Chapter 7

After the roll-call and reports of the last meeting there was no more ceremony. Miss Laura had set the three candles back on the mantelpiece, where they burned steadily, sending out a faint spicy odor that mingled with the pleasant fragrance of the firs. The fire snapped and sang and blazed merrily, and Laura dropped down on the floor in front of it, gathering the girls closer about her.

"To-night," she began, "I want to hear about your good times--the 'fun' that every girl wants and needs. Tell me, what do you enjoy most?"

"Moving pictures," shouted Eva Bicknell, a little bundle-wrapper of fifteen.

"Dances," cried another girl.

"O yes, dances," echoed pretty Annie Pearson, her eyes shining.

"I like the roller skating at the Arcade," another declared.

"The gym and swimming pool and tennis." That was Mary Hastings.

"Hear her, will ye?" Eva Bicknell muttered. "Great chance _we_ have for tennis and gym.!"

"You could have them at the Y.W.C.A. That's where I go for them when you go to your dances and picture shows," retorted Mary.

"But the picture shows is great fun, 'specially when the boys take ye in," the other flung back.

There was a laugh at that, and the little bundle-wrapper added, "an' finish up with a promenade on the avenue in the 'lectric lights."

Laura's heart sank at these frank expressions of opinion. What had she to offer that would offset picture shows, dances and "the boys" for such girls as these? But now one of the High School girls was speaking. "We have most of our good times at the school. There is always something going on--lunches or concerts or socials or dances--and once a year we get up a play. Some girl in the class generally writes the play. It's great fun."

Laura brightened at that. Here were three at least who cared for something besides picture shows. For half an hour longer she let the talk run on, and that half-hour gave her sidelights on many of the girls. Except Olga--she had not opened her lips during the discussion.

When there came a little pause, Laura spoke in a carefully careless way. "I told you, girls, that this is our Camp Fire room and I want you to feel that it belongs to you--every one of you owns a share in it. We shall have the Council meetings here every Saturday, but this room is not to be shut up all the other evenings. We may have no moving pictures, but you can come here and dance if you wish, or play games, or sing--I'm going to have a piano here soon--or if you like you can bring your sewing--your Christmas presents to make. What I want you to understand is that this room is yours, to be used for your pleasure. You haven't seen all yet."

Rising, she touched a button, and as the room was flooded with light, threw open a door. The girls, crowding after her, broke into cries of delight and admiration; for here was a white-tiled kitchen complete in all its appointments, even to a small white-enamelled gas range and a tiny refrigerator. On brass hooks hung blue and white saucepans and kettles and spoons, and a triangular corner closet with leaded doors revealed blue and white china and glass.

"All for the Camp Fire Girls," Laura said, "and it means fudge, and popcorn, and toasted marshmallows and bacon-bats and anything else you like. You can come here yourselves every Wednesday evening, and if you wish, you can bring a friend with you to share your good times."

"Boy or girl friend?" Lena Barton's shrewd eyes twinkled as she asked the question, with a saucy tilt to her little freckled nose.

"Either," returned Laura instantly, though until that moment she had thought only of girls.

"Gee, but you're some Guardian, Miss Laura!" Lena replied.

As the girls reluctantly tore themselves away from the fascinating kitchen, two maids entered with trays of sandwiches and nutcakes, olives and candy.

"It is the first time I have had the pleasure of having you all here in my own home," Miss Laura said, "so we must break bread together."

"Gee! This beats the picture shows," Lena Barton declared. "Three cheers for our Guardian--give 'em with claps!" and both cheers and clapping were given in generous measure.

When finally there was a movement to depart, Laura gathered the girls once more about her before the fire. "I hope," she began, "you have all enjoyed this evening as much as I have----"

"We have! We _have_!" half a dozen voices broke in, and Lena Barton shrilled enthusiastically, "_More_!"

Laura smiled at them; then she glanced up at the words above the mantelpiece. "The _joy of service_," she said. "That, to me, is the heart--the very essence--of the Camp Fire idea. And while I am planning good times and many of them for ourselves in these coming months, I wish that together we might do some of this loving service for some one beside ourselves. Think it over--think hard--and at our next Council meeting, if you are willing, we will consider what we can do, and for whom."

