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[Illustration: "So you want me to come to your show, do you?" said Mr.
Harriman.]




_Girl Scouts Series, Volume 2_

THE GIRL SCOUTS RALLY

or

ROSANNA WINS

BY

Katherine Keene Galt

THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY

CHICAGO--AKRON, OHIO--NEW YORK

MADE IN U. S. A.




Copyright, 1921, by

THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY

THE GIRL SCOUTS SERIES
  1 THE GIRL SCOUTS AT HOME
  2 THE GIRL SCOUTS RALLY
  3 THE GIRL SCOUT'S TRIUMPH




THE GIRL SCOUTS RALLY




CHAPTER I


Three little girls sat in a row on the top step of a beautiful home in
Louisville. At the right was a dark-haired, fairylike child on whose
docked hair a velvet berét, or French officer's cap, sat jauntily. Her
dark eyes were round and thoughtful as she gazed into space. There was a
little wrinkle between her curved black brows.

Beside her, busily knitting on a long red scarf, sat a sparkling little
girl whose hazel eyes danced under a fringe of blond curls. Her dainty
motions and her pretty way of tossing back her beautiful hair caused
people to stop and look at her as they passed, but Elise was all
unconscious of their admiration. Indeed, she was almost too shy, and few
knew how full of fun and laughter she could be.

The third girl wore a businesslike beaver hat over her blond docked
hair, and her great eyes, blue and steady, were levelled across Elise,
who knitted on in silence, to the dark girl in the velvet cap.

Helen Culver spoke at last. "Well, Rosanna, what are you thinking? Have
you any plan at all?"

The dark child spoke. "No, Helen, I can't think of a thing. It makes me
_so_ provoked!"

"Tell me, will you not?" asked Elise in her pretty broken English. She
was trying so hard to speak like Rosanna and Helen that she could
scarcely be prevailed upon to say anything in French.

Many months had passed since Elise, in the care of the kind ladies of
the American Red Cross, had come over from France to her adopted
guardian, young Mr. Horton. She had grown to be quite American during
that time, and was very proud of her attainments. The dark and dreadful
past was indeed far behind, and while she sometimes wept for her dear
grandmother, who had died in Mr. Horton's tender arms in the old château
at home, she loved her foster mother, Mrs. Hargrave, with all her heart.
And with Elise laughing and dancing through it, the great old Hargrave
house was changed indeed. While Elise was crossing the ocean, Mrs.
Hargrave had fitted up three rooms for her. There was a sitting-room,
that was like the sunny outdoors, with its dainty flowered chintzes, its
ivory wicker furniture, its plants and canaries singing in wicker cages.
Then there was a bedroom that simply put you to sleep just to look at
it: all blue and silver, like a summer evening. Nothing sang here, but
there was a big music box, old as Mrs. Hargrave herself, that tinkled
Elise to sleep if she so wished. And the bathroom was papered so that
you didn't look at uninteresting tiles set like blocks when you splashed
around in the tub. No; there seemed to be miles and miles of sunny
sea-beach with little shells lying on the wet sand and sea gulls
swinging overhead.

Mrs. Hargrave was so delighted with all this when it was finished that
it made her discontented with her own sitting-room with its dim old
hangings and walnut furniture.

"No wonder I was beginning to grow old," she said to her life-long
friend, Mrs. Horton. "No wonder at all! All this dismal old stuff is
going up in the attic. I shall bring down my great great-grandmother's
mahogany and have all my wicker furniture cushioned with parrots and
roses."

"It sounds dreadful," said Mrs. Horton.

"It won't be," retorted her friend. "It will be perfectly lovely. Did
you know that I can play the piano? I can, and well. I had forgotten it.
I am going to have birds too--not canaries, but four cunning little
green love-birds. They are going to have all that bay window for
themselves. And I shall have a quarter grand piano put right there."

"I do think you are foolish," said Mrs. Horton, who was a cautious
person. "What if this child turns out to be a failure? All you have is
my son's word for it, and what does a boy twenty-four years old know
about little girls? You ought to wait and see what sort of a child she
is."

"I have faith, my dear," said her friend. "I have been so lonely for so
many long years that I feel sure that at last the good Lord is going to
send me a real little daughter."

"Cross-eyed perhaps and with a frightful disposition," said Mrs. Horton.
"All children look like angels to Robert."

Mrs. Hargrave was plucky. "Very well, then; I can afford to have her
eyes straightened, and I will see what I can do about the temper."

