CHAPTER I.—TO THE SUNNY SOUTH.

The Atlantic Ocean and the breadth of Europe including half of Russia lay between Mr. Duncan Campbell and his daughter, Wilhelmina. But that did not prevent Mr. Campbell from thinking of numerous delightful surprises for Billie and her three friends in West Haven.

Sometimes it was a mere scrawl of a note hastily written at some small way station, saying: “Here’s a check for my Billie-girl. Treat your friends to ice-cream sodas and take ’em to the theater. Don’t forget your old Dad.”

Sometimes the surprise took the form of queer 6 foreign-looking packages addressed to “the Misses Campbell, Butler, Brown and Price,” containing strange articles made by the peasants in the far-away land. He sent them each a Cossack costume with high red boots and red sashes. But some three weeks before the Easter holidays came the best surprise of all.

“I believe the Comet needs a change of air,” wrote Mr. Campbell. “A fine automobile must have as careful handling as a thoroughbred horse, or, for that matter, a thoroughbred young lady. What does my Billie-girl say to an Easter trip to Florida with Cousin Helen as guardian angel and Nan and Nell and Moll for company and the Comet for just his own sweet self?”

Mr. Campbell, who received long, intimate letters from his daughter once a week, felt that he knew the girls almost as well as she did, and he would call them by abbreviated, pet names in spite of Billie’s remonstrances.

“It so happens,” the letter continued, “that my old friend, Ignatius Donahue, who holds the 7 small, unimportant, poorly-paid position of vice-president of an insignificant railroad, not knowing that I was digging trenches in Russia, has offered me the use of his private car, including kitchen stove, chef and other necessities. I have answered that I accept the invitation, not for self, but for daughter and friends and Comet; which latter must have free transportation on first-class fast-going freight, or he is no friend of mine. You will be hearing from Ignatius now pretty soon. Your old dad will be answerable for all other expenses, including hotel and-so-forth and if the and-so-forth is bigger than the hotel bill, he’ll never even chirp. Life is short and time is fleeting and young girls must go South in the winter when they have a chance.”

So, that is how the Motor Maids happened to be the four busiest young women in West Haven—what with those abominable High School examinations which always came about this time, and the getting together of a Palm Beach wardrobe. 8

And that is also how, one cold wet day at the end of March, they found themselves lolling in big comfortable chairs in Mr. Donahue’s private car while the train whizzed southward.

It had been a bustle and a rush at the last moment and they were glad to leave West Haven, which was a dreary, misty little place at that time of the year.

Miss Campbell leaned back in her wicker chair and regarded her four charges proudly. How neat they looked in their pretty traveling suits and new spring hats!

“I am so glad they are young girls and not young ladies,” she was thinking, when her meditations were interrupted by Sam, the colored chef and porter combined, whose arms were laden with packages.

“Why, what are you bringing us, Sam?” asked the little lady with some curiosity.

“With Mr. Donahue’s compliments, ma’am, and he hopes the ladies won’t git hungry and bored on the journey,” replied Sam, depositing 9 the packages on a chair and drawing it up within Miss Campbell’s reach.

“Dear me, children,” she exclaimed excitedly, “look what this nice man has sent us. I feel like a girl again myself. A beautiful bunch of violets apiece——”

“And a big box of candy,” exclaimed Nancy Brown.

“And all the latest magazines,” added Billie Campbell, laughing.

“What a dear he is,” finished Elinor Butler, fastening on her violets with a long lavender pin; while Mary Price gave her own violets a passionate little squeeze.

“I hopes,” went on Sam, shifting from one foot to the other, “I hopes the ladies ain’t goin’ to eat so much candy they won’t have no appetite for they dinner. We g’wine have spring chicken to-night, an’ fresh green peas an’ new asparagrass, an’ strawbe’ies. I’d be mighty sorry if de ladies don’ leave no space for my dinner. 10 Marse Donahue he don’ kill de fatted ca’f fo’ dis here ’casion.”

“Sam, we’ll close the candy box this minute,” said Miss Campbell. “And you needn’t bring us any tea this afternoon. You need feel no uneasiness about your spring chickens and your new peas. I shall write to Mr. Donahue myself as soon as I get to Palm Beach and thank him for his kindness.”

“He’s a very nice gemman, he is that,” observed Sam.

