold him responsible for their disappearance.
"We won't go a step unless you will let Mollie go with us," returned Phil wrathfully. "You shan't make her marry that horrible Bill. It is unlawful for you to force her to marry against her will."
Mike moved stolidly ahead, gripping his daughter and pulling her along with him. Phyllis, who was still clutching Mollie's arm, followed after, while Madge walked valiantly by Phil's side.
"Leave go!" Mike shouted, raising his fist threateningly at Phyllis. Mollie cried out at the thought of possible hurt to her friend, but Phyllis did not falter. She gazed up at the burly sailor with a look of such intense scorn, mingled with defiance, that he dropped his hand to his side and said sneeringly: "Come back to my shanty boat, then. I will settle with you when we get there."
Tightening his hold on his daughter's arm he strode off toward the shanty boat, dragging poor Mollie along at a cruel rate of speed. Phil, still clasping Mollie's other arm, kept pace with her, while Madge marched a little to the rear with the air of a grenadier.
Mollie's beautiful white face was set in lines of despair, but her companions felt nothing save righteous indignation against the brutal man they were forced either to follow or else leave Mollie to her fate.
On the deck of the wretched shanty boat, this time, a man and a woman were waiting with burning impatience. The man was Bill and the woman was Mike Muldoon's wife. A group of fisher folk stood near, evidently anxious to know what was going to happen. It was late in the afternoon, and they had returned from the day's work on the water.
Madge broke away from her own party to run toward these men and women. There were about half a dozen in number. "Won't you help us?" she cried excitedly. "Captain Mike is trying to force his daughter to marry that dreadful Bill. He has beaten her cruelly because she refuses to do it. My friend and I tried to get Mollie away from him, but he found us and forced her to come back here."
"Don't hurt the young ladies, Mike," remonstrated one of the fishermen, with a satirical grin in their direction, "it wouldn't be good business." Then he turned to Madge and said gruffly: "It ain't any of our lookout what Mike does with his daughter. She's foolish, anyhow. Can't see why Bill wants to marry her."
Muldoon had jerked Mollie from Phil's restraining grasp and flung her aboard the shanty boat. The woman pushed the girl inside the cabin and closed the door. Then she stood waiting to see what her husband intended to do with the two girls.
Captain Mike was puzzled. He stood frowning angrily at Mollie's defiant champions. They had refused to go back home. He had given them their opportunity. It was just as well they had not taken it, for suddenly the man was seized with an idea.
"Git into my rowboat," he ordered Phil and Madge. "I am going to put you aboard my sailboat and carry you home to your friends. You had better take my offer. You'll only get into worse trouble if you stay around here. How do you think you are going to take care of Moll—knock me and Bill and my old woman down and run off with Moll?"
"Won't any one here help us?" asked Phil, turning to the grinning crowd.
"You had better go home with Mike. It's the only thing for you to do," advised a grizzled old fisherman. "Your hanging around here ain't going to help Moll."
Madge and Phil exchanged inquiring glances. For the time being they were beaten. It was better to go home. Later on they would see what could be done for their friend.
"We would rather go back in our own boat," Phil announced, making a last resistance. Madge, who was already in Mike's skiff, beckoned to Phil to join her. It was too undignified and hopeless for them to argue longer with these coarse, rough men. Phyllis followed her chum reluctantly. She hung back as long as she could, staring hard at the shanty boat. But there was no sight nor sound of Mollie.
Even after they were aboard Captain Mike's sailing craft Phil's eyes strained toward the receding shore. When it was no longer to be seen she sat with her hands folded, gazing into her lap. She was still thinking and planning what she could do to rescue Mollie. Madge sat with closed eyes; she was too weary to speak.
The sailor's boat had left the island far behind and was moving swiftly. It was after sunset, and the sun had just thrown itself, like the golden ball in the fairy tale, into the depth of the clear water. The girls were looking anxiously toward the direction of their boat, and wondering if their friends were worrying over their late return.
