Chapter 9

"But we don't want her, a hateful little snake in the grass like that!" the girl flung out angrily. "If you knew the way she treats Elizabeth--like the dirt under her feet!"

"I know. Her face shows what she is," Laura admitted.

"Well--do you want a girl like that in your Camp Fire?"

"Yes," Laura's voice was very low and gentle, "yes, I want any kind of girl--that the Camp Fire can help."

"The other girls won't want her," Olga declared.

"They want Elizabeth, and you think they cannot have her without having Sadie."

Olga sat staring into the fire, her black brows meeting in a moody scowl.

"Olga, what is the Camp Fire for?" Laura asked presently.

"For? Why----" Olga paused, a new thought dawning in her dark eyes.

Laura answered as if she had spoken it. "Yes, the Camp Fire is to help any girl in any way possible. Not only to help weak girls to grow strong, and timid girls to grow brave, and helpless girls to become useful, and lonely girls to find friends and social opportunities--it is for all these things, but for more--much more besides. It is to show selfish, narrow-minded girls--like that poor little Sadie--the beauty of unselfishness and generosity and thoughtful kindness to others. Don't you see that we have no right to refuse to give Sadie her chance just because she doesn't know any better than to be disagreeable?"

Again Olga was silent, and the clock had ticked away full ten minutes before Laura spoke again. "You want Elizabeth to come to our meetings?"

"It's the only pleasure she has in the world--coming to them," Olga returned.

"I know, and I want her to come just as much as you do," Miss Laura said, "but I think you are the only one who can bring it about."

"How can I?"

"There is a way--I think--but it will be a very unpleasant one for you. It will call for a large patience, and perseverance, and determination."

Olga, searching Miss Laura's face, cried out, "You mean--_Sadie_!"

"Yes, I mean Sadie. Olga, do you care enough for Elizabeth to do this very hard thing for her? You did so much for her at the Camp! It was you who put hope and courage and will-power into her and helped her to find health. But she still needs you, and she needs what the Camp Fire can give her. She cannot have either, it seems, unless we take Sadie too, and Sadie needs what the Camp Fire can give quite as much--in a different way--as Elizabeth did or does. Olga, are you willing for Elizabeth's sake to do your utmost for Sadie--so that the other girls will take her in? They wouldn't do it as she is now, you know."

Olga pondered over that and Laura left her to her own thoughts. This thing meant much to the lives of three girls--this one of the three must not be hurried. But she studied the dark face, reading there some of the conflicting thoughts passing through the girl's mind. After a long time Olga threw back her head and spoke.

"I shall _hate_ it, but I'll do it."

Laura shook her head doubtfully. "Sadie is keen--sharp. If you hate her she will know it, and you'll make no headway with her."

"I know." Olga gave a rueful little laugh. "She's sharp as needles--that's the one good thing about her. I shall have to start with that and not pretend--anything. It wouldn't be any use. I shall tell her plainly that I'll help her get into our Camp Fire on condition that she treats Elizabeth as she ought and gets her out to our meetings. I'll make a square bargain with her. Maybe she won't agree, but I think she will, and if she agrees, I think she'll do her part."

Laura drew a long breath of relief. "I am so glad, Olga--glad for Elizabeth and for Sadie both," and in her heart she added, "and for you too, Olga--O, for you too!"

So the very next evening Olga stood again at the door which Sadie had slammed in her face, and as before it was Sadie who answered her ring.

"You can't see Elizabeth," she began with a flirt, but Olga said quietly,

"I came to see you this time."

"I don't believe it," Sadie flung back at her.

"I want to talk with you," Olga persisted. "Can you walk a little way with me?"

Sadie's small black eyes seemed to bore like gimlets into the eyes of the other girl, but curiosity got the better of suspicion after a minute and saying, "Well, wait till I get my things, then," she left Olga on the steps till she returned with her coat and hat on.

"Now, what is it?" she demanded as the two walked down the street.

"Do you want to be a Camp Fire Girl?" Olga began.

"What if I do?" Sadie returned suspiciously.

"You can be if you like."

"In your Camp Fire--the Busy Corner one?"

"Yes."

"How can I? You said I couldn't before."

"There wasn't any vacancy then, but one of our girls has gone to Baltimore, so there is a chance for some one in her place."

