FINDING A WAY TO HELP MOLLIE
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.