Madge Morton, Captain of the Merry Maid — Reading Notes

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."

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.