Sadie's breath came quickly, and the suspicion and sharpness had dropped out of her voice as she asked eagerly, "Will Miss Laura let me join--truly?"

"Yes----"

"Yes--what?" Sadie demanded, the sharpness again in evidence.

Olga faced her steadily. "Sadie, I'm going to put it to you straight, for if you join, you've got to understand exactly how it is."

"I know," Sadie broke out angrily, "you're just letting me in so's to get 'Lizabeth. You can't fool me, Olga Priest."

"I know it, and I'm not trying to," Olga answered quietly. "Now listen to me, Sadie. _I_ wouldn't have let you join only, as you say, to get Elizabeth. But Miss Laura wants you for yourself too."

"'D she say so?" Sadie demanded eagerly.

"Yes, she said so." Again Olga looked straight into the sharp little suspicious face of the younger girl. "Sadie, you're no fool. I wonder if you've grit enough to listen to some very plain facts--things that you won't like to hear. Because you've got to understand and do your part, or else you'll get no pleasure of our Camp Fire if you do join. Are you game, Sadie Page?"

The eyes of the two met in a long look and neither wavered. Finally Sadie said sulkily, "Yes, I'm game. Of course, it's something hateful, but--go ahead. I'm listening."

"No, it isn't hateful--at least, I don't mean it so," and actually Olga was astonished to find now that she no longer hated this girl. "I'm just trying to do the best I can for you. Of course, if you come in, Elizabeth, too, must come to all the meetings; but I'll help you, Sadie, just as I helped her, to win honours, and I'll teach you to do the craft work, and to meet the Fire Maker's tests later. I'll do everything I can for you, Sadie."

"Will you show me how to make the Camp Fire dress and the bead headbands and all that?" Sadie demanded breathlessly.

"Yes--all that."

"O, goody!" Sadie gave a little gleeful skip. "I know I can learn--I _know_ I can--better'n 'Lizabeth."

Then, seeing Olga's frown, Sadie added hastily, "But 'Lizabeth can learn to do some of them, I guess, too."

"Elizabeth can learn if she has half a chance," Olga said. "She works so hard at home that she is too tired to learn other things quickly."

Sadie shot an angry glance at the other girl's face, but she managed with an effort to hold back the sharp words she plainly longed to fling out. She was silent a moment, then she asked, "You said 'things that I wouldn't like.' What are they?"

"Sadie--did you know that you can be extremely disagreeable without half trying?" Olga asked very quietly.

"I d'know what you mean." Sadie's face darkened, and her voice was sulky and defiant.

"I wonder if you really don't," Olga said, looking at her thoughtfully. "But it's true, Sadie. You have hateful little ways of speaking and doing things. They're only habits--you can break yourself of them, and quick and bright as you are, you'll find that the girls--our Camp Fire Girls--will like you and take you right in as soon as you do drop those ugly nagging ways. You know, Sadie, you can't ever be really happy yourself until you try to make other people happy----"

Suddenly realising what she was saying, Olga stopped short. Sadie's eyes saw the change in her face, and Sadie's sharp voice demanded instantly, "What's the matter?"

Olga answered with a frankness that surprised herself, no less than the younger girl, "Sadie, it just came to me that you and I are in the same box. I've not been trying to make others happy any more than you have----"

"No," Sadie broke in, "I was going to tell you that soon as I got a chance."

Olga's lips twisted in a wry smile as she went on, "--so you see you and I both have something to do in ourselves. Maybe we can help each other? What do you say? Shall we watch and help each other? I'll remind you when you snap and snarl, and you----"

"I'll remind you when you sulk and glower," Sadie retorted in impish glee. "Maybe we _can_ work it that way."

"All right, it's a bargain then?" Olga held out her hand and Sadie's thin nervous fingers clasped it promptly. The child's cheeks were flushed and her small black eyes were shining.

"I can learn fast if I want to," she boasted. "I'm going to make me a silver bracelet like Miss Laura's and a pin; and I'll have lovely embroidery on my Camp Fire dress. I _love_ pretty things like those--don't you?"

Olga shook her head. "No, I don't care for them," she returned; but as she spoke there flashed into her mind some words Mrs. Royall had spoken at one of the Council meetings--"Seek beauty in everything--appreciate it, create it, for yourself and for others." Sadie was seeking beauty, even though for her it meant as yet merely personal adornment, and she--Olga--deep down in her heart had been cherishing a scorn for all such beauty. She put the thought aside for future consideration as she said, "Then, Sadie, you and Elizabeth will be at Miss Laura's next Saturday?"

