DAVID FINDS A FRIEND

"It's all right, Phyllis! Tom Curtis is a dear. David is to go with us."

Madge breathed a sigh of satisfaction over the success of her scheme.

Phyllis Alden laughed. She was b.u.t.toning the twins into clean pinafores.

"I am not surprised. I knew Tom would find a place for David if you asked him to do so. Tom Curtis is quite likely to do Madge Morton's will."

Madge flushed. "Don't be a goose, please, Phil," she begged. "You know that as long as we are to take Miss Betsey Taylor on board our houseboat, in order to be able to pay the expenses of our trip this summer," Madge made a wry face, "that we ought not to leave poor David high and dry without any work to do. I was awfully sorry for the boy when he came here the other day and heard what Miss Betsey thought of doing. He turned quite white, and when I asked him if he was sorry to be thrown out of work, he said 'Yes,' and then he wouldn't talk any more."

Phyllis looked serious. "I hope it will turn out for the best, but it is asking a good deal of Tom to take this strange boy way down to Virginia with him. David hasn't a good reputation. Miss Taylor employs him only because he is a distant cousin of hers. No one else will have anything to do with him, he is so surly and unfriendly. He was turned out of the district school, and----"

Madge pretended to put her fingers in her ears. "Don't tell me any more mean things about that poor fellow, please, dear," she pleaded. "I suppose it is because I have never heard a good word about him that I, being an obstinate person, don't think he can be as bad as he is painted. I am a black sheep myself, sometimes, when my horrid temper gets the better of me, and I know how dreadful it is not to be trusted."

"You a black sheep! O Madge! how absurd you are," protested Phil.

But Madge was in earnest and would not be interrupted. "Tom really did need some one on his motor boat, Phil. He wrote me that he meant to hire some one to come along with him. Tom wishes to run his own engine, but he doesn't yearn for the task of cleaning it or to do the very hard work. Of course, that is all right. He has plenty of money and can do as he chooses. But it's different with David."

"How many boys will Tom have on his motor boat while he has us in tow?"

inquired Phil. She realized that Madge had been seized with one of her sudden fits of enthusiasm over Miss Betsey Taylor's "hired boy" and that there was no sense in opposing her. The little captain would find out later whether her enthusiasm had been right or wrong.

"Four or five," answered Madge absently. "Do stand still, Daisy Alden, while I tie your sunbonnet, or I'll eat you alive!" she scolded kissing one of the twin babies on her fat pink cheek. "Come on, Phil. Hold tight to Dot. If we are going to drive out to Miss Betsey Taylor's to see whether she still desires to pay us sixty dollars a month for food, lodging and the pleasure of our delightful society aboard our precious houseboat, we had better start at once."

Phil, Madge and the twins waved good-bye to Mrs. Alden, who was well enough now to be about her house, as they piled themselves into the physician's old buggy, which he had left for their use during the day.

The doctor's suggestion looked as though it were going to come true. At first Madge and Phil protested that they simply couldn't bear to take a fussy old maid on their houseboat excursion. But then, if they did not take Miss Betsey, there wouldn't be any excursion. The girls were between Scylla and Charybdis, like the ill-fated Ulysses on his journey back from Troy. Scylla, Miss Betsey, went with them, or Charybdis, the houseboat party, would have to decline Tom Curtis's offer to tow them up the Rappahannock River. So the girls decided to choose "Miss Scylla," as they nicknamed poor Miss Betsey.

As for Miss Betsey Taylor, she had been even more horrified than the two houseboat girls when the doctor made the proposal to her. How was she to cure her nerves by trusting herself to a party of gay young people with a twenty-six-year-old chaperon as the only balance to the party. Absurd!

Miss Betsey wrung her hands at the very idea. But after a while the allurement of the plan began to stir even her conventional old soul. The thought of being borne gently along a beautiful river dividing the Virginia sh.o.r.es wrought enchantment. There was something else that influenced Miss Betsey. Years before she had had a "near romance." A young Virginia officer had come to New York and had met Miss Betsey at the home of a friend. During one winter he saw her many times, and although he was too poor to speak of marriage, Miss Betsey was ent.i.tled to believe that he had cared for her. One day Miss Betsey had an argument with her admirer. It was a foolish argument, but the Virginia officer believed that Miss Betsey had insulted him. He went away and never saw her again. Afterward she learned that he had returned to his ruined estate in Virginia.

