Madge's fighting blood returned to her. The troubles of the past had vanished. What, after all, was the idle insult of a cruel girl? She must now do what she could to save her friends and herself. Madge felt she had not been as courageous as the others during the day's trial. She had thought too much of her own grievances.
"Miss Jenny Ann," she announced determinedly, "I can't bear this slowness and uncertainty any longer. It looks as though the 'Merry Maid' were going near enough to the shore for us to be able to attract some one's attention in a little while; but if night comes before we reach the shore, it will be much more difficult. The beach does not look as though there were many people about."
"What would you have us do?" asked the chaperon.
"There is our very long clothes line on board," suggested Madge. The girls gazed at her in astonishment. What had their clothes line to do with the situation? "I want you to knot it around my waist," she continued, "and let me swim in to the shore."
Miss Jones shook her head. The other girls protested. "You are tired, Madge, and the water is too cold. It wouldn't be safe."
"But, Miss Jenny Ann—girls," pleaded Madge, "has it ever struck you that we do not know the time of the tide? At any moment it may turn and we shall be carried out on the ocean beyond to spend another dreadful night."
At first the little party were silent. Madge was right, yet they could not bear to think of her risking her life for them.
Her persuasions finally won the day. The houseboat was now only a little more than a quarter of a mile from the beach. But they had not been observed. There were no boats in sight.
Phil insisted on swimming in with Madge. She was not quite as much at home in the water, but she was a strong, steady swimmer, and it seemed safer for the two girls to make the effort together.
The clothes line was knotted about Madge's waist. It was then tied to the cleat, from which a short end of rope dangled that had been cut the night before.