"I won't tease you any more," said Mrs. Horton. "Robert says the child
is charming and good as gold. I know you will be happy with her, and if
you find that she is too much of a care for you, you can simply throw
her right back on Robert's hands. I don't like to have him feel that he
has no responsibility in the matter."

Elise proved to be all that Mrs. Hargrave had dreamed, and more. She
sang like a bird and Mrs. Hargrave found her old skill returning as she
played accompaniments or taught Elise to play on the pretty piano. And
the little girl, who was perfectly happy, repaid her over and over in
love and a thousand sweet and pretty attentions. Dear Mrs. Hargrave, who
had been so lonely that she had not cared particularly whether she lived
or died, found herself wishing for many years of life.

The three little girls, Elise, Rosanna, of whom you have perhaps read,
and her friend Helen Culver were great friends.

They went to school and studied and played together, and Rosanna and
Helen were both Girl Scouts. Elise was to join too, as soon as she could
qualify. At present, as Uncle Robert said slangily, she was "stuck on
pie." She could not make a crust that could be cut or even _sawed_ apart
although she tried to do so with all the earnestness in the world.

Perhaps you girls who are reading this remember Rosanna. If so, you will
be glad to know that she grew well and strong again after her accident
and continued to be a very happy little girl who was devoted to her
grandmother, who in turn was devoted to Rosanna. The beautiful hair that
Rosanna had cut off was allowed to stay docked, and that was a great
relief to Rosanna, who was always worried by the weight of the long
curls that hung over her shoulders like a dark glistening cape. It
seemed _such_ fun to be able to shake her head like a pony and send the
short, thick mane flying now that it was cut off.

There were three people in Rosanna's home: her stately grandmother Mrs.
Horton, Uncle Robert, of whom you have heard, and Rosanna herself.
Rosanna had had a maid, of whom she was very fond, but Minnie was at
home preparing to marry the young man to whom she had been engaged all
through the war. He was at home again, and together they were fitting
out a cunning little bungalow in the Highlands. As soon as everything
was arranged quite to their satisfaction, they were going to be married,
and Minnie vowed that she could never get married unless she could have
a real wedding with bridesmaids and all, and she had a scheme! By the
way she rolled her eyes and her young man chuckled, it seemed as though
it must be a very wonderful scheme indeed, but although all three girls
hung around her neck and teased, not another word would she say. Minnie
had two little sisters who were about the ages of Rosanna and Elise and
Helen, but they did not know what the scheme was either. It was _very_
trying.

Helen Culver no longer lived over Mrs. Horton's garage and her father no
longer drove the Horton cars, but her home was very near in a dear
little apartment as sweet and clean and dainty as it could be. Mr.
Culver and Uncle Robert were often together and did a good deal of
figuring and drawing but other than guessing that it was something to do
with Uncle Robert's business, the children did not trouble their heads.

Helen was ahead of Rosanna in school. She had had a better chance to
start with, as Rosanna had only had private teachers and so had had no
reason to strive to forge ahead. There had been no one to get ahead
_of_! Now, however, she was studying to such good purpose that she hoped
soon to overtake Helen. But it was a hard task, because Helen was a very
bright little girl who could and would and _did_ put her best effort in
everything she did.

These, then, were the three little girls who sat on Rosanna's doorstep
and smelled the burning leaves and enjoyed the beautiful fall day.

"Rosanna is so good at making plans," said Helen, smiling over at her
friend.

"What shall your good plan be for?" asked Elise.

"Don't you remember, Elise, our telling you about the picnic we had
once, and the children who took supper with us?"

"Oh, _oui_--yess, yess!" said Elise, correcting herself hastily.

"And we told you how we took them home and saw poor Gwenny, their
sister, who is so lame that she cannot walk at all, and is so good and
patient about it? We mean to take you over to see her, now that you can
speak English so nicely. She wants to see you so much."

"I would be charm to go," declared Elise, nodding her curly head.

"Well," continued Rosanna, "Gwenny's mother says that Gwenny could be
cured, but that it would cost more than she could ever pay, and it is
nothing that she could get done at the free dispensaries. Those are
places where very, very poor people can go and get good doctors and
nurses and advice without paying anything at all, but Gwenny could not
go there.

"She would have to go to a big hospital in Cincinnati and stay for a
long while. I thought about asking my grandmother if she would like to
send Gwenny there, but just as I was going to speak of it last night,
she commenced to talk to Uncle Robert about money, and I heard her tell
him that she was never so hard up in her life, and what with the Liberty
Loan drives taking all her surplus out of the banks, and the high rate
of taxes, she didn't know what she was going to do. So I couldn't say a
thing."