“Is he a young man, Sam?” asked Nancy, with young girl curiosity.

“He ain’t to say young or old, Missy. He don’ took his stan’ on the dividin’ line an’ thar he stan’.”

“How long has he been standing there, Sam?” put in Elinor.

“I knowed the gemman twenty years an’ he ain’t never stepped off yit.”

The private car rang with their cheerful laughter. 11

“He must be a wonderful man,” said Miss Campbell. “I wish he would teach me his secret.”

“His secret is, ma’am, he ain’t never got married and had no fambly troubles to age his countenance,” answered Sam.

“But,” cried Miss Campbell, “I’ve never been married either, and I’m white-haired and infirm.”

“You infirm, ma’am! You de youngest one in de lot,” answered the colored man, turning his frankly admiring gaze on the pretty little lady as he backed down the car, grinning, and disappeared in his own quarters.

“You see, Cousin,” said Billie, patting Miss Campbell’s cheek, “you must never try to make people believe again that you are old. You are a pretty young lady gone gray before her time.”

It was plain that Mr. Ignatius Donahue was very much pleased with the arrangements he had made with his old friend, Duncan Campbell. All along the journey he had fresh surprises for his 12 five guests. At one place came a big basket of fruit; at another station a colored woman climbed on the train and presented each of them with a splendid magnolia in full bloom, that filled the car with its fragrance.

“With Mr. Donahue’s compliments, ma’am; an’ he says he hopes the ladies is enjoyin’ they selves,” she added as she gave Miss Campbell the largest blossom in the bunch.

“Dear, dear,” cried Miss Campbell. “One would think Mr. Donahue were taking this journey with us. He is so attentive. Is he anywhere around here?”

“No, ma’am,” interrupted Sam, with a warning look at the colored woman. “Marse Donahue, he jes’ give orders and specs ’em to be kerried out like he says.”

“I feel as if Mr. Donahue were a sort of spirit always hovering near us,” said Billie, when the two colored people had disappeared, “a kind of guardian angel. I wish papa had told us something about him.” 13

“A very substantial spirit,” observed Miss Campbell, “showering upon us all these gifts of fruits and flowers and candy.”

“What does Mr. Donahue look like, Sam,” Nancy asked the colored man later. “Is he tall and thin?”

“No, ma’am; he ain’t what you might call tall. An’ he ain’t short neither.

“Medium, then?”

“Not jes’ exactly mejum, neither, ma’am.”

“Go way, Sam. You don’t know what he is. I don’t believe you ever saw Mr. Donahue.”

“Ain’t I don’ tol’ you I knowed Marse Donahue twenty years? But I couldn’t paint no picture of him, Missy.”

“What color is his hair, Sam?” asked Mary.

“It ain’t white an’ it ain’t black, neither, Missy.”

Miss Campbell herself joined in the laughter which Sam’s reply raised and they asked no more questions about Mr. Donahue’s appearance. But the magnolias were not the last token from their 14 mysterious host, who seemed to have arranged everything with the greatest care and forethought. When the train stopped at the Palm Beach station, there was the Comet waiting for them like a faithful steed. The red motor had been shipped nearly a week before, and the sight of his cheerful face was like meeting an old friend.

“Sam, you just give Mr. Donahue my compliments,” exclaimed Billie, patting the Comet affectionately, “and tell him that next to my father he’s the nicest man I ever knew, or rather didn’t know, because I haven’t met him yet.”

Sam bowed and scraped and grinned in the familiar manner of his race as he helped the ladies into the car. A young chauffeur was at the wheel, and Billie and Nancy crowded into the front seat beside him while the others sat in the back as usual. For a long time the train had been passing through a flat country, monotonous with palm trees and undergrowth, and now they seemed to have broken into fairyland. 15 The air was laden with the scent of flowers and the sound of music floated to them in the stillness.

“The concert in Cocoanut Grove,” explained the chauffeur to Nancy and Billie.

“Are we in heaven?” asked Mary Price, dreamily.

“It will be three weeks of heaven, I hope, my child,” answered Miss Campbell, patting the young girl’s hand.

Those of you who have read the first volume of this series will recall how Mary Price had been made the victim of a cruel conspiracy a few months before, during which only the faith of her friends and a strange combination of circumstances prevented her from being branded as a thief. The unhappiness and anxiety which she had endured during that trying time, followed by months of hard study, had sapped her strength, and Mary more than any of the Motor Maids needed this change to a southern climate.

