Amy D. V. Chalmers - Madge Morton, Captain of the Merry Maid

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[Frontispiece: Their houseboat vacation had begun.]

Madge Morton,

Captain of the Merry Maid

By

AMY D. V. CHALMERS

Author of Madge Morton's Secret, Madge Morton's Trust, Madge Morton's
Victory.

PHILADELPHIA

HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY

COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY HOWARD E. ALTEMUS

PRINTED IN THE

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

CONTENTS

CHAPTER.

I. MADGE MORTON'S PLAN
II. CHOOSING A CHAPERON
III. THE SEARCH FOR A HOUSEBOAT
IV. THE FAIRY'S WAND
V. ALL ABOARD
VI. PLEASURE BAY
VII. THE UNKNOWN JAILER
VIII. AN ANXIOUS NIGHT
IX. THE GIRL ON THE ISLAND
X. AN EXCITING RACE
XI. AT THE MERCY OF THE WAVES
XII. A BRAVE FIGHT
XIII. LIFE OR DEATH?
XIV. MADGE COMES INTO HER OWN AGAIN
XV. A CALL FOR HELP
XVI. THE ATTEMPTED RESCUE
XVII. THE CAPTURE
XVIII. ON A STRANGE SHORE
XIX. FINDING A WAY TO HELP MOLLIE
XX. MADGE'S OPPORTUNITY
XXI. MOLLIE'S BRAVE FIGHT
XXII. THE EVIL GENIUS
XXIII. "MOTHER"
XXIV. FAREWELL TO THE "MERRY MAID"

List of Illustrations

Their houseboat vacation had begun . . . Frontispiece.

Madge and Tom went gayly down to the boat.

The girls ran down to the water's edge.

"I wish you to come and live with me, Madge."

Madge Morton, Captain of the Merry Maid

CHAPTER I

MADGE MORTON'S PLAN

"I never can bear it!" cried Madge Morton excitedly, throwing herself
down on her bed in one of the dormitories of Miss Tolliver's Select
School for Girls. "It is not half so bad for Eleanor. She, at least,
is going to spend her holiday with people she likes. But for Uncle
William and Aunt Sue to leave for California just as school closes, and
to send me off to a horrid old maid cousin for half my vacation, is
just too awful! If I weren't nearly seventeen years old, I'd cry my
eyes out."

Madge was alone in her bedroom, which she shared with her cousin,
Eleanor Butler. The two girls lived on an old estate in Virginia, but
for the two preceding terms they had been attending a college
preparatory school at Harborpoint, not far from the city of Baltimore.

Madge had never known her own parents. She had been reared by her
Uncle William and Aunt Sue Butler and she dearly loved her old southern
home. But just when she and Eleanor were planning a thousand pleasures
for their three months' vacation a letter had arrived from Mr. and Mrs.
Butler announcing that they were leaving their estate for six weeks, as
they were compelled to go west on important business. Eleanor was to
be sent to visit a family of cousins near Charlottesville, Virginia,
and Madge was to stay with a rich old maiden cousin of her father.
Cousin Louisa did not like Madge. She felt a sense of duty toward her,
and a sense of duty seldom inspires any real affection in return. So
Madge looked back on the visits she had made to this cousin with a
feeling of horror. Inspired by her Aunt Sue, Madge had always tried to
be on her best behavior while she was the guest of Cousin Louisa. But
since propriety was not Madge Morton's strong point she had succeeded
only in being perfectly miserable and in offending her wealthy cousin
by her unconventional ways.

Madge had a letter from this cousin in her hand while she gave herself
up to the luxury of despair. She had not yet read the letter, but she
knew exactly what it would say. It would contain a formal invitation
from Cousin Louisa, asking Madge to pay her the necessary visit. It
would suggest at the same time that Madge mend her ways; and it would
doubtless recall the unfortunate occasion when Mistress Madge had set
fire to the bedclothes by her wicked habit of reading in bed.

It was the study hour at Miss Tolliver's school, and all of the girls
except Madge were hard at work. Eleanor had slipped across the hall to
the room of their two chums to consult them about a problem in algebra.
Madge at that moment was far too miserable to be approached in regard
to a lesson, though at other times she would have done anything for
Eleanor.

Finally Madge raised herself to a sitting posture. It struck her as
rather absurd to have collapsed so entirely, simply because she was not
to spend the first part of her summer as she chose. She knew, too,
that it was high time she fell to preparing her lessons.

With a little shiver she opened Cousin Louisa's letter. Suddenly her
eyes flashed, the color glowed in her cheeks, and Madge dropped the
note to the floor with a glad cry and ran out of the room.