"I rather guess we _will_!" Sadie answered emphatically.

"You don't have to ask your mother about it?"

Sadie gave a scornful little flirt. "Mother! She always does what I want. We'll be there." And then, with a burst of generosity, she added, "You can see Elizabeth, for a minute, if you want to--now."

But again Olga shook her head. "Tell her I'll stop for her and you Saturday," she said. "Good-bye, Sadie."

"Good-bye," Sadie echoed, turning towards her own door; but the next minute she was clutching eagerly at Olga's sleeve. "Say--tell Miss Laura to be sure and have my silver ring ready for me as soon's I join," she cried. "You won't forget, Olga?"

"I won't forget," Olga assured her.

XI

BOYS AND OLD LADIES

The change into a home atmosphere and the loving care with which he was surrounded, worked wonders in Jim, and when the judge decided that he should remain where he was, and not be sent to any other home, the boy grew stronger by the hour. Then Laura had her hands full to keep him happily occupied; for after a while, in spite of auto rides and visits to the Zoo--in spite of books and games and picture puzzles--sometimes she thought he seemed not quite happy, and she puzzled over the problem, wondering what she had left undone. When one day she found him watching some boys playing in a vacant lot, the wistful longing in his eyes was a revelation to her.

"Of course, it is boys he is longing for--boys and out-of-door fun. I ought to have known," she said to herself, and at once she called Elsie Harding on the telephone.

"Will you ask your brother Jack if he will come here Saturday morning and see Jim? Tell him it is a chance for his 'one kindness,' a kindness that will mean a great deal to my boy."

"I'll tell him," Elsie promised. "I know he'll be glad to go if he can."

Laura said nothing to Jim, but when Jack Harding appeared, she took him upstairs at once. Jim was standing at the window, watching two boys and a puppy in a neighbouring yard. He glanced listlessly over his shoulder as the door opened, but at sight of a boy in Scout uniform, he hurried across to him, crying out,

"My! But it's good to see a boy!" Then he glanced at Laura, the colour flaming in his face. Would she mind? But she was smiling at him, and looking almost as happy as he felt.

"This is Jack Harding, Elsie's brother," she said, "and, Jack, this is my boy Jim. I hope he can persuade you to stay to lunch with him." Then she shut the door and left the two together.

When she went back at noon, she found the boys deep in the mysteries of knots. Jim looked up, his homely little face full of pride.

"Jack is learning me to tie all the different knots," he cried, "and he's going to learn me ['teach,' corrected Jack softly]--yes, teach me everything I'll have to know before I can be a Scout. Jack's a second class Scout--see his badge? We've had a bully time, haven't we, Jack?"

Suddenly his head went down and his heels flew into the air as he turned a somersault. Coming right end upwards again, he looked at Laura with a doubtful grin. "I--I didn't mean to do that," he stammered. "It--just did itself--like----"

Jack's quick laugh rang out then. "I know. You had to get it out of your system, didn't you?" he said with full understanding.

That was a red-letter day to Jim. He kept his visitor until the last possible moment, and stood at the window looking after him till the straight little figure in khaki swung around a corner and was gone. Then with a long happy breath he turned to Laura and said, half apologetically, half appealingly, "You see a fellow gets kind o' hungry for boys, sometimes. You don't mind, do you, Miss Laura?"

"No, indeed, Jim. I get hungry for girls the same way--it's all right," she assured him. But she made up her mind that Jim should not get _so_ hungry for boys again--she would see to that.

After a moment he asked thoughtfully, "Why can't boys be Scouts till they're twelve, Miss Laura?"

"I think because younger boys could not go on the long tramps."

"Oh!" Jim thought that over and finally admitted, "Yes, I guess that's it." A little later he asked anxiously, "Do you s'pose they'd let a fellow join when he's twelve even if he is just a _little_ lame?"

"O, I hope so, Jim," Laura answered quickly.

"But you ain't sure. Jack wasn't sure, but he guessed they would." Jim pondered a while in silence, then he broke out again, "Seems to me the only way is for me to get this leg cured. I can't be shut out of things always just 'cause of that, can I now, Miss Laura?"

