money!"

Madge looked earnestly at the doctor, then said slowly: "That's just it. Of course, we are willing to work for the money. But I must find out what we can do in a hurry. You see, we need the money at once."

After they reached their destination, the doctor stayed a long while at his call on his country patient, and Madge, left alone in the buggy, had plenty of time to devise a thousand schemes for acquiring riches and to dismiss them all as impracticable. The physician had driven his old horse inside the trim yard of his patient, and the road lay near the big front porch door. The little garden was as pretty and tidy as the pictures in Kate Greenaway books. It grew tall hollyhocks, neatly cut hedges, and a riot of old rose bushes. Madge might well have spent her time in gazing at it, as it was a typical New England garden on a small scale. But it seemed too tiny and conventional to the little captain, whose inner vision conjured up the sight of the great, oak-shaded lawn at "Forest House." Just then she had more practical problems to occupy her attention. She let the reins fall loosely on the horse's neck, for he was in the habit of standing without being hitched. To-day old Prince grew tired with waiting and began to nibble at the short grass. Madge, lost in her daydreams, paid no heed to him. The horse moved on. Ahead there was a particularly delicious bunch of tall, feathery grass, which had been allowed to grow unaccountably high. It was a rare shrub, but the old horse was not aware of it. The wheel of the buggy that held the heedless driver passed over the high porch step. The girl inside felt herself let gently down on the ground and a high, black canopy covered her. Then, at last, Madge became alive to the situation.

But it was too late! Old Prince was frightened. The noise of the overturned buggy had upset his nerves. He began to run—not very fast, but fast enough so that Madge found herself being dragged along the ground over the smooth grass lawn. She couldn't crawl out from under the buggy and she certainly did not wish to remain under it. She raised her voice in one long cry of terror.

A boy had been working back of the house. He was in his shirt sleeves and had an old, torn, straw hat pulled down over his eyes. An ugly scowl was the only attention he had paid to the doctor and Madge as they drove into the yard. His face was flushed, not so much from the sun as from the anger that was raging within him. It was hard enough to work like a slave for a cranky old maid, without being constantly "pecked at." David believed that he hated every one in the world. Yet at Madge's shrill cry for help he dropped his rake and ran toward the front lawn. He saw the overturned buggy, heard the noise that came from underneath it, but he could see no sign of Madge. Dr. Alden had also dashed from the house onto the front porch. He was followed by a woman of about sixty years. Her hair was parted in the middle and she wore little bunches of corkscrew curls over each ear, in the fashion of half a century ago. "Oh, my! Oh, my!" she cried, wringing her hands. "How can I bear it? how can I bear it?" One might have supposed that she were frightened over Madge.

Dr. Alden started in pursuit of the horse. But at his approach old Prince quickened his pace. "Stand still!" a peremptory voice called to him sharply. "Stop crying out!" the same voice ordered Madge.

Dr. Alden gazed in bewilderment at the speaker. Madge at the same instant realized that she must be frightening the horse with the noise she was making.

The boy with the torn hat advanced quietly toward the horse, showing no special interest in him. He called gently to the animal, holding out a bunch of grass. Prince was only frightened at the strange turn his affairs had taken. He now stopped for a minute. Immediately a firm hand seized his head.

Dr. Alden made a move toward his buggy. "Unhitch the horse," commanded the boy.

Once the horse was free from the buggy Dr. Alden and the young man lifted it on one side. Out crawled Madge, a most inglorious figure. She was covered with dust, her face grimy. Her hair had tumbled down and hung in a loose bunch of curls over her shoulders.

"I am not a bit hurt, Doctor," she announced bravely, as soon as she got her breath. "It was all my fault. I let old Prince get away from me. I am so afraid I have broken the buggy."

"What a nice girl!" thought David. "She isn't a bit fussy. I wonder how she will take the old lady?"

While the physician assured Madge that his vehicle was not injured in the least, and that he would not have minded its being smashed into bits so long as she was unhurt, a woman walked across the yard and glared angrily at Madge.

"Young woman," she said in a thin, high voice, "look—look at what you and that wretched horse have done."

Madge blinked some of the dirt from her eyes, then tried to twist her hair back into some kind of order. "I am sorry," she answered in bewilderment. "But what have we done?"

David swallowed a malicious grin of satisfaction.

The woman fairly gasped at Madge's question. "You've torn up my lawn, trampled down my prize rose-bush, and—and—please take the young woman away, doctor. My nerves won't endure anything more after the night I have spent. I am sure I would never dare trust my life to any one who goes about turning over buggies and ruining people's gardens."

Trust her life? Of what was the woman talking? Madge thought she could not have heard aright.

"Never mind your lawn, Miss Betsey," answered Dr. Alden severely. "Be grateful that the child isn't hurt. Thank you, David." The doctor began fumbling in his pocket for his money.

Madge saw her rescuer's face turn scarlet. He was a manly looking fellow of perhaps eighteen.

With a muttered, "I'm not a beggar," he turned and walked away from them.

After exchanging a little further conversation with Miss Betsey, the doctor and Madge drove away. Outside the yard Madge began to laugh. She could still see the old maid wringing her hands and gazing in anguish at her cherished garden.

"Scat!" grumbled Madge.

The doctor smiled. "Miss Betsey is a bit of an old cat, child. But I don't wish you to be prejudiced against her, poor old soul."

"Oh, I wasn't thinking of her being like a cat, Doctor Man," apologized Madge. "I am very fond of cats. I was thinking of Miss Betsey in 'David Copperfield.' Don't you remember how she used to rush out and cry 'Scat!' all the time at the donkeys that she feared were going to ruin her lawn? Old Prince and I were the 'donkeys' this afternoon. Who is that boy named David? He is very good looking, isn't he?"

"David? Oh, he is a poor boy who works around Miss Taylor's place—a distant cousin of hers, I believe. His mother was a gentlewoman, but she married a man who turned out badly and her family disowned her. This youngster has a bad disposition and Miss Betsey says he is not faithful to his work. He steals off every now and then and hides for hours up in a loft. No one knows what he is doing up there."

"Well, I don't think I would like to work for Miss Betsey," returned Madge thoughtfully. "Somehow I feel sorry for this David." She remembered the boy's quick flush of resentment at the doctor's offer of money. She wished that she had been able to thank him herself for his share in her rescue.

"I am sorry you think you would not like to work for Miss Betsey," returned the doctor unexpectedly, "because I had a suggestion to make to you and Phil. But after to-day I am afraid it will be of no use. Miss Taylor is a rich old maid patient of mine. I have