On the door of her chums' room was a sign, printed in large letters,
which was usually observed by the school girls. The sign read:
"Studying; No Admittance." But to-day Madge paid no attention to it.
She flung open the door and rushed in upon her three friends.

"Eleanor, Phyllis, Lillian," she protested, "stop studying this very
minute!" She seized Eleanor's paper and pencil and closed Lillian
Seldon's ancient history with a bang. Phyllis Alden had just time to
grasp her own notebook firmly with both hands before she exclaimed:
"Madge Morton, whatever has happened to you? Have you gone entirely
crazy?"

Madge laughed. "Almost!" she replied. "But just listen to me, and you
will be nearly as crazy as I am."

Madge had dark, auburn hair, which was curly and short, like a boy's.
To her deep regret her long braids had been cut off several years
before, when she was recovering from an attack of typhoid fever, and
now her hair was just long enough to tuck into a small knot on top of
her head. But when Madge was excited, which was a frequent occurrence,
this knot would break loose, and her curls would fly about, like the
hair of one of Raphael's cherubs. Madge had large, blue eyes, with
long, dark lashes, and a short, straight nose, with just the tiniest
tilt at the end of it. Although she was not vain, she was secretly
proud of her row of even, white teeth.

Phyllis Alden was the daughter of a physician with a large family, who
lived in Hartford, Connecticut. Phil was not as pretty as her three
friends, and no one knew it better than Phyllis. She was small and
dark, with irregular features. But she had large, black eyes, and a
smile that illuminated her clever face. Put to the vote, Phyllis Alden
had been declared to be the most popular girl in Miss Tolliver's
school, and Phyllis and Madge were friendly rivals in athletics.

Lillian Seldon was perhaps the prettiest of the four boarding school
chums, if one preferred regular features to vivacity and charm.
Lillian was of Madge's age, a tall, slender, blonde girl, with two long
plaits of sunny, light hair, a fair, delicate skin and blue eyes. She
was the daughter of a Philadelphia lawyer and an only child. A number
of her school companions thought her cold and proud, but her chums knew
that when Lillian really cared for any one she was the most loyal
friend in the world. Eleanor, who was the youngest of the four school
friends, looked like the little, southern girl that she was. She had
light brown hair and hazel eyes, and charming manners which made
friends for her wherever she went.

The three girls now waited with their eyes fixed inquiringly on the
fourth. They were not very much excited; they knew Madge only too
well. She was either in the seventh heaven of bliss, or else in the
depths of despair. Yet this time it did look as though Madge had more
reason than usual for her excitement. Eleanor wondered how she could
have changed so quickly from her recent disconsolate mood.

"What has happened to you, Madge?" Lillian inquired. "Eleanor said you
were upset because you are obliged to spend the first of your vacation
with your hateful Cousin Louisa."

"Hateful? Did I ever dare to say that my Cousin Louisa was hateful?
She is one of the loveliest women in this world! Just think! Cousin
Louisa has written to say that she can't have me, or rather won't have
me, visit her. She is going to shut up her house, and is going to sail
for Europe. I know it is just to escape my odious presence."

"Why, Madge, what will you do?" Eleanor asked. "You've nowhere else to
go." You know how you hate those awful children at Charlottesville."

"Wait, Eleanor Butler--wait!" Madge cried dramatically. "You do not
know what has happened, nor why I now truly love and adore the same
Cousin Louisa whom I once thought I disliked. Just look here." Madge
waved a small strip of paper in the air. "Cousin Louisa has sent me a
check for two hundred dollars! She says I am to spend the money on my
summer vacation in any way I like, provided Aunt Sue and Uncle William
approve."

"But you can't go off traveling by yourself," objected Eleanor. "I
should think you would hate to spend your summer alone."

"Alone!" Madge answered indignantly. "Who said I meant to spend my
vacation alone? I want you three girls to spend the six weeks with me.
Only last night Eleanor and I said that we four girls could never be
really happy anywhere without one another."

"Generous Madge," smiled Lillian affectionately. "Two hundred dollars
seems quite a fortune. Perhaps you ought not to spend it all. Where
can we go, and what can we do?"

"Young ladies," a stern voice spoke just outside the door, "kindly
remember this is the study hour. You are expected to keep silence."

An unusual stillness fell on the four offenders. Only Madge's blue
eyes flashed rebelliously. "It's that tiresome Miss Jones. You might
know she would be somewhere about. She is the crossest teacher in this
school."