The houseboat lay a little to the southwest of Fisherman's Island, and so far they had not been able to catch sight of it. It was growing so dark that it was impossible to see the shore very clearly on either side of the bay. It was Madge's sharp eyes that first made the discovery that what she could see of the shore was unfamiliar. Captain Mike was not taking them to their houseboat. He was sailing in exactly the opposite direction. Madge glanced quickly at Phyllis, who was yet happily unconscious of their plight, then, turning to Muldoon, she said sharply: "You are sailing the wrong way to bring us to our houseboat. The boat lies southwest of the island and you are taking us due north. Turn about and take us to our boat instantly."
"I am taking you to where I am going to land you, all right," the sailor replied gruffly. "You have got to learn that you can't come foolin' in my business without getting yourselves into trouble. I'm goin' to learn you."
"You had better do as we ask you to do or you may regret it," put in Phyllis.
The sailor appeared not to have heard her threat.
"Don't speak to him, Phil. He isn't worth wasting words over."
The sailboat was evidently making for the land. The long line of a pier was faintly visible. A few lights shone along a strange shore.
It was plain that Captain Mike meant to land at this pier. The girls did not know why he meant to take them there, but they were too proud to ask him his reason.
Mike drew his boat close along the flight of steps that led to the top of the pier.
"Jump off, quick!" he called sharply.
It was night. Neither Madge nor Phyllis had the faintest idea of the hour. Neither one of them knew in what place they were being cast ashore, nor had they a cent of money between them. But anything was better than to remain longer on the sailboat.
With a defiant glance at the scowling man Madge climbed out on the steps of the pier. She gave her hand to Phyllis, who leaped after her.
Captain Mike watched them walk up the steps to the top of the pier. Then, turning his boat about, he sailed away, leaving the two girls to the darkness of an unknown shore.
Girls do not keep silent long, no matter how grave the situation. The two castaways were no exception.
Madge shook her clenched fist after the retreating mast of the sail boat. "You horrid, horrid old man!" she cried. "We won't give up trying to save poor Mollie, no matter what you do to us. Come on, Phil," she said, taking Phyllis by the hand, "let us go up to the shore and ask some one where we are. I suppose nobody will believe our story, because it seems so improbable, but perhaps some kind soul will give us a drink of water, even if we do look perfectly disreputable."
Phyllis giggled softly in spite of their plight. Madge had lost her hat. Her curls had long since come loose from the knot in which she wore them, and her gown was sadly wrinkled.
Madge was in no mood for laughter. "You needn't make fun of me, Phyllis Alden," she said reproachfully. "You are just as tattered and torn as I. We do look like a couple of beggars. Your hair is not down, but your collar is crumpled and your dress is almost as soiled as mine."
"I look much worse than you do, Madge, I am sure of it," conceded Phil cheerfully. "You see, I am not pretty to begin with." To this speech Madge would not deign to reply. Phyllis laughed good-humoredly. "Loyal little Madge, you won't acknowledge my lack of fatal beauty." Then in a graver tone she added, "What do you think we had better do, Madge?"
"Find out where we are and how far away the 'Merry Maid' is," returned Madge decisively. "We must reach there to-night, Phil. Miss Jenny Ann and the girls will believe something dreadful has happened to us."
The chums had walked to the end of the pier. Between them and the nearest house lay a stretch of treacherous marsh. They paused irresolutely, staring at the marsh with anxious eyes. "I am afraid we shall get lost in the marsh if we try to find our way through it on a dark night like this," faltered Phyllis.
Madge shook her head determinedly. "We must try to pass through it. I don't like the looks of it any better than you do, but we can't stay here all night, that is certain. Come on. Here goes."
Phyllis obediently followed her companion into the marsh, and then began a never-to-be-forgotten walk. With each step they took the salt water oozed up from the ground and covered their shoes. Madge felt her way carefully. She was obliged to put one foot cautiously forth to see if the earth ahead were firm enough to bear the weight of her body. On she went, with Phyllis close behind her. In spite of the difficulty the girls were plainly making headway. "Hurrah!" called Madge, "we are almost out of this quagmire. There is dry land ahead!" With one long leap she made the solid ground which stretched just ahead of her. Phyllis was not so fortunate. She lunged blindly after Madge, struck an unusually bad part of the marsh and sank knee deep in the soft mud. With a terrified cry she began struggling to free herself, but the harder she struggled the deeper she became imbedded in the marsh.