"You mean mish'nary work?" questioned Eva Bicknell doubtfully.

"No--at least not what you probably mean by missionary work," Laura answered.

"Christmas trees for alley folks, and that sort of thing?" ventured another.

"I mean, something for somebody else," Laura explained. "It may be an old man or woman, a child or--or anything," she ended hastily, intercepting an exchange of glances between Lena and Eva. "I just want you to think over it and have an idea to suggest at our next meeting."

"Huh! Thought the'd be nickels wanted fer somethin'," Eva Bicknell grumbled as she linked her bony little arm through Lena's when they were outside in the starlight.

"Come now--you shut up!" retorted Lena. "Miss Laura's given us a dandy time to-night, an' I ain't goin' back on her the minute I'm out of her house. An' I didn't think it of you, Eva Bicknell."

"Who's goin' back on her?" Eva's hot temper took fire at once. "Shut up yourself, Lena Barton!" she flared. "I ain't goin' back on Miss Laura any more than you are. Mebbe you're so flush that you can drop pennies an' nickels 'round promiscuous, but me--well, I ain't--that's all," and she marched on in sulky silence.

On the next Wednesday evening, some of the girls came to the Camp Fire room, and played games, which some enjoyed and others yawned over, and made fudge which all seemed to enjoy. On the next Wednesday they sang for a while, Laura accompanying them on the piano, and Rose Anderson played for them on her violin. After that they sat on the floor before the fire and talked; but Laura was a little doubtful about these evenings. She feared that these quiet pleasures would not hold some of the girls against the alluring delights of dances and moving pictures and boys.

Meantime she did not forget Elizabeth, and on the first opportunity she went to see Mrs. Page. Sadie opened the door, and was present at the interview. She was evidently very conscious of the fact that her braids were now wound about her head and adorned with a stiff white bow that stuck out several inches on either side.

Mrs. Page received her visitor coldly, understanding that she came to intercede for Elizabeth. She said that Elizabeth's father did not want his daughter to go out evenings; that she had a good home and must be contented to stay in it "as my own children do," she ended with a glance at Sadie, who sat on the edge of a chair with much the aspect of a terrier watching a rat-hole. When Miss Laura asked if she might see Elizabeth, Sadie tossed her head and coughed behind her handkerchief, as her mother answered that Elizabeth was busy and could not leave her work.

"But wouldn't she do her work all the better if she had a little change now and then, and the companionship of other girls?" Laura urged gently.

"She has the companionship of her sister--she must be satisfied with that," was the uncompromising reply.

With a sigh, Laura rose to leave, but as she glanced at Sadie's triumphant face, she had an inspiration. The child was certainly unattractive, but perhaps all the more for that reason she ought to have a chance--a chance which might possibly mean a chance for Elizabeth too. She smiled at the girl and Laura's smile was winning enough to disarm a worse child than Sadie.

"If you do not think it best for Elizabeth to attend our Council meetings regularly, perhaps you would be willing to let her come this next Saturday and bring her sister. After the business is over, we are going to have a fudge party. I have a little upstairs kitchen just for the girls to use whenever they like. I think your daughter might enjoy it--if she cared to come--with Elizabeth."

Marvellous was the effect of those few words on Sadie. Seeing a refusal on her mother's lips, she burst out eagerly, "O mother, I want to go--I _want_ to go! You _must_ let me."

Taken entirely by surprise, Mrs. Page hesitated--and was lost. What Sadie wanted, her mother wanted for her, and she saw that Sadie's heart was set on accepting this invitation. "I suppose they might go, just for this once," she yielded reluctantly.

Laura allowed no time for reconsideration. "I shall expect both of them then, on Saturday," she said and turned to go. She longed to look back towards the kitchen where she felt sure that Elizabeth must have been wistfully listening, but Mrs. Page and Sadie following her to the door, gave her no chance for even a backward glance.

"Good-bye," Sadie called after her as she went down the steps, and the child's small foxy face was alight with anticipation.

