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 glasses of fruit lemonade and a plate of assorted 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 embarrassed 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 butterflies on the grass 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 brimming 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 nobody 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