“This is Lake Worth,” observed the chauffeur, 16 pointing to a beautiful placid body of water, the little waves of which lapped the shores so softly that the whir of the motor engine seemed out of place in that quiet spot.

For the first time, the girls noticed the chauffeur. He seemed very young to be running a machine; although Billie did not reflect that she herself was not much past the sixteenth goal; but then she ran her own machine, and he was a public chauffeur. He was a handsome boy with black hair and blue eyes and he spoke with a soft, beautiful accent.

Billie was about to ask him a question, when they drew up in front of the great hotel where their rooms had been engaged for days in advance.

A curious thing happened in connection with their chauffeur while the Motor Maids and Miss Campbell stood in a group at the hotel desk waiting for the busy clerk to give them his attention. The boy had gallantly helped them out of the car, carried in their suitcases and satchels 17 and placed them in a pile, and Miss Campbell had extended her hand with the usual tip, when a muscular-looking man with smooth face and burnsides, touched the chauffeur respectfully on the shoulder.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Edward,” he said in a low voice, “your grandmother is waiting to see you.”

“My grandmother waiting to see me?” repeated the chauffeur with amazement.

The English servant, for that was evidently what he was, gave him a long and searching look and stepped backward with a puzzled expression on his face.

“You’ve made a mistake, I reckon,” said the boy, smiling gently.

“Beg pardon, sir,” replied the man and moved quickly away.

Miss Campbell, who liked the looks of Edward, as he by a curious coincidence happened also to be named, and was taken with his quiet, respectful manners, engaged him on the spot to be their 18 chauffeur and guide, since they were unfamiliar with the roads.

“I can run a motor-boat, too, ma’am,” he said.

And that was another reason for taking him into their service; for they had planned to take many a sail on the placid waters of Lake Worth and to picnic along those verdant shores.

19CHAPTER II.—MAKING NEW ACQUAINTANCES.

“Mr. Ignatius Donahue’s compliments, and will the ladies take a ride in his motor-boat this afternoon? Mr. Donahue is sorry he cannot go too, but a business engagement prevents his being at Palm Beach.”

This was the message brought to Miss Campbell the morning after their arrival at Palm Beach. The bearer of the message was Edward, the young chauffeur, who stood at a respectful distance while she read the note.

“But if Mr. Donahue isn’t here, how did the note come?” asked Miss Campbell, much mystified.

“I can’t say, ma’am,” replied Edward, turning his face away so that they could not see the smile which twitched the corners of his mouth.

“Perhaps he telegraphed it,” observed Billie. 20

“But it’s written on note paper,” replied Miss Campbell, rather irritably. “Would you like to go, girls?”

“Oh, yes,” chorused the four voices.

“Very well, Edward, there seems no one to tell it to but you. We shall accept the invitation with pleasure. It would be absurd, I suppose, to telegraph this important communication to Mr. Donahue at Kamschatka or Boston or wherever he is, but he is very kind to offer us his boat and you may expect us on the pier this afternoon at four. Is that a good time for sailing?”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Edward, withdrawing down the corridor just as the door of an adjoining room opened and an angry voice cried:

“How dare you meddle with anything in this room? Leave it instantly.”

Some one replied in a low musical voice,

“I am very sorry. I was only looking at a picture. I noticed a likeness——”

“You are here to clean up and not to notice. 21 You are a servant and not a visitor. Another time and you will be reported. You may go.”

At this point a girl was thrust out into the hall so roughly that she fell on her knees. It was only a chambermaid, and perhaps she was accustomed to being spoken to harshly, although she did not appear to be, for she covered her face with her hands and crouched against the wall.

“How could any one be so brutal?” exclaimed Billie indignantly as she ran to the trembling little figure and helped her to her feet. “Won’t you come into our room until you calm down? It was cruel to have spoken to you so roughly.”

The door opened again and an old woman stood on the threshold, leaning on a cane. There was something rather regal in her appearance, in spite of her plain black dress and grotesque-looking old garden hat with its flapping brim which half concealed her face.

“Don’t interfere, young woman,” said the formidable-looking 22 personage. “Young American girls are far too impertinent.”