Slamming the door after the caller, Sadie flew to the kitchen.

"There now, Elizabeth," she cried, "I'm going to her house next Saturday and you're going--you can just thank me for that too. Mother wouldn't have let you go if it hadn't been for me."

Elizabeth's face brightened, but there was a little shadow on it too. Of course it was better to go with Sadie than not to go at all--O, much better--but still----

When Saturday came Sadie was in a whirl of excitement. She even offered--an unheard-of concession--to wipe the supper dishes so that Elizabeth might get through her work the sooner, and she plastered a huge white bow across the back of her head, and pulled down the skirt of her dress to make it as long as possible. Sadie would gladly have thrown away three years of her life so that she might be sixteen, and really grown up that very night.

Olga was waiting at the corner for them, Miss Laura having told her that Elizabeth was to go. Her scathing glance would have had a subduing effect on most girls, but not on Sadie! Sadie did most of the talking as the three walked on together, but the other two did not care. It was enough for Elizabeth to be with Olga again, and as for Olga, she was half frightened and half glad to find a little glow of happiness deep down in her heart. She was afraid to let herself be even a little happy.

When the three entered the Camp Fire room Laura met them with an exclamation of pleasure. "We've missed you so at the Councils, Elizabeth," she said, "but it's good to have you here to-night, isn't it, Olga? And Miss Sadie is very welcome too."

Sadie smiled and executed her best bow, then drew herself up to look as tall as "Miss" Sadie should be; but the rest of the evening her eyes and ears were so busy that for once her tongue was silent. She vowed to herself that she would give her mother no peace until she--Sadie--was a really truly Camp Fire Girl like these.

When in the last hour they were all gathered on the floor before the fire, Mary Hastings asked, "Miss Laura, have you decided yet what our special work is to be--the 'service for somebody else'?" she added with a glance at the words over the mantelpiece.

"That is for you girls to decide," Laura returned. "Have you any suggestion, Mary?"

"I've been wondering if we couldn't help support some little child--maybe a sick child in a hospital, or an orphan."

"Gracious! That would take a pile of money," objected Louise Johnson, "and I'm always dead broke a week after payday."

"There are fifteen of us--it wouldn't be so much, divided up," Mary returned.

"Sixteen, Mary--you aren't going to leave me out, are you?" Miss Laura said.

"I think it would be lovely," cried Bessie Carroll, "if we could find a dear little girl baby and adopt her--make her a Camp Fire baby."

"Huh!" sniffed Lena Barton. "If you had half a dozen kids at home I reckon you wouldn't be wanting to adopt any more."

"Right you are!" added Eva Bicknell, who was the oldest of eight.

"We might 'adopt' an old lady in some Home, and visit her and do things for her," suggested Frances Chapin. "There are some lonely ones in the Old Ladies' Home where I go sometimes."

But the idea of a pretty baby appealed more to the majority of the girls.

"O, I'd rather take a baby. We could make cute little dresses for her," Rose Anderson put in, "all lacey, you know."

"Say--where's the money comin' from for the lacey dresses and things you're talkin' about?" demanded Lena Barton abruptly.

There was an instant of silence. Then Mary threw back a counter question. "How much did you spend for moving pictures and candy last week, Lena Barton?"

"I d'know--mebbe a quarter, mebbe two. What of it?" Lena retorted, her red head lifted defiantly.

"Well now--couldn't you give up two picture shows a week, for the Camp Fire baby?" Mary demanded. "If sixteen of us give ten cents a week we shall have a dollar sixty. That would be more than six dollars a month."

"Gracious! Money talks!" put in Louise. "Think of this crowd dropping over six dollars a month for picture shows and such. No wonder they're two in a block on the avenue."

"You see," Laura said, "we could easily provide for some little child, at least in part. Girls, I'd like to tell you about one I saw at the Children's Hospital yesterday. Would you care to hear about him?"

"Yes, yes, do tell us," the girls begged.