"The same with ma maman," said Elise. "She calls those same taxes
robbers. So you make the plan?"

"That's just it: I _don't_," said Rosanna ruefully. "I wish I could
think up some way to earn money, a lot of it ourselves."

"Let's do it!" said Helen in her brisk, decided way.

"But _how_?" questioned Rosanna. "It will take such a lot of money,
Helen. Hundreds and hundreds of dollars, maybe _thousands_."

"I should think the thing to do would be to ask a doctor exactly how
much it would cost, first of all," said the practical Helen.

"Another thing," said Rosanna, "Gwenny's family is very proud. They
don't like to feel that people are taking care of them. The Associated
Charities gave Gwenny a chair once, so she could wheel herself around,
but it made them feel badly, although Gwenny's mother said she knew that
it was the right thing to accept it."

"She will feel that it is the thing to do if we can pay to have Gwenny
cured too," said Helen. "You know how sensible she is, Rosanna. She must
realize that everybody knows that she does all she can in this world for
her family. I heard mother say she never saw any woman work so hard to
keep a home for her children.

"Mother says she never rests. And she is not trained, you know, to do
special work like typewriting, or anything that is well paid, so she has
to be a practical nurse and things like that."

"Aren't all nurses practical?" asked Rosanna, a frown of perplexity on
her brow.

"Trained nurses are not," replied Helen. "Trained nurses get thirty and
forty dollars a week and a practical nurse gets seven or eight, and
works harder. But you see she never had a chance to get trained. It
takes a long time, like going to school and graduating, only you go to
the hospital instead."

"I know," said Rosanna. "There were what they called undergraduate
nurses at the Norton Infirmary and they wore a different uniform. But
they were all pretty, and so good to me."

"Well, you can't do much on what Gwenny's mother makes," said Helen.

Elise sighed. "It is so sad," she declared. "Do the robber Taxes attack
her also?"

"No; she has nothing to attack," laughed Helen.

"Is Mees Gwenny a Girl Scout?" asked Elise.

"No, but her sister Mary is. She went in about the time Rosanna joined,
but she does not belong to our group. They live in another part of the
city."

"Will my allowance help?" asked Elise. "I will give it so gladly. Ma
maman is so good, so generous! I never can spend the half. I save it to
help a little French child, but surely if Mees Gwenny is your dear
friend and she suffers----"

"She suffers all right," declared Helen. "Oh, Rosanna, we have _got_ to
think up some way to help her! I am going to ask mother."

"Helen, do you remember what our Captain said at the very last meeting?
No, you were not there; I remember now. She said that we must learn to
act for ourselves and not forever be asking help from our families. She
said that we should always consult them before we made any important
move, but she wanted us to learn to use our own brains. Now it does look
to me as though this was a time to use all the brains we have. Think how
wonderful it would be if we could only do this ourselves!"

"What do you mean by _we_? Just us three, or the Girl Scouts in our
group?" asked Helen.

"I don't know," said Rosanna dismally. "I really haven't the first idea!
Let's all think."




CHAPTER II


Three in a row, they sat and thought while the leaf piles smouldered and
the afternoon went by. Plan after plan was offered and discussed and
cast aside. At last Elise glanced at her little silver wrist watch, and
wound up her scarf.

"Time for maman to come home," she said. "She likes it when I meet her
at the door with my love, and myself likes it too."

"Of course you do, you dear!" said Helen. "Good-bye! We will keep on
thinking and perhaps tomorrow we will be able to get hold of some plan
that will be worth acting on. I must go too, Rosanna."

"I will walk around the block with you," said Rosanna, rising and
calling a gay good-bye after Elise. She went with Helen almost to the
door of her apartment and then returned very slowly. How she did long to
help Gwenny! There must be some way. Poor patient, uncomplaining Gwenny!
Rosanna could not think of her at all without an ache in her heart. She
was so thin and her young face had so many, _many_ lines of pain.

She was so thoughtful at dinner time that her Uncle Robert teased her
about it. He wanted to know if she had robbed a bank or had decided to
run off and get married and so many silly things that his mother told
him to leave Rosanna alone. Rosanna smiled and simply went on thinking.
After dinner she slipped away and went up to her own sitting-room. Then
Uncle Robert commenced to worry in earnest. He had his hat in his hand
ready to go over and see Mr. Culver, but he put it down again and went
up to Rosanna's room, three steps at a time.