The moon was just coming up. Madge could faintly see what had happened to her friend. She ran toward Phyllis, but the latter cried out warningly: "Go back. If you try to help me, you'll only sink into this marsh with me."
Madge hesitated only a minute. "Don't move, Phil, if you can possibly help it," she cried. "But in a few minutes from now call out, so that I can tell where you are. Good-bye for a little while; I am going for help." Madge never knew how she covered the space that lay between her and the nearest house. This house had a low stone wall around it, and stood on top of a steep hill that sloped down to this wall. Madge scrambled over the wall and climbed the hill, sometimes on her feet, but as often on her hands and knees. There was a light in a window. She staggered to it and rapped on the window pane. A moment later a man appeared in a doorway at the right of the window.
"Who's there?" he called out sharply. "What do you mean by knocking on my window? Answer me at once!"
Madge stumbled over to him. "Oh, won't you please come with me?" she said. "My friend Phyllis is stuck fast in the marsh. I must have help to get her out."
Without a word the man disappeared into the house. For one dreadful instant, Madge thought he did not intend to help her; she thought he must believe that she was an impostor and was making up her story. The next minute the man returned, wearing a pair of high rubber hoots and carrying a dark lantern and a heavy rope.
"Don't be frightened," he said kindly to her as she walked wearily after him. "People often lose their way in this marsh after dark. We'll soon find your friend."
But to himself Judge Arthur Hilliard asked the question: "What in the world are two young girls doing alone on this dangerous shore at such an hour of the night?"
It was well that Phyllis remembered Madge's order, else they might have had some trouble in locating her. As soon as Phyllis saw the friendly light from the oncoming lantern she called at the top of her lungs: "Here I am! Here I am!"
"Keep perfectly still!" Judge Hilliard commanded. "I'll have you out in a short time." He waded into the marsh, his high boots protecting him from the black ooze. When he was about five yards from Phil he flung her the rope. "Now work your way along toward us," he directed. Phyllis obeyed his command and in an incredibly short time was safe on dry land, her shoes heavy with mud.
"It is bad enough to be lost," declared Phil as she thanked the stranger, "but it is worse to be not only lost, but stuck in the mud as well."
"You were in a most unpleasant, though I can hardly say a dangerous plight," returned the stranger. "Can I be of further service to you?"
"Would you—could you tell us where we can get a drink of water?" asked Madge. "We are so tired and thirsty."
"My name is Arthur Hilliard," returned the man. "If you will come to my house, my mother will be glad to offer you refreshment."
"Thank you," bowed Madge sedately. "We will go with you."
Mrs. Hilliard, a stout, comfortable looking old lady, received the wanderers with true Southern hospitality. Without waiting to hear their story, she insisted that they change their bedraggled clothing for two comfortable looking dressing gowns which she laid out for them, and by the time they had washed their faces and hands and dressed their hair they found a hot supper ready for them in the dining room.
"We are so sorry to have troubled you," declared Madge apologetically, as Mr. Hilliard entered the dining room when they were finishing their meal. "Now we must tell you who we are and how we came to be floundering in the marsh so late in the evening."
Beginning with their visit to the island that morning Madge related all that had transpired during that long day of adventures. Judge Hilliard shook his head disapprovingly as the tale continued, but listened with grave interest to the part of the story relating to Mollie, the sailor's daughter.
"This girl of whom you speak is like the girl in the fairy story, who has a cruel step-mother and an ogre of a father," he commented when the story had ended.
"Of course she is," answered Madge; "only our girl is not in a fairy story, she is real. I can't believe that that dreadful Mike Muldoon is her father, and I know there must be some way to take her from him and make her happy."
"We are going to save her yet," declared Phyllis stoutly. "I don't see just how we are to manage it, but to-morrow we are going to try again. How far are we from Fisherman's Island?"