"Nothing can shut you out of the best things, Jim."

The boy looked up at her, tipping his round head till he reminded her of an uncommonly wise sparrow. "I don't _quite_ know what you mean," he said in a doubtful tone.

"You like stories of men who have done splendid brave things, don't you?" Laura asked.

Jim nodded, his eyes searching her face.

"But some of the bravest men have never been able to fight or do the things you love to hear about."

"How did they be brave then?" Jim demanded.

"They were brave because they endured very, very hard things and never whimpered."

"What's whimpered?"

"To whimper is to cry or complain--or be sorry for yourself."

Jim studied over that; then coming close to Laura, he looked straight into her eyes. "You mean that I mustn't talk about that?" He touched his lame leg.

"It would be better not, if you can help it," she said very gently.

"I got to help it then, 'cause, of course, I've got to be brave. And mebbe if I get strong as--as anything, they'll let me join the Scouts when I'm twelve even--even if I ain't quite such a good walker as the rest of 'em. Don't you think they _might_, Miss Laura?"

"Yes, Jim, I think they might," she agreed hastily. Who could say "No" to such pleading eyes?

Jim had been teasing to go to school, and when at the next Camp Fire meeting, Lena Barton told him that Jo had been sent to an outdoor school, Jim wanted to go there too.

"Take him to the doctor and see what he thinks about it," the judge advised, and to Jim's delight the doctor said that it was just the place for him.

"Let him sleep out of doors too for a year," the doctor added. "It will do him a world of good."

So the next day Miss Laura went with him to the school, Jim limping gaily along at her side, and chuckling to himself as he thought how "s'prised" Jo would be to see him there.

Jo undoubtedly was surprised. He was a thin little chap, freckled and red-haired like his sister, and he welcomed his old comrade with a wide friendly grin.

Jim thought it a very queer-looking school, with teacher and pupils all wearing warm coats, mittens, and hoods or caps, and all with their feet hidden in big woolen bags. There was no fire, of course, and all the windows were wide open.

"But what a happy-looking crowd it is!" Laura said, and the teacher answered,

"They are the happiest children I ever taught, and they learn so easily! They get on much faster than most of the children in other schools of the same grade. We give them luncheon here--plain nourishing things which the doctor orders--and," she lowered her voice, "that means a deal to some who come from poor homes where there is not too much to eat."

"We shall gladly pay for Jim," Laura said quickly, "enough for him and some of the others too."

So Jim's outdoor life began. There was a covered porch adjoining the old nursery, and the judge had the end boarded up to protect the boy's cot from snow or rain; and there, in a warm sleeping-bag, with a wool cap over his ears, and a little fox terrier cuddled down beside him for company, Jim slept through all the winter weather.

He and the judge were great chums now. It would be hard to say which most enjoyed the half-hour they spent together before Laura carried the boy off to bed. And as for Laura--she often wondered how she had ever gotten on without Jim. He filled the big house with life, and she didn't at all mind the noise and disorder that he brought into it. He whistled now from morning till night, and his pockets were perfect catch-alls. Sometimes they were stuck together with chewing-gum or molasses candy, and sometimes they were soaked with wet sponges, and his hands--she counted one Saturday, thirteen times that she sent him to wash them between getting up and bedtime.

The girls always wanted Jim at their Camp Fire meetings, for a part of the time at least. As "Miss Laura's boy" they felt that in a way he belonged to them too, and Jim was very proud and happy to make one of the company.

"I'm going to be a Camp Fire boy until I'm big enough to be a Scout, if you'll all let me," he told the girls one night, and they all gave him the most cordial of welcomes.

He was sitting between Olga and Elizabeth, when the girls were talking about some of the babies they had found.

"We never find one that is just right," Rose Parsons complained. "Or if the baby is what we would like, there is always some one that wants to keep it."

"I'm glad of it," Lena Barton flung out. "It was silly of us to think of taking a baby, anyhow. We better just help out somewhere--maybe with some older kid." Her red-brown eyes flashed a glance at Jim.