It was a poor shadow of a romance, but Miss Betsey had never had another. In late years she had begun to think of her past. It _did_ add a flavor of romance to her trip in the houseboat to imagine that she might have been a happy matron, living on one of the old places that she would see in Virginia, instead of being Miss Betsey Taylor of Hartford, who had never ventured farther than New York City in the sixty years of her maiden life. To tell the truth, Miss Betsey was as enthusiastic over the prospect of a trip in a houseboat as were the members of the "Merry Maid's" crew.

When the two girls and the children drove into Miss Betsey's yard David helped Madge, Phil and the twins out of the doctor's buggy, looking more surly and impossible than ever. A secret bitterness was surging in him.

Miss Betsey had promised to give him steady work at "Chestnut Cottage"

all summer. Now she was going away on a trip with a lot of silly girls.

Once again he was to be balked in the cherished desire of his life. In his bitterness of heart he pretended he had never seen Madge before.

"I would like to talk to you, David, after we have seen Miss Taylor,"

said Madge in a friendly fashion to the scowling youth. "I won't take up much of your time."

David walked away without making any reply, which angered the girl, and as she walked into the house she began to feel rather sorry that she had tried to play Good Samaritan to such a churlish fellow.

To-day Miss Betsey really wished to make a good impression on Madge and Phil. She was as anxious that they should like her as the girls were to please the queer old lady. Miss Betsey was waiting for her guests in her prim, old-fashioned parlor. The dim light from the closed green blinds was grateful after the brilliant sunshine of the warm July day. On a little, spindle-legged mahogany table were tall gla.s.ses of fruit lemonade and a plate of a.s.sorted cakes.

Miss Betsey surveyed Madge Morton with keen, curious eyes. She already knew Phil. But before she trusted her life to these girls she wished to take their measure. Madge's appearance as she emerged from under the overturned buggy had not been prepossessing. To-day Miss Betsey would be able to judge her better. As she scrutinized the little captain she was not altogether pleased with Madge's looks. She preferred Phil's dark, serious face. There was too much ardor, too much warm, bright color about Madge in her deep-toned auburn hair and the healthy scarlet of her lips. Madge breathed a kind of radiant impulse toward a fullness of life that was opposed to Miss Betsey Taylor's theory of existence. Still, she could find no objection to the young girl's manner. Madge was so shy and deprecating that Phil could hardly help laughing at her. What would Miss Betsey think later on, when the little captain had one of her attacks of high spirits?

Miss Taylor asked so many questions about the houseboat that Phil was kept busy answering her. Madge spoke only in monosyllables, her attention being devoted to the twins. The cake and lemonade having been disposed of, these two tiny persons kept wriggling about the drawing room in momentary peril of upsetting the tables and chairs.

"Miss Taylor," broke in Madge suddenly, in her usual, unexpected fashion, "if you don't mind, I think I will take the little girls out into your back garden. I wish to speak to your boy, David. I have asked our friend, Tom Curtis, to take David to help him with his motor boat during our trip. I hope you don't mind?"

Miss Betsey caught her breath. She was startled by the suddenness of Madge's suggestion, as she was to be many times during her acquaintance with that young woman. Then Miss Betsey looked dubious. "Take David with us?" she faltered. "I don't advise it. It was good of you, child, to think of it, and it would be a wonderful opportunity for the boy. But I am obliged to tell you that David is not trustworthy. He spends too many hours alone, and refuses to tell anybody what he is doing. Make him confide in you, or else do not take him away with us. I'll try to find something for the boy to do nearer home."

Madge thought she caught a gleam in Miss Betsey's eyes that revealed a goodly amount of curiosity about David's secret occupations, as much as it did interest in his welfare. She made up her mind that she would not pry into poor David's secrets simply because she had a chance to offer him the opportunity to make his living during the summer.

Holding Dot by one hand and Daisy by the other, Madge appeared at the half-open barn-door, her eyes shining with friendliness.

