"Lovingly,
"Madge."
"There," declared Madge as she skipped up the steps after handing her letter to the postman, "that will stifle all Virginia objections. Now, I am going to enjoy myself while I am with dear Phil."
In the days that followed Madge's declaration she helped Phil keep house with a will. Dr. Alden used to call her "The Second Daughter," and Madge derived untold pleasure from the drives she took with him over the country roads to see his patients.
One afternoon, however, as they jogged along toward the home of a patient who lived several miles from town, Madge was unusually silent. Though the air was sweet with the perfume of honeysuckle, and their road ran through a particularly beautiful bit of country, she was dreamy and abstracted.
From time to time Dr. Alden gazed at her humorously. His fellow-passenger was in a deep reverie and had forgotten his presence.
"Thinking of your houseboat, eh, Madge?" he inquired.
"Yes, Doctor Man," answered Madge quickly, "of the houseboat and Phil." She sat very straight in the buggy, and, drawing her level brows into a frown, said slowly: "I was saying over to myself that when five nice, capable young women wish a very special thing very much they ought to be able to obtain it. You see, we wish to spend the beginning of the summer on the houseboat. It would be splendid for Phil. But we haven't the money, so I am trying to find out how to get it."
The physician's eyes twinkled. "That is not a new occupation, Madge. Most of us spend our time in trying to get hold of that same mighty dollar. But we have to work for it as well as to think about it. I wonder if you girls wish the holiday on your boat badly enough to work for it? If only I could give you the 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."