It was then that Frances Chapin broke in earnestly, "O girls, I do so wish you'd take one of the old ladies at the Home! They need our help quite as much as the babies--more, I sometimes think, for they are so old and tired, and they've such a little time to--to have things done for them. The babies have chances, but the chances of these old ladies are almost over. There's one--Mrs. Barlow--I'm sure you couldn't help loving her--she is so gentle and patient and uncomplaining, although she cannot see to sew or read, and cannot go out alone. She has her board and room at the Home of course, but clothes are not provided, and she hasn't any money at all. Just think of never having a dollar to buy anything with! And the money we could give would buy so many of the things she needs, and it would make her so happy to have us run in and see her now and then. There are so many of us that no one would have to go often, and she loves girls. She had two of her own once, but they both died in one year, and her husband was killed in an accident. She did fine sewing and embroidery as long as she could see; then an old friend got her into the Home. I took this picture of her to show you."

She handed the picture to Laura, who passed it on with the comment, "It is a sweet face."

The girls all agreed that it was a sweet face, and Mary Hastings, stirred by Frances' earnest pleading, moved that what money they could spare should be given to Frances for Mrs. Barlow, but Frances interposed quickly, "She needs the money, but she needs people almost more. She is so happy when Elsie or I go in to see her even just for a minute! I shall be delighted if we take her for our Camp Fire 'service,' but please, girls, _if_ we do, give her a little of your_selves_--not just your money alone," she pleaded.

"How would I know what to say to an old woman?" Lena Barton grumbled. "I shouldn't have an idea how to talk to her."

"You wouldn't need to have--she has ideas of her own a-plenty. Girls, if you'll only once go and see her, you won't need to be coaxed to go again, I'm sure," Frances urged.

"I'm in favour of having Frances' old lady for our 'Camp Fire baby,'" laughed Louise Johnson. "I second Mary's motion."

But Lena Barton's high-pitched voice cut in, "Before we vote on that I'd like to say a word. I've no doubt that Mrs. Barlow is an angel minus the wings, but before we decide to adopt her I'd like to see some of the other old ladies. I've wanted for a long time to get into one of those Homes with a big H. How about it, Frances--would they let me in or are working girls ruled out?"

"O no, any one can go there," Frances replied, but her face and her voice betrayed her disappointment. When Louise spoke, Frances had thought her cause was won.

"All right--I'll go then to-morrow, and maybe I'll find some old lady I'll like better than your white-haired angel," Lena flung out, her red-brown eyes gleaming with sly malice and mischief.

Quite unconsciously, and certainly without intention, the three High School girls held themselves a little apart from Lena and her "crowd," and Lena was quite sharp enough to detect and resent this. She chuckled as she watched Frances' clouded face.

"O never mind, Frances," Elsie Harding whispered under cover of a brisk discussion on old ladies, that Lena's words had started, "Lena's just talking for effect. She won't take the trouble to go to the Home."

XII

NANCY REXTREW

But that was where Elsie was mistaken. Lena did go the very next afternoon, and dragged the reluctant Eva with her. The girls, proposing to join the Sunday promenade on the Avenue later, were in their Sunday best when they presented themselves at the big, old-fashioned frame house on Capitol Hill.

"Who you goin' to ask for?" Eva questioned as Lena, lifting the old brass knocker, dropped it sharply.

"The Barlow angel, I s'pose. We don't know the name of anybody else here," Lena returned with a grin.

The maid who answered their summons told them to go right upstairs. They would find Mrs. Barlow in Room 10 on the second floor. So they went up, Lena's eyes, as always, keen and alert, Eva scowling, and wishing herself "out of it."

"Here's No. 6--it must be that second door beyond," Lena said in a low tone; but low as it was, somebody heard, for the next door--No. 8--flew open instantly, and a woman stepped briskly out and faced the girls.

"Come right in--come right in," she said with an imperative gesture. "My! But I'm glad to see ye!"

So compelling was her action that, with a laugh, Lena yielded and Eva followed her as a matter of course.

The woman closed the door quickly, and pulled forward three chairs, planting herself in the third.

"My land, but it's good to see ye sittin' there," she began. "What's yer names? Mine's Nancy Rextrew."

Lena gave their names, and the woman repeated them lingeringly, as if the syllables were sweet on her tongue. Then she tipped her head, pursed her lips, and gave a little cackling laugh.

"I s'pose ye was bound fer her room--Mis' Barlow's, eh?" she questioned.

"Yes," Lena admitted, "but----"