The little captain laughed with the tears in her eyes. "It's that good-for-nothing monkey!" she exclaimed as she disentangled the creature's tiny hands. Then she kissed her father and afterwards Captain Jules. "Now I know why this monkey is called Madge, and I am sorry to have such a jealous, bad-tempered namesake." The captain scolded the monkey gently. "Don't you fret about this particular namesake. If you only knew all the others you have had! Every single pet that two lonely old men could get to stay around the house with them we have named for you." Captain Morton did not go back to the houseboat with his daughter. Madge thought she would rather tell her friends of her great happiness alone. She wouldn't even let Captain Jules escort her. "You'll both have plenty of my society after a while," she argued, "for I am going to come to keep house for you at 'The Anchorage' some day." Madge rowed slowly back to the "Merry Maid." She was thinking over what she would say to Miss Jennie Ann and the girls. How should she announce to them that her quest was ended, her victory over Fate won? As she neared the houseboat she saw that her companions were gathered on deck, evidently watching for her. Madge rested on her oars and waved one hand to them. Four hands waved promptly back to her. A moment more and she had come alongside the "Merry Maid." As she clambered on deck she cast a swift upward glance at her friends, who, with one accord, were looking down on her, their faces full of loving concern. With a little cry of rapture Madge threw herself into Miss Jenny Ann's arms. "O, my dear!" she cried, "I've found him! I've found my father!" And it was with her faithful mates' arms around her that Madge told the strange story of how her quest had ended in the little sitting room of "The Anchorage." CHAPTER XXIV THE LITTLE CAPTAIN STARTS ON A JOURNEY Six weeks had passed since Madge Morton's discovery of her father, and many things had happened since then. It was now toward the latter part of September, and on a beautiful fall morning one of the busy steamship docks in the lower end of New York City was crowded with a gay company of people. There were four young girls and three young men, a beautiful older woman, with soft, white hair and a look of wonderful distinction; a woman of about twenty-six or seven, with a man by her side, who in some way suggested the calling of the artist; a white-haired old man and an elderly lady, who, in spite of the fact that she answered to the name of Mrs. John Randolph, would have been mistaken anywhere for a New England spinster. Two men were the only other important members of the group. One of them was a distinguished-looking man of about fifty-three with a rather sad expression, and the last a bluff old sea captain, whose laugh rang out clear and hearty above the sound of the many voices.