Billie, who all her life had been the champion of the oppressed, was not frightened by the glare from the old woman’s steely blue eyes. She made no reply, however. Her father had taught her never to engage in a battle of words if she could possibly avoid it, especially with an older person.

Putting her arm around the little chambermaid’s waist, she drew her into Miss Campbell’s room and closed the door. The other girls who had been silent witnesses of the scene gathered around them.

“What a dreadful old person,” Billie burst out at last, giving vent to her indignant feelings, when the girl staggered and almost fell on the floor.

“Oh, the poor dear is fainting,” cried Miss Campbell, hurrying to the dressing-table for her smelling salts, while the others quickly lifted the little maid to the bed. They opened her dress 23 at the throat and moistened her lips with water and performed the numberless little services a woman, with any kindly sympathy in her nature, will never withhold from another woman who needs her help.

“She is much too young and pretty to be a servant,” observed Miss Campbell, looking down with pity into the white, tired face of the chambermaid, who appeared hardly older than her own girls, although her fluffy blond hair was drawn up into a knot on top of her head. Presently the color came back to her face, and she opened her eyes which were large and very deep blue.

“Are you better now?” asked Billie, waving a palm-leaf fan gently over her head.

The girl sat up and looked about her in bewilderment.

“Where am I?” she asked. Then her eyes caught Billie’s kind gray ones and memory came back to her. “It was so good of you to take my part and so stupid of me to faint! I was frightened, 24 I suppose, and a little tired. I must be going, now,” she looked toward the door uneasily. “It would be dreadful to lose my place on the first day I began to work.”

“But you are not going back to work when you are ill, child?” exclaimed Miss Campbell.

“I’m afraid I must. It will be only a few hours more. I am off at twelve. My work isn’t hard. I only sort and distribute the fresh linen,” she added with a note of apology in her voice, which was soft and beautiful. The girls were struck also with her lady-like manner. They could see that she was not accustomed to being a maid because she never said, “Yes, Miss,” and “No, Miss,” like the usual chambermaid. But they were too polite to ask any questions, and presently she withdrew without their knowing much more about her than they had at first.

But they soon forgot the chambermaid and her troubles in the joys of Palm Beach. Probably nobody in the world can have a better time than four intimate young friends on a pleasure 25 trip, and many admiring glances were turned in the direction of the Motor Maids as they sat in a row on the hotel veranda after breakfast, while Miss Campbell composed a letter in the writing-room. They were entirely unconscious of the attention they attracted, however, so interested were they in watching the rippling waters of Lake Worth already dotted with white sails.

Groups of people, dressed in white, strolled about the hotel grounds or sat on garden seats under the palm trees. It was that delicious lazy time in the morning when one is on a holiday and there is only pleasure to anticipate.

“Billie,” whispered Nancy, “there is that brutal old woman who was so rude to the chambermaid this morning. I honestly believe she would have struck you with her stick if you had answered a word.”

“If she had,” replied Billie, laughing, “and I had cabled it to Papa, he would have taken a flying leap across the Atlantic Ocean and got 26 here before midnight. But I really don’t think she would have dared go that far.”

“Be careful, here she is upon us,” warned Elinor, and the four girls, without intending to be rude, turned their eyes toward the approaching figure.

The old woman still wore her flapping garden hat tied under the chin with brown silk strings. She leaned on her cane heavily as she walked, and noticed no one until she saw the four pairs of eyes regarding her with evident curiosity.

She paused in front of the group and brandished her stick in their faces.

“Well, what do you think you are looking at,” she cried, “a chimpanzee or an elephant or one of your own native wild people?”

“Oh, grandmamma,” cried a tall, slender girl walking at her side. “How can you talk in that way? You mortify me terribly.” And she led the old woman into the hall.

“What a fierce old party,” exclaimed a young man in white flannels, who was sitting so low 27 in a deep chair that he appeared all legs and arms. “‘Native wild people,’” he repeated, laughing gaily. “We look like native wild people in this civilized place, don’t we?”

“Now, Timothy,” said a girl sitting next to him, “she meant you, I am sure. You resemble a native wild person more than any one here, with your absurd bristling red hair.”

The young man laughed good-naturedly, and the girls could not resist joining in, for Timothy might have been taken for a human porcupine any day. And that was how the Motor Maids came to make friends with Timothy Peppercorn, whose ridiculous name and funny appearance never failed to set them laughing.