David was working fiercely. He hated the cleaning of the barn, so he chose to-day to do it as an outlet for his foolish feeling of injury.

"David," exclaimed Madge, "I must call you that, as I don't know your other name, I would like to speak to you." There was no hint of patronage in Madge's manner. She was too well-bred a young woman either to feel or to show it. She really felt no difference between herself and David, except that the boy had never had the opportunities that had been hers.

But David never turned around to answer her. "Speak ahead," he answered roughly. "I'm not deaf. I can hear what you've got to say to me in here all right."

Madge colored angrily. A sound temper had never been her strong point.

She had almost forgotten how angry she could be in the two peaceful weeks she had spent with Phil. The hot blood surged to her cheeks at David's rude behavior. The boy had gone on raking the hay into one corner of the barn.

"I certainly shall not speak to you if you can't treat me courteously,"

she answered coldly. She took the little girls by the hands and walked quietly away from the barn. The babies protested. Their black eyes were wide with interest at the sight of "the big boy." They wished to stay and talk to him.

David put his hand to his throat when Madge was out of sight. He felt as though he were choking, and he knew it was from shame at his own uncivil behavior to the girl who had treated him in such a friendly, gentle fashion. David Brewster was a queer combination. He was enough of a gentleman to know he had treated Madge discourteously, but he did not know how to apologize to her. He glanced around the yard.

Madge had taken the twins and was seated with them under a big apple tree in the back yard. She was making them daisy and clover chains, and she seemed completely to have forgotten the rude boy.

David walked up behind the tree. If Madge saw or heard him, she gave no sign. She was putting a tiny wreath of daisies on Daisy Alden's head and crowning Dot with a wreath of clover.

"Miss," said a boy's embarra.s.sed voice, "I know I was rude to you out in the barn. I am sorry. I was worried about something and it put me in a bad temper. Do you feel that you would be willing to speak to me now?"

he asked humbly.

Madge's face cleared. Yet she hesitated. She was beginning to fear that she would be unwise to mention Tom's proposition to David. She knew that Tom Curtis, with his frank, open nature, would have little use for an ugly-tempered, surly youth on board his motor boat. Had she any right to burden Tom with a disagreeable helper?

But David seemed so miserable, so shy and awkward, that Madge's heart softened. Again she felt sorry for the boy, as she had done at her first meeting with him. Whether for good or evil, she made up her mind that David should accompany them on their houseboat excursion.

"Sit down, won't you, David?" she asked gently.

David sat down shyly, with his torn hat between the knees of his patched trousers while Madge explained the situation to him. She told him that she and Phil felt sorry that they were making him lose his place by taking Miss Betsey away. She said that Tom Curtis needed some one to help him with his motor boat, and that he was willing to take David with him if he would be faithful and do the work that Tom required of him.

"Mr. Curtis will give you five dollars a week and your expenses if you would care to make the trip with us," concluded Madge.

She was silent for a second. Her eyes were on the pretty twin babies, who were chasing golden-brown b.u.t.terflies on the gra.s.s just in front of them, and screaming joyously at their own lack of success.

"Didn't you hear me, David?" inquired Madge a trifle impatiently.

The boy's face was working. His eyes were br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears. He was bitterly ashamed of them and tried to rub them off with his rough coatsleeve. Then he said in a low voice:

"You mean that you got your friend to consent to take a fellow he knew nothing about on a motor boat trip way down in Virginia, and just for the little work that I can do on his boat? I can't understand it. You see, I've never been twenty miles out of Hartford, and n.o.body thinks I am much good around here. I know you have done this for me just because you didn't want me to lose my job with Miss Betsey. I could see you were sorry for me the other night, when I couldn't help showing that I cared.

Gee-whiz! I wonder how I will ever be able to pay you back?"

Madge laughed. She could see that David had forgotten her and was thinking and talking aloud.

"You've paid me back already," she declared, smiling. "Didn't you help pull me out from under the buggy the other day? You may have saved my life. If old Prince had really tried to run away I might have been killed. Please don't be grateful to me. You aren't obliged to be grateful to any one, though, if you must, why, you can thank Tom Curtis.