Madge Morton's Trust.

by Amy D. V. Chalmers.

CHAPTER I

A LATE ARRIVAL

It was a particularly hot day in early July. A girl came out on the back porch of an old-fashioned New England house and dropped into a hammock.

She looked tired, but her big black eyes were eager with interest.

She held a fat letter in her hand which contained many pages. At the top of the letter was a pen-and-ink drawing of a miniature houseboat with five girls running about on the deck, their hair blowing, their skirts awry. One of them held a broom in her hand; she was the domestic Eleanor! Another waved a frying pan; Miss Jenny Ann Jones, Chief Cook and Chaperon! The third girl was drying her long, blonde hair in the sun; Miss Lillian Seldon, the beauty of the houseboat party!

The girl in the hammock recognized herself: she was feeding a weird-looking animal on four legs with a spoon. And standing among the others, apparently talking as fast as she possibly could, and doing no work of any kind, was a young woman whom the artist had carefully labeled "Madge."

Phyllis Alden laughed until the tears rolled down her cheeks. She could not recall having laughed in two months, and she was sure she would keep on giggling as long as she read her letter.

"Miss Alden"--a woman in the uniform of a professional nurse appeared at the door--"your mother says do you know where the twins are? She is restless about them. I promised her I would come to you. I am sorry to disturb you; I know you are tired."

"Not a bit of it, Miss Brazier," insisted Phil stoutly. "Those dreadful babies! I had forgotten I had not seen them in the last half hour. Of course, they are in mischief. I will look for them right away."

Phil thrust her precious letter into her blouse. It was four o'clock in the afternoon and her letter from her chum had arrived in the morning post. These were busy days for Phyllis Alden. Early in May she had been called home from school by the illness of her mother. Since that time the care of her father's house and looking after the irrepressible twins had been Phyllis's work. Her mother was better now, on the sure road to convalescence, and Phil had begun to confess to herself that she was tired.

At one side of the house there was a rain-barrel. It was strictly forbidden territory, so Phil knew at once where to look for the twins.

Hanging over the edge of the barrel were two fat little girls with tight black curls. They were bent double and were fishing for queer, bobbing things that floated on the surface of the rainwater. A firm hand caught Daisy by one leg. Dot, terrified by her big sister's sudden appearance, tumbled into the barrel with a gasp and a splash.

Phil felt half-vexed; still, she was obliged to laugh at the little ones, they looked so utterly roguish.

"Frog in the middle, can't get out," she teased the small girl in the center of the barrel. Then she fished Dot out and started with both little maids for the house to make them presentable before dinner.

Phyllis knew that they must both be washed and dressed before she would have another chance to peep at her precious letter. Still, it comforted her to think how amused her Madge would be by her funny little four-year-old twin sisters and their mischievous ways.

It was just before dinner time when Phyllis firmly locked her bedroom door and took her precious letter from her blouse. She would read it now, or die in the effort. It began:

"DEAR OLD PHIL:

"I am not writing you from 'Forest House,' but from no other place than the famous old city of Boston, Ma.s.sachusetts. I came here the other day because I believed I would find news of my father, but I was disappointed and am going back home in a few days.

"But I don't want to write about myself; I want to write about you, dear old Phil! I am so glad your mother is better. When she is quite well, can't you come to visit Nellie and me at 'Forest House'? We have missed you so. The Commencement exercises at Miss Tolliver's were no fun at all this year. When Miss Matilda got up and announced that Miss Phyllis Alden had been called home before the final spring examination because of the illness of her mother, and would, therefore, be pa.s.sed on to the senior cla.s.s of her preparatory school on account of her high standing in her cla.s.ses, I cheered for all I was worth, and so did every one else.

"Ah, Phil, dear, it has been ages since last I saw you! I would give all my curls, and my hair really makes a long braid nowadays, if I could only see you. How I wish we could spend the rest of this summer on our beautiful houseboat! The poor little 'Merry Maid'! How lonely she must be without us. Tom Curtis and Jack Bolling wrote and asked me to let them tow us up the Rappahannock River this summer. They are going on a motor trip.

But, alas and alack! we haven't any money to pay our expenses, so I fear there will be no houseboat party this summer. It's dreadfully sad, but, more than anything else, I regret not seeing you, Phil. With my dearest love. Write soon. Your devoted

"MADGE."

Phyllis finished her letter with a warm feeling around her heart but a sigh on her lips. No "Merry Maid" this summer! Well, Phyllis had not expected it, yet it seemed cruel to think of the four girls and Miss Jones being separated for another year from their "Ship of Dreams,"

where they had spent two wonderful holidays.

The story of how Madge Morton, Phyllis Alden, Lillian Seldon and Eleanor Butler came into possession of a houseboat is fully set forth in the first volume of this series, ent.i.tled "MADGE MORTON, CAPTAIN OF THE 'MERRY MAID.'" The happy summer spent by the four young women on board the "Merry Maid," chaperoned by Miss Jenny Ann Jones, one of the teachers in the boarding school which they attended, was one long to be remembered.

