Mrs. Curtis took out her watch and laid it in her lap.
She did not look at the watch; she kept her gaze on Madge's face.
The little captain did not speak. She knew her eyes were filled with tears. She was so young, and it was hard to decide her whole future life in the space of three minutes. She realized that if Mrs. Curtis adopted her, she would have to give up her gay, independent existence among her old friends, the joy of doing for herself and of learning to overcome obstacles. Then, on the other hand, Mrs. Curtis loved her and she would give her everything in the world that a young girl could desire.
"Mrs. Curtis," declared Madge, when the three minutes had gone by, "I can't—I can't decide what you ask me now. Please don't think I do not love you. It is too wonderful for you and Tom to wish me to come to live with you. But may I have a few days to think things over before I give you my answer? The thought of leaving Aunt Sue and Uncle William and Nellie does—does——" Madge could not go on.
"Never mind, dear," soothed Mrs. Curtis. "It was not fair in me to take you unawares, and then expect you to make up your mind so soon. Suppose I give you three days, instead of three minutes, to think things over. Even then, Madge, we can't be sure that your uncle and aunt will be willing to let you be my girl instead of theirs."
CHAPTER XXI
MOLLIE'S BRAVE FIGHT
Mollie was sitting alone on the deck of the houseboat. She and Miss Jenny had just finished an early tea. The girls were still away at their dinner, and Miss Jenny Ann had gone up to the nearest farmhouse to get some eggs for breakfast. It was the first time Mollie had ever been left by herself on the houseboat. But Miss Jenny Ann did not think there was any possible danger. Neither Captain Mike nor Bill had made the slightest attempt to get possession of Mollie. Nor did Miss Jones intend to be out of call for more than fifteen minutes.
Mollie had begun to lose the vague dread that had haunted her all her life. The peaceful hours of the past ten days seemed more real to her than the dreary, ugly years of her childhood. She began faintly to realize what life could mean when one was not afraid.