"He is no blue-eyed baby, but a very plain ordinary-looking little chap, nine years old, whose mother died a few weeks ago, leaving him entirely alone in the world. Think of it, girls, a nine-year-old boy without any one to care for him! He's lame too--but he is the bravest little soul! The nurse told me that they thought it was because he was so homesick--or rather I suppose mother-sick--that he is not getting on as well as he should."

"O, the poor little fellow!" Frances Chapin said softly, thinking of her nine-year-old brother.

"Tell us more about him, Miss Laura," Rose Anderson begged. "Did you talk with him?"

"Yes, I stayed with him for half an hour, and I promised to see him again to-morrow. He wanted a book--about soldiers. I wonder if any of you would care to go with me. You might possibly find your blue-eyed baby there; and anyhow, the children there love to have visitors--especially young ones."

Two of the High School girls spoke together. "I'd like to go."

"And I too," added Alice Reynolds, the third.

"I guess I'd like to, maybe--if there isn't anything catching there." It was pretty little Annie Pearson who said that.

"I'd love to go, but I can't," Elizabeth whispered to Olga, who frowned at her and demanded,

"What do you want to go for?"

"I'd so love to do something for that little fellow," Elizabeth answered. "I've been lonesome too--always--till now."

"Humph!" grunted Olga, the hardness melting out of her black eyes as she looked into Elizabeth's wistful blue ones.

It was finally agreed that the three High School girls, Frances Chapin, Elsie Harding, and Alice Reynolds, with Mary Hastings, Annie Pearson, and Rose, should go with Miss Laura to the hospital.

"I c'n see kids enough at home any time," Lena Barton declared airily. "I'd rather walk down the avenue on Sunday than go to any hospital."

"I guess I'll be excused too," said Louise Johnson. "Hospital visiting isn't exactly in my line. I've a hunch that I'd be out of place amongst a lot of sick kiddies. But I'll agree to be satisfied with any blue-eyed baby girl you and Miss Laura pick out for our Camp Fire Kid. Say, girlies"--she looked around the group--"I move we make those seven our choosing committee--Miss Laura, chairman, of course."

"But, Johnny," one girl objected, "maybe they won't find any girl to fit our pattern over at the hospital."

"It is not at all likely that we shall," Laura hastened to add, "and if we did, it would probably be one with parents or relatives to care for it after it leaves the hospital."

"Blue-eyed angel babies, with dimples, don't come in every package. I s'pose you'd want one with dimples too?" Eva Bicknell scoffed.

"O, of course, dimples. Might as well have all the ear-marks of a beauty to begin with, anyhow," giggled Louise. "She'll probably develop into a homely little freckle-faced imp by the time she's six, anyhow."

"There's worse things in the world than freckles," snapped Lena Barton, whose perky little nose was well spattered with them.

"So there are, Lena--so there are," Louise teased. "Yours will probably fade out by the time you're forty."

A cuckoo clock called the hour, and the girls reluctantly agreed that it was time to go. But first Laura, her arms around as many as she could gather into them, with a few gentle tender words brought their thoughts back to the deep meaning of the thing they were planning to do--trying to make them realize their opportunity for service, and the far-reaching results that must follow if a little life should come under their care and influence.

For once Louise was silent and thoughtful as she went away, and even Lena Barton was more subdued than usual until, at last, with a shrug of her shoulders, she flung out the vague remark,

"After all, what's the use?" and thereupon rebounded to her usual gay slangy self.

But Elizabeth went home with Miss Laura's words echoing in her heart. "I don't suppose I can do much for our Camp Fire baby," she told herself, "but there's Molly. Maybe I can do more for her and--and for Sadie and the boys--perhaps."