"Sh-sh, Madge," Eleanor lowered her voice, "Miss Jones might hear you.
She is ill, I am sure. That is what makes her so cross. Phil and I
are both sorry for her."

"Oh, you and Phil are sorry for everybody. That's nothing! Thank
goodness, there is the bell! It is the recreation hour. Come, my
beloved chums, I simply must think of some way to spend our vacation
and I never can think indoors. 'It is the merry month of May,'"
caroled Madge. "Come, Phil, let us go down to the water and take Nell
and Lillian rowing. It is a dream of an afternoon, all soft and
sunshiny, and the river folk are calling us, the frogs, and the water
rats----"

"Dear me, Madge," teased Phil, "do hush. We are glad enough to go
rowing without an invitation from the frogs. We have two hours before
supper time. Shall we ask poor Miss Jones to go with us? She does not
have much fun, and you know it is her duty to make us keep the rules.
Miss Jones admires you very much, Madge. She said you were clever
enough to do anything you liked, if you would only try. But she knows
you don't like her."

"Then she knows the truth," returned naughty Madge. "No, Phil, please
don't ask Miss Jones to come out with us this afternoon, there's a
dear. I told you I wanted to think. And I can think brilliantly only
when in the company of my beloved chums."

Phyllis Alden and Madge Morton were good oarsmen. Indeed, they were
almost as much at home on the water as they were on land. Each girl
wore a tiny silver oar pinned to her dress. Only the week before Madge
had won the annual spring rowing contest; for Miss Tolliver made a
special point of athletics in her school, and fortunately the school
grounds ran down to the bank of a small river.

Phil and Madge rowed out into the middle of the river with long,
regular strokes. They were in their own little, green boat, called the
"Water Witch." Lillian sat in the stern, trailing her white hands idly
in the water. Eleanor sat quietly looking out over the fields.

Suddenly Madge, who always did the most unexpected things in the world,
locked her oars across the boat and sat up in her seat with a jerk that
rocked the little craft.

"Girls, I have thought it all out!" she exclaimed. "I have the most
glorious, the most splendid plan you ever heard of in the world! Just
wait until you hear it!"

"Madge," Phil called in horror, "do sit down!" The boat was careening
perilously. Before Phil could finish her speech Madge had tumbled over
the side of the skiff and disappeared in the water below.

The girls waited for their friend to rise to the surface. They were
not frightened, for Madge was an expert swimmer.

"I am surprised at Madge," declared Phil severely. "The idea of
plunging into the water in that fashion, not to mention almost
capsizing our boat! Why doesn't she come up?"

The second lengthened to a minute. Still Madge's curly head did not
appear on the surface of the water. Eleanor's face turned white.
Madge had on her rowing costume, a short skirt and a sailor blouse.
She could easily swim in such a suit. But perhaps she had been seized
with a cramp, or her head might have struck against a rock at the
bottom of the river!

Lillian and Phil shared Eleanor's anxiety. "Sit still, girls," said
Phyllis. "I must dive and see what has happened to Madge. If you are
quiet, I can dive out of the boat without upsetting it."

Phil slipped out of her sweater. But Eleanor caught at her skirts from
behind. "Sit down, Phil. Here comes that wretched Madge, swimming
toward us from over there. She purposely stayed under water."

The three friends looked in the direction, indicated by Phyllis. They
saw Madge moving toward the boat as calmly as though she had been in
her bathing suit and had dived off the skiff for pure pleasure. She
had been swimming under the water for a little distance and had risen
at a spot at which her friends were not looking. As she lifted her
head clear of the water a ray of the afternoon sunlight slanted across
her face, touching its mischievous curves, until she looked like a
naughty water-sprite.

In an instant Madge's hands were alongside the boat, and Phil pulled
her into it. "I am so sorry, girls," she explained, shaking the water.
out of her hair; "but I had such a wonderful idea that it really
knocked me overboard. I was afraid I would throw you all into the
river, so I jumped. But don't you want to know my plan? We are going
to spend the summer on the water!"

"In the water, you mean, don't you?" laughed Phyllis, as she wrapped
her sweater about her friend. "Madge, will any one ever be able to
guess what you are going to do next?"

"Just listen, girls," Madge went on with shining eyes. "I have been
determined, ever since I got my letter from Cousin Louisa, that we
girls should do something original for our summer vacation. And while
I was rowing peacefully along, without meaning to create a disturbance,
it suddenly came to me that the most perfect way to spend a holiday
would be to live out on the water. First I thought we might just take
the 'Water Witch' and row along the river all summer, sleeping in
hotels and boarding-places at night. But I know we must have a
chaperon; and meals and things would make it cost too much. Then it
occurred to me that we could get a boat big enough to live in by day
and sleep in by night--a canal boat, or something----"

"Madge Morton!" cried Phil, clapping both hands, "you are a goose, but
sometimes I think you are a genius as well. You mean you can rent a
houseboat with your money and we can truly spend our vacation together
out on the water. I never heard of such a splendid plan in my life."