While anch.o.r.ed in a quiet bit of water, a part of the great Chesapeake Bay, they made many friends, chief among whom were Mrs. Curtis, a wealthy widow, and her son Tom. Mrs. Curtis's instant liking for Madge, her subsequent offer to adopt her, and the remarkable manner in which Madge and Phyllis were instrumental in discovering their friend's own daughter, who had been lost at sea years before, in a poor fisher girl whom they rescued from her cruel foster father, formed a lively narrative.

"MADGE MORTON'S SECRET" told of the girls' second sojourn on their houseboat, which was anch.o.r.ed near Old Point Comfort. There the girls saw much of the social life of the Army and Navy, and it was while there that Madge incurred the enmity of a young woman named Flora Harris, who made the little captain's life very unpleasant for a time.

The mysterious cutting of the "Merry Maid's" cable on a stormy night, the voyaging of the little boat out into the bay, and the island sh.o.r.e to which she drifted in the gray dawn, and how, after living the life of young Crusoes for many weeks, they were rescued and returned to their sorrowing friends, made absorbing reading for those interested in following the fortunes of Madge Morton.

But to go back to the subject of Phyllis Alden: She and her father, Dr.

Alden, were firm friends. Every evening since her mother's illness they had taken a walk together after the twins were safely tucked in bed. It was a pleasure to which they both looked forward all day. To-night they were late in getting away from the house, and, as they strolled along through the quiet streets, Phyllis was unusually silent. She had told her father of Madge's letter, but she had not mentioned her invitation to visit Madge and Nellie at their home in Virginia. Phil did not think she could be spared from home and did not wish to worry her father. Yet all the time that Phil was so silent Dr. Alden was wondering where he could send Phyllis to spend a well-earned holiday. He did not have much money to spare, but his beloved daughter must somehow be given a rest.

Phyllis and her father were almost home again when the girl thought she heard some one running behind them. She turned with apprehensive suddenness. The night was dark and the streets were narrow; only at the corners the electric lamps made bright, open s.p.a.ces. Under one of these lights Phyllis looked back fearfully. She could barely discern a figure.

It was walking close to the fence and seemed to be carrying something.

Phil could not discover what it was, and Dr. Alden, who was slightly deaf, heard nothing.

Suddenly a watchdog set up a furious barking and rushed out into the street. Phil felt more secure. If any one were lurking in the shadow with the thought of attacking her father, the dog would surely come to their rescue. Yet now she could hear six feet pattering after them instead of two. The dog must have been won over by their enemy.

"Father"--Phil put her hand nervously on her father's arm; she was not herself to-night; she was tired and full of unexpressed longings for her friends--"wait!" Phil ended her sentence abruptly. Some one distinctly called her name, "Phil!" it echoed down the empty street.

Dr. Alden and his daughter both turned. Yet it was impossible to see any great distance beyond them. They were in the light, while the shadows down the sidewalk were densely black. Some one was coming toward them, though it was difficult to know if it were a man or a woman.

Straight into Phil's arms whirled a breathless girl, her hat on one side, her curly hair tumbling down and her eyes as bright as the fireflies that flickered through the dark streets. The girl carried a heavy suit case, and a large dog walked protectingly at her side.

It was Madge Morton. She had arrived alone and unannounced in the city of Hartford at a perfectly incredible hour of the night!

Dr. Alden was overcome with surprise. He had heard Phil give a cry of rapture, saw a suit case drop to the ground, then two girls meet in a joyful embrace.

"I might have known you would come when I needed you most, Madge," cried Phil rapturously. Phil was not really surprised by her chum's appearance. She knew that the most astonishing things in the world were just the things that Madge Morton would do as though they were the most natural.

"Is your mother better?" whispered Madge. "For goodness' sake, Phil, dear girl, let me tell your father who I am and how I happened to appear at this unearthly hour." Madge put her hand into the doctor's. "Please forgive me, Dr. Alden," she began. "I wrote Phil I was in Boston and about to start for home. I was on the way to the depot to buy my ticket when suddenly I remembered that I wasn't so far from dear Phil. I have been wanting to see her so dreadfully. So I just telegraphed Uncle and Aunt that I was going to stop over in Hartford a few hours.

"Of course, we had a wreck on the train, so here I am, only six hours late. When I came in at the station to-night I just inquired what car I should take to bring me to your address. And wasn't it funny? I saw you and Phil cross the street at the corner, so I jumped off the car and ran after you. I thought this old dog was going to eat me up, but the dear old fellow has adopted me instead."

Madge patted the strange dog affectionately with her left hand. Phil had never let go of her right one.

"I hope you will forgive my dropping in on you like this. I am ashamed of myself, but I just had to have a look at Phil."

"You've dropped from heaven! You are an angel unawares, Madge Morton,"

vowed practical Phil Alden in devout tones. "I was never so glad to see anybody in my life. Now, if you leave me to-morrow, I shall surely die."

Madge laughed happily. How good it seemed to be with dear old Phil once more. Dr. Alden picked up her suit case and looked at her with earnest, kindly eyes.

"Daughter," he said kindly, "I am almost as pleased to see you as Phil is. Come home with us. You must be worn out from your journey."

For the first time Madge realized that she was a little tired and that she had been a little frightened at arriving alone in a strange city at night. But then she was with Phil.

CHAPTER II