IX

JIM

In the first ward of the Children's Hospital the next afternoon, No. 20 lay very still--strangely still for a nine-year-old boy--watching the door. He had watched it all day, although he knew that visitors' hours were from two to four, and none would be admitted earlier. No. 18 in the next cot asked him a question once, but No. 20 only shook his head wearily. Some of the children had books and games, but they soon tired of them, and lay idly staring about the long, sunny room, or looking out at the sky and the trees, or watching the door. Sometimes mothers or fathers came through that door, and if you hadn't any of your own, at any rate you could look at those that came to see other fellows, and sometimes these mothers had a word or a smile for others as well as their own boys. No. 20, however, didn't want any other fellow's mother to smile down at him--no indeed, that was the last thing in the world he wanted--yet. He wished sometimes, just for a moment, that there weren't any mothers to come, since the _one_ could never come to him again. But they did come and smile at him, and pat his head--these mothers of the other boys--came drawn by the hungry longing in his eyes--and he set his teeth and clinched his hands under the bedclothes, and when they went away gulped down the great lump that always jumped into his throat, all in a minute--but he never cried. One day when a kind-hearted nurse asked him about his mother, he bore her questioning as long as he could, and then he struck at her fiercely and slipped right down under the bedclothes where nobody could see him; but he didn't cry, though he shook and shook for a long time after she went away.

But--Miss Laura--she was different. She didn't kiss him, nor pat him, nor ask fool questions. She just talked to him--well, the right way. And she'd promised to come again to-day. Maybe she'd forget though; people did forget things they'd promised--only somehow, she didn't look like the forgetting kind. And she was awful pretty--most the prettiest lady he had ever seen. But hospital hours were so dreadfully long! Seemed like a hundred hours since breakfast. Ah! He lifted his head and looked eagerly towards the door--somebody was coming in. O, only some other fellow's mother. He dropped down again, choking back an impatient groan that had almost slipped out. When the next mother came in he turned his back on the door, but soon he was watching it again. A half-hour dragged wearily by; then a crowd of girls fluttered through the doorway. No. 20 gazed at them listlessly until one behind slipped past the others; then his eyes widened and his lips twitched as if they had almost a mind to smile, for here was the pretty lady coming straight to him.

"Jim" she said, shaking hands with him just as if he had been a man, "I've brought some of my girls to see you to-day. I hope you are glad to see us all, but you needn't say you are if you are not."

Jim didn't say--and Rose Anderson laughed softly. Jim flashed a glance at her, but he saw at once that it wasn't a mean laugh--just a girly giggle, and he manfully ignored it.

"I have to speak to Charley Smith over there," Miss Laura went on, "but I'll be back in a few minutes."

As she crossed to the other cot, Frances Chapin slipped into the chair by Jim's--there was only one chair between each two cots. "I think you are about nine, aren't you, Jim?" she asked.

"Goin' on ten," Jim corrected stoutly.

"I've a brother going on ten," she said.

Jim looked at her with quick interest. "Tell about him," he ordered. "What's his name?"

"David Chapin. He's in the sixth grade----"

"So'm I--I mean I was 'fore I came here," Jim interrupted. "What else?"

"--and he's--he's going to be a Boy Scout as soon as he's twelve."

Jim's plain little face brightened into keen interest. "That's bully!" he cried. "I'm going to be a Scout soon's I'm big enough--if I can." The wistful longing in the last words brought a mist into Frances's eyes, but Jim did not see it. He was looking at the other girls. "Any of the rest of you got brothers?" he demanded.

"I have one, but he's a big fellow, twice as old as you are," Alice Reynolds said.

"And I've six," Mary Hastings told him. "Two of them are Scouts."

"Fine!" exulted Jim. "Say--tell me what they do, all about it," he pleaded, and sitting down on the edge of his cot, Mary told him everything she could think of about the scouting.

When Miss Laura came back Jim's face was radiant. "She's been telling me about her brothers--they're Boy Scouts," he cried eagerly, pointing a stubby finger at Mary. "I wish," he looked pleadingly into Mary's eyes, "I do wish they'd come and see me; but I guess boys don't come to hospitals 'thout they have to," he ended with a sigh.

"I'll get them to come if I can," Mary promised, "but----"

"I know," Jim nodded, "I guess they won't have time. There's so many things for boys to do outdoors!"

"Jim," said Miss Laura, "there are so many things for you to do outdoors too. You must get well as fast as you can to be at them."

Jim's lips took on a most unchildlike set, and his eyes searched her face with a look she could not understand. "I--I d'know----" he said vaguely.