Madge’s valedictory address was almost over. She had spoken of “Friendship,” what it meant to a girl at school and what it must mean to a woman when the larger and more important difficulties come into her life. “Schoolgirl friendships are of no small consequence,” declaimed Madge; “the friendships made in youth are the truest, after all!”

Phil listened to her chum’s voice, her eyes misty with tears. Only a half-hour before she and her beloved Madge had come very near to having the first real quarrel of their lives. Phil turned her gaze from Madge to glance idly at the arch of flowers above her friend’s head. Phil supposed that she must be dizzy from the heat of the room, or else that she could not see distinctly because of her tears; the arch seemed to be swaying lightly from side to side, as though it were blown by the wind. Yet the room was perfectly still. Phil looked again. She must be wrong. The arch was built of a framework of wood. It was heavy and she did not believe it would easily topple down.

Madge was happily unconscious of the wobbling arch. A few more lines and her speech would be ended! There was unbroken silence in the roomy chapel of the girls’ school, where the commencement exercises were being held. Suddenly some one in the back part of the room jumped to his feet. A hoarse voice shouted, “Madge!”

Madge started in amazement. Her manuscript dropped to the ground. Every face but hers blanched with terror. The swaying arch was now visible to other people besides Phil. Tom leaped to his feet, but he was tightly wedged in between rows of women. Phil Alden made a forward spring just as the arch tumbled. She was not in time to save Madge, but some one else had saved her; for, before Phil could reach the front of the stage, Madge’s name had been called again. Although the voice was an unknown one, Madge instinctively obeyed it. She made a little movement, leaning out to see who had summoned her, and the arch crashed down just at her back.

The quick cry from the audience frightened Madge, whose face was turned away from the wreck. She swung around without discovering her rescuer. Some one had fallen on the stage. Phyllis Alden had reached her friend’s side, not in time to save her, but to receive, herself, a heavy blow from the great bell that was suspended from the arch.

Madge dropped on the stage at Phil’s side, forgetting her speech and the presence of strangers.

Miss Tolliver and Miss Jenny Ann lifted Phyllis before Dr. Alden had had time to reach the stage. There was a dark bruise over Phil’s forehead. In a moment she opened her eyes and smiled. “I am not a bit hurt, Miss Matilda; do let the exercises go on,” she begged faintly. “Let Madge and me go up to the front of the stage and bow, Miss Matilda. Then I can show people that I am all right. We must not spoil our commencement in this way.”

Miss Matilda agreed to this, and Madge and Phyllis went forward to the center of the stage. A storm of applause greeted them. Madge and Phil were a little overcome at the ovation. Madge supposed that they were being applauded because of Phil’s heroism, and Phil presumed that the demonstration was meant for Madge’s valedictory, therefore neither girl knew just what to do.

It was then that Miss Matilda Tolliver came forward. She was usually a very severe and imposing looking person. Most of her pupils were dreadfully afraid of her. But the accident that had so nearly injured her two favorite graduates had completely upset her nerves. Instead of making a formal speech, as she had planned to do, she stepped between the two girls, taking a hand of each. “I had meant to introduce Miss Alden a little later on to our friends at the commencement exercises,” announced Miss Tolliver, “but I believe I would rather do it now. I wish to state that, although Miss Morton has delivered the valedictory, Miss Phyllis Alden’s average during the four years she has spent at my preparatory school has been equally high. It was her wish that Miss Morton should be chosen to deliver the valedictory. But Miss Alden’s friends have another honor which they wish to bestow upon her. She has been voted, without her knowledge, the most popular girl in my school. Her fellow students have asked me to present her with this pin as a mark of their affection.”

Miss Matilda leaned over, and before Phil could grasp what was happening had pinned in the soft folds of her organdie gown the class pin, which was usually an enameled shield with a crown of laurel above it; but the center of Phil’s shield was formed of small rubies and the crown of tiny diamonds.

Phyllis turned scarlet with embarrassment, but Madge’s eyes sparkled with delight. She was no longer ashamed of having been chosen as valedictorian. In spite of herself, Phyllis Alden was the star of their commencement.