Madge gave a little shiver, half from the cold and half from happiness.
She was beginning to feel the chill of her wet clothing.

"Eleanor, Phyllis, Lillian," she said impressively. "I hereby invite
you to spend six weeks of your vacation aboard a houseboat. Now, the
next thing to be done is to find one."

CHAPTER II

CHOOSING A CHAPERON

Madge Morton walked into the school library with a grave expression on
her usually laughing face. She had two letters in her hand, which she
intended putting into the school post-bag, that was always kept in the
library. One of the letters she had written to her uncle and aunt,
explaining her houseboat scheme in the most sensible and matter-of-fact
fashion; for Madge knew that the fate of the four chums depended,
first, on what Mr. and Mrs. Butler thought of their niece's idea. If
they disapproved, Madge was certain that she could never be happy
again, for there was no other possible way of spending Cousin Louisa's
gift that would give her any pleasure. Madge's second letter was
directed to a boy cousin, who was at college in Baltimore. She
explained that she expected to rent a houseboat for the summer, and she
asked her cousin to give her the address of places in Baltimore where
such a boat could be hired. She wished it to cost the smallest sum of
money possible, for Eleanor had suggested that even houseboat girls
must eat. Indeed, the water was likely to make them especially hungry.
If all the two hundred dollars went for the houseboat, what were they
to do for food?

Madge's sole fortune was just ten dollars a month, which she used for
her dress allowance. Her uncle and aunt were not rich, but they were
paying for her education, and Madge knew she was expected to make her
own living as soon as she was old enough. Mr. and Mrs. Butler had
hoped she would become a teacher, for they held the old-fashioned
southern belief that teaching school was the only avenue open to the
woman who was forced by necessity to make her own living.

Madge, however, had decided, a long time before, that she would much
rather die than teach. She would do anything but that. Just at
present her poverty was very inconvenient. Madge was generous to a
fault, and she would have liked nothing better than to finance royally
their proposed trip. She vowed mentally to rise to the occasion, even
though the way to do it was not yet clear.

Prudent Eleanor had also asked her whom she meant to invite to act as
their chaperon. So it was of this chaperon that Madge was thinking
while she was in the act of mailing her letters.

Down in Virginia, on a big place next to her uncle's, was a girl whom
she had decided would make an ideal chaperon. She was as fond of larks
as was Madge herself. She could fish, ride, swim and shoot a rifle
when necessary. Moreover, she was so beautiful and aristocratic that
Madge always called her the "Lady of Quality." It was true she could
not cook nor wash dishes, nor do anything practical, and she was only
twenty-two. Still, Madge thought she would be a perfectly delightful
chaperon and was sure the girls would love her. Madge's red lips
unconsciously formed the letter O, and before she knew what she was
doing she was whistling from sheer pleasure.

"Miss Morton," the cold voice that was unpleasantly familiar to the
girl's ears came from behind a chair, "do you not know that whistling
is against the rules of the school? You are one of the older girls.
Miss Tolliver depends on you to set the younger pupils a good example.
I fear she is sadly disappointed."

"You mean you are sadly disappointed, Miss Jones," replied Madge
angrily. "Miss Tolliver has not said she was disappointed in me. When
she is she will probably tell me herself."

Madge knew she should not speak in this rude fashion to her teacher,
but she was an impetuous, high-spirited girl who could not bear
censure. Besides, she had a special prejudice against Miss Jones. She
was particularly homely and there was something awkward and repellant
in her manner. Worshipping beauty and graciousness, Madge could not
forgive her teacher her lack of both. Besides, Madge did not entirely
trust Miss Jones. Still, the girl was sorry she had made her impolite
speech, so she stood quietly waiting for her teacher's reproof, with
her curly head bent low, her eyes mutinous.

She waited an instant. When she looked up, to her dismay she saw that
the eyes of her despised teacher were full of tears.

"I wonder why you dislike me so, Miss Morton?" Miss Jones inquired
sadly.

Madge could have given her a dozen reasons for her dislike, but she did
not wish to be disagreeable. "I am dreadfully sorry I was so rude to
you," she murmured.