"About thirty miles," Judge Hilliard replied. "I have telephoned to the nearest town to let your chaperon know you are safe. The message will be taken over to your houseboat tonight, and I will take you home in the morning. My mother insists that you remain here tonight. She will join us in the library in a few minutes."
"Thank you again," said Madge gratefully. "It was very thoughtful in you to send a message to our friends. In the morning we wish to go first to the Belleview Hotel. We wish to see a friend of ours who is staying there. Her name is Mrs. Curtis."
"Mrs. Curtis is an old friend of mine," said Judge Hilliard in pleased surprise. "I have known her ever since I was a little boy. Now I have something to say to you that may interest you. I told you I was a judge. It is my business to look into people's legal difficulties. This trouble which concerns your friend looks to me as though it might have a legal side to it. We are in the State of Maryland. Fisherman's Island is in my jurisdiction. Suppose I issue an injunction forbidding the marriage between Mollie and the sailor, and take you up to the island in the morning to see it served. I have a steam yacht, and I think I shall take along two court officers or policemen, who will terrify your dreadful Captain Mike. At any rate, I'll see justice done his afflicted daughter, if I have to take the law in my own hands."
Madge clapped her hands joyously. Tears stood in Phil's dark eyes. "Oh, how splendid!" she breathed.
At this juncture Mrs. Hilliard entered the library, and after a little further talk the two girls announced themselves as being quite ready to retire.
"Be ready at seven o'clock," Judge Hilliard reminded them, as he bade his guests good night. "We shall reach Captain Mike's shanty boat before he has time to proceed with the marriage. They won't expect you at your houseboat until after breakfast, and I hope to have three girls to deliver aboard, instead of two."
Phyllis and Madge dropped asleep that night the instant their heads touched their pillows. They had asked to share the same room, and as they had sleepily undressed, they congratulated each other on the fact that Mike Muldoon's cowardly act had resulted in nothing but good to them. It looked as though it might even prove a boomerang to him.
By seven o'clock the next morning the girls had breakfasted and said good-bye to Mrs. Hilliard, after promising to visit her at some future time.
"Judge Hilliard," announced Madge, as the yacht "Greyhound" steamed out from the pier, "we forgot to tell you last night that we think Mollie is old enough to come away from her father if she wishes. She doesn't know how old she is. That is one of the queer things about Mollie. She seems quite sensible until you ask her to recall something, and then she becomes confused. Still, I am sure she is several years older than either Phil or I."
The shanty boat colony on the east side of Fisherman's Island had also risen early on this warm morning in July. Bill crossed over to the mainland in his sailboat to bring a Justice of the Peace back with him to marry him to Mollie. Captain Mike was determined to have his way with his daughter. Once she was married to Bill, her new friends would find it difficult to get her away from him.
Since Mollie's return to the shanty boat she had made no further outcry. She did not seem to know what was going on. The vacant, hopeless look had come over her face. The fright and ill treatment of the day before had completely subdued her. She seemed to have forgotten everything.
All night long she had lain awake in her miserable berth in the dirty shanty boat. She lay still, with her eyes closed, until the breathing of her family told her they were fast asleep. Then she crept out on the deck of the boat. She sat for hours without moving, her wonderful blue eyes, with the empty look in them, staring out over the silent waters. She was waiting, wistful and patient, for something to come to save her. When the dawn broke, and a rosy light bathed the bay and the sky, she rose, went quietly into the cabin and lay down in her berth again. She stayed there while the family ate their breakfast. She made no resistance when her step-mother came toward her, grinning maliciously, and bearing a coarse white cotton dress, which she called "Moll's wedding gown."
Mollie let the woman put the dress on her. She even combed her own sun-colored hair; and, for the first time in her life, she knotted it on her head, instead of letting it stream in ragged, unkempt ends over her shoulders. A loose lock of hair over Mollie's low forehead covered the ugly scar that was her one disfigurement. She was so startlingly lovely that her stupid step-mother stared at her in a kind of bewildered amazement. Mollie was pale and worn, and painfully thin, yet nothing could spoil the wonderful color of her hair and eyes, nor take away the peculiar grace of her figure. Her expression was dull and listless. Even so Mollie looked like a lily transplanted to some field of dank weeds, but growing tall and sweet amid their ugliness.