It was not until the four girls were seated with their dear ones about a round luncheon table in the largest hotel in Harborpoint that Madge suddenly recalled the stranger whose warning cry had probably saved her from a serious hurt.

Mrs. Curtis and Tom were entertaining in honor of Madge and Phyllis. There were no other guests except the two houseboat girls, Eleanor and Lillian, Dr. and Mrs. Alden, and Mr. and Mrs. Butler.

Madge sat next to Tom Curtis, and during the progress of the luncheon managed to say softly: “Did you see who it was that called my name so strangely this morning, Tom? I was so frightened at having to deliver my valedictory that when I heard that sudden shout, ‘Madge!’ I was too much confused to recognize the voice.”

Tom shook his head. “I don’t know who it was. I heard the voice but couldn’t discover its owner. It must have been some one at the very back of the room, for no one in the audience seems to know who called out to you.”

“I suppose I’ll never know,” sighed Madge. “It is a real commencement day mystery, isn’t it?”

Tom nodded smilingly. “By the way, Madge, where are the houseboat girls going to spend the summer after you come to Madeleine’s wedding?” he asked. “You must be tired after your winter’s work.”

Madge shook her head soberly. “We are not going to be on the houseboat this year,” she whispered. “Going to New York to be bridesmaids is about as much as four girls can arrange. We haven’t even dared to think of the houseboat.”

“I have,” interposed Phyllis, who had heard the remark and the reply, “but we don’t wish our families to know. You see, Madge and I are hoping and planning to go to college next winter, so, of course, we can’t afford another summer holiday,” she ended under her breath.

“What’s that, Phil?” inquired Dr. Alden from the other end of the table.

Phil blushed. “Nothing important, Father,” she answered.

“Oh, then I must have been mistaken,” replied Dr. Alden, “for I thought I caught the magic word, ‘houseboat.’ No one of you girls has ever spoken of the ‘Merry Maid’ as unimportant.”

A cloud instantaneously overspread five faces about the luncheon table. Neither Mrs. Curtis nor Dr. Alden realized that in mentioning the houseboat they had forced the houseboat passengers to break a vow of silence. Only the day before the five of them had met in Miss Jenny Ann Jones’s room. There they had solemnly pledged themselves that, since it was impossible for them to have this year’s vacation aboard the “Merry Maid,” they would bear the sorrow in silence. This time there was no “Miss Betsey” to pay the expenses of the trip. The girls and Miss Jenny Ann hadn’t a dollar to spare. The cost of going to Madeleine Curtis’s New York wedding was appalling to all of the girls except Lillian, whose parents were in affluent circumstances. But, of course, Madeleine was almost a houseboat girl herself. Readers of the first houseboat story will recall how Madeleine’s fiancÉ, Judge Hilliard, rescued Madge and Phyllis from a serious situation and saved Madeleine from a far worse plight than that in which he found the two girls.

“Mrs. Curtis,” remarked Dr. Alden in the midst of the mournful silence, “Mr. and Mrs. Butler, my wife and I have just been talking things over. We have decided that it would be a good thing for our girls to spend several weeks on board their houseboat. But, of course, if they have decided differently——”

It was a good thing that Mrs. Curtis was not giving a formal luncheon. A united shriek of delight suddenly arose from four throats. Madge sprang from the table to hug her uncle, Eleanor blew kisses to her mother from across the room, Lillian clapped both hands, and Miss Jenny Ann smiled rapturously.

Phil’s face was the only serious one. “Are you sure we can afford it, Father?” she queried.

Dr. Alden nodded convincingly. “For a few weeks, certainly,” he returned.

“Then we don’t need to worry about afterward,” rejoined Madge. “And don’t you think, girls, it will be perfectly great, so long as we are going to Madeleine’s wedding in New York, for us to spend this holiday at the seashore?”

“Where, Madge?” asked Lillian.

“I’ll tell you,” answered Mrs. Curtis, “only, not to-day. It is a secret. Here is our pineapple lemonade. Let’s hope for the happiest of holidays for the little captain and her crew aboard the good ship ‘Merry Maid’.”