"Oh, it does not matter. Nothing matters, I am so unhappy," Miss Jones
replied unexpectedly. Just why Miss Jones should have chosen Madge
Morton for her confidante at this moment neither ever knew. Miss Jones
had a number of friends among the other girls in the school; but she
and this clever southern girl had been enemies since Miss Jones had
first taken charge of the English History class and had reproved Madge
for helping one of the younger girls with her lesson. Miss Jones's
confession had slipped out involuntarily. Now she put her head down on
the library table and sobbed.

With any other teacher, or with any of the girls, Madge might have
cried in sympathy. Somehow, she could not cry with Miss Jones. She
felt nothing save embarrassment.

"What is the matter?" she asked slowly.

Miss Jones shook her head. "It's nothing. I am sorry to have given
way to my feelings. I have had bad news. My doctor has just written
me that if I don't spend the summer out-of-doors, I am in danger of
consumption." Miss Jones uttered the dreadful word quite calmly.

Madge gave a low cry of distress. She thought of the number of times
she had made fun of her teacher's flat chest and stooping shoulders and
of her bad temper. After all, Eleanor had been right. Illness had
been the cause of Miss Jones's peculiarities.

"Miss Jones," Madge returned, her sympathies fully enlisted, "you must
not feel so troubled. I am sure you will soon be all right. Just
think how strong you will grow with your long summer holiday
out-of-doors. You must dig in the garden, and ride horseback, and play
tennis," advised Madge enthusiastically, remembering her own happy
summers at "Forest House," the old Butler home in Virginia.

Miss Jones shook her head wistfully as she rose to leave the room. "I
am afraid I can't have the summer in the country. I have only a sister
with whom to spend the summer, and she lives in a little flat in the
city. She has a large family, and I expect to help her. My parents
are dead."

"Then why don't you go into the country to board somewhere?" flashed
from Madge's lips unexpectedly. A moment after she was sorry she had
asked the question, for a curious, frightened expression crossed her
teacher's face.

Miss Jones hesitated. "I have had to use the money I have made by my
teaching for--for other purposes," she explained, in the stiff, cold
manner that seemed so unattractive to gracious, sunshiny Madge. "I am
sorry to have worried you with my troubles," Miss Jones said again.
"Please forgive me and forget what I have told you. I shall probably
do very well."

Madge went slowly back to her room in a most unhappy frame of mind.
She knew a way in which Miss Jones would be able to spend her summer
out-of-doors, and perhaps grow well and strong again. She could be
invited to chaperon the houseboat party. She knew her friends would
immediately agree to the idea. They liked Miss Jones far better than
she did. Even if they had not liked her, sympathy would have inspired
them to extend the invitation. It was she alone who would hesitate.
Of course, she never expected to be as good as her friends. So Madge
argued with herself. It was too dreadful to give up the idea of asking
her adored "Lady of Quality" to act as their guardian angel. Madge
decided she simply could not make the sacrifice. Then, too, she did
not even know whether her uncle and aunt would consent to the houseboat
party. It would be time enough afterward to deliver her last
invitation.

For two days, which seemed intolerably long to impatient Madge Morton,
the four friends waited to hear their fate from Mr. and Mrs. Butler.

On the third morning a letter addressed to Madge in Mrs. Butler's
handwriting was handed to her while she and her chums were at
breakfast. In her great excitement her hands trembled so that she
could hardly finish her breakfast. "Here, Eleanor," Madge finally
faltered, as the four girls left the dining room to go upstairs, "you
take the letter and read it to us, please do. Positively I haven't the
courage to look at it. I feel almost sure that Aunt Sue will say we
can't go on our houseboat trip."

Lillian put her hand affectionately on Madge's arm, while Phil stood
next to Eleanor.

"My dear Madge," the letter began, "I think your houseboat plan for the
summer a most extraordinary one. I never heard of young girls
attempting such a holiday before. I can not imagine how you happened
to unearth such a peculiar idea."

Madge gave a gasp of despair. She felt that the tone of her Aunt Sue's
letter spelled refusal. But Eleanor read on: "Like a good many of your
unusual ideas, this houseboat scheme seems, after all, to be rather an
interesting one. Your uncle and I have talked over your letter and
Eleanor's. We do not wish you and Eleanor to be separated, and we do
wish you both to have the happiest holiday possible, as we are quite
sure you have earned it. So, if you can find a suitable chaperon, we
are willing to give our consent to your undertaking. We had intended
to pay twenty-five dollars a month board for Eleanor with her cousins
at Charlottesville, so we shall be glad to contribute that sum toward
the provisioning of the house-boat."

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