Mike looked at his daughter curiously when her step-mother dragged her out before him. Brutal as he was, a change passed over his face. He glanced over the water to see if Bill's boat were approaching. "I ain't never understood how things has turned out," he muttered to himself. "If Mollie wasn't foolish, I wouldn't let Bill have her. She is a pretty thing, and she looks like a lady. That's what makes it so all-fired queer."
Mollie sank down on the bench that ran around the deck of the shanty boat. She dropped her head in her hands. What she was thinking, or whether she was thinking at all, no one could know or tell. She heard a boat coming through the water, then a cry from her father. If she believed the hour had arrived for her marriage, she gave no sign. She did not raise her head when Mike Muldoon cried out savagely.
Captain Mike went ashore. He stood with his heavy arms folded, smoking and scowling.
Judge Hilliard stepped up to Captain Mike. Two police officers accompanied him. Madge and Phil were directly behind their new friend. They did not like to call to Mollie, but they wished she would look up at them.
"I have an injunction forbidding the marriage of your daughter, Mollie Muldoon, to a fisherman named Bill," Judge Hilliard's peremptory voice rang out. "You are forcing your daughter into this marriage against her will."
"I ain't forcing Moll," denied Captain Mike, glaring at Phil and Madge. He was driven into a corner, and he knew nothing else to say.
"I would like to ask the girl what she desires," the judge announced.
"Moll," called Mike.
For the first time Mollie lifted her head. She left the boat and came slowly toward the little party.
Judge Hilliard stared, and for a moment he forgot to speak to her. Madge and Phil had assured him that their protégé was beautiful, but he had expected to behold the simple beauty of a country girl; this young woman was exquisitely lovely.
Madge and Phil trembled with excitement. Suppose Mollie should not understand the Judge's question and make the wrong answer? Suppose the poor girl had been bullied into submission? Suppose she should not even recall the struggle of yesterday? She forgot so much—would she forget this?
"Do you desire to marry this 'Bill'?" Judge Hilliard queried, looking with puzzled wonder into Mollie's lovely, expressionless face.
Mollie shook her head gently. Madge and Phil held their breath.
"I will not marry him," Mollie answered simply. "Nothing could make me do so."
"Then you will come home to the houseboat with us, Mollie," Madge and Phil pleaded together, taking hold of the girl's hands to lead her away.
"I am sorry," interposed Judge Hilliard, speaking to the girls, "but we can't take her away at once. We must observe the law. Muldoon," continued the Judge as he took a document out of his pocket and handed it to the sailor, "of course you know that you can not force this girl to marry against her will whether she is of age or not, but, aside from that, here is an order of court directing you to show cause why the girl should not be taken from you upon the ground of cruelty and neglect. The case will be heard in the court at the county seat of Anne Arundel County five days hence, the 30th of the month. You will, of course, be expected to prove that the girl is your daughter. This order also contains an injunction forbidding you to take the girl out of this jurisdiction within that time. These officers will remain here to see that the order of the court is carried out. If you make any attempt to remove the girl from this vicinity, you will be arrested at once."
"And now, ladies," said Judge Hilliard, turning to the girls, "we will go aboard the 'Greyhound'."
"I say, Judge," broke in Muldoon, starting hurriedly after Judge Hilliard, "I don't want to get mixed up in the law. I'll tell you something if you won't be too hard on me. Moll isn't my daughter! I picked her up almost drowned on a beach on the coast of Florida. My first old woman took a liking for the kid, so we just kept her. We didn't intend her any harm. That was ten or twelve years ago."
Judge Hilliard did not appear to be surprised; in fact, he had expected some such statement.
"Your confession," said he, speaking to Muldoon, "is all we need to enable us to take this girl away. Under the circumstances, 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.