Madge Morton, Captain of the Merry Maid | Page 5

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