Rosanna called "Come," in answer to his knock in quite her usual tone of
voice, and Uncle Robert heaved a sigh of relief.

He stuck his head in the door, and said in a meek tone: "I thought I
would come up to call on you, Princess. Mother is expecting a bridge
party, and it is no place for me."

"That is what I thought," said Rosanna. "Besides I wanted to think."

"Well, I am known as a hard thinker myself," said Uncle Robert. "If you
will invite the part of me that is out here in the hall to follow my
head, I will be glad to help you if I can."

"I don't see why I shouldn't tell you about things anyway," mused
Rosanna. "You are not a parent, are you?"

"No, ma'am, I am _not_," said Uncle Robert. "Nary a parent! Why?"

He came in without a further invitation and sat down in Rosanna's
biggest chair. At that it squeaked in an alarming manner, and Uncle
Robert made remarks about furniture that wouldn't hold up a growing boy
like himself. When he appeared to be all settled and comfortable, and
Rosanna had shoved an ash tray over in a manner that Uncle Robert said
made him feel like an old married man, he said, "Now fire ahead!" and
Rosanna did.

She told him all about Gwenny and her family--her mother and Mary and
selfish Tommy, and good little Myron, and Luella and the heavy baby, and
the story was so well told that Uncle Robert had hard work holding
himself down. He felt as though the check book in his pocket was all
full of prickers which were sticking into him, and in another pocket a
bank book with a big, big deposit, put in it that very day, kept
shouting, "Take care of Gwenny yourself!" so loudly that he was sure
Rosanna must hear.

But Uncle Robert knew that that was not the thing for him to do. He
could not take all the beauty and generosity out of their effort when
their dear little hearts were so eagerly trying to find a way to help.

He hushed the bank book up as best he could and said to Rosanna, "I
don't worry a minute about this thing, Rosanna. I know perfectly well
that you will think up some wonderful plan that will bring you wads of
money, and as long as I am _not_ a parent, I don't see why I can't be
your councillor. There might be things that I could attend to. I could
take the tickets at the door or something like that."

"Tickets!" said Rosanna, quite horrified. "Why, Uncle Bob, we can't give
a _show_!"

"I don't see why not, if you know what you want to show," answered Uncle
Robert. "You see benefit performances given all the time for singers and
pianists and actors who want to retire with a good income. Some of them
have one every year, but you couldn't do that for Gwenny. However I'll
stand by whenever you want me, you may feel sure of that, and if I can
advance anything in the way of a little money--" he tapped the bank
book, which jumped with joy.

"Oh, thank you!" said Rosanna. "We will be sure to tell you as soon as
we can hit on a plan, and we will have you to go to for advice, and that
will be such a help!"

After Uncle Bob had taken himself off, Rosanna went slowly to bed. She
thought while she was undressing and after she had put out the light and
was waiting for her grandmother to come in and kiss her good-night. And
the last thing before she dropped off to sleep her mind was whirling
with all sorts of wild ideas, but not one seemed to be just what was
wanted. One thing seemed to grow clearer and bigger and stronger, and
that was the feeling that Gwenny must be helped.

The first thing that she and Helen asked each other the next day when
they met on the way to school was like a chorus. They both said, "Did
you think of anything?" and neither one had.

Sad to relate, neither Rosanna nor Helen made brilliant recitations that
day, and coming home from school Helen said gravely, "What marks did you
get today, Rosanna?"

"Seventy," answered Rosanna with a flush.

"I got seventy-two, and it was a review. Oh dear, this won't do at all!
I was thinking about Gwenny, and trying to work up a plan so hard that I
just couldn't study. Either we have positively got to think up something
right away, or else we will have to make up our minds that we must do
our thinking on Saturdays only. Can't you think of a single thing?"

"I seem to have glimmers of an idea," said Rosanna, "but not very bright
ones."

"All I can think of is to get all the girls in our group to make fancy
things and have a fair."

"That is not bad," said Rosanna, "but would we make enough to count for
much? Even if all the girls in our group should go to work and work
every single night after school we would not be able to make enough
fancy articles to make a whole sale."

"I suppose not," sighed Helen. "This is Thursday. If we can't think of
something between now and Saturday afternoon, let's tell the girls about
it at the meeting and see what they suggest, and ask if they would like
to help Gwenny. But oh, I wish we could be the ones to think up
something! You see Gwenny sort of belongs to us, and I feel as though we
ought to do the most of the work."

That night at dinner there was a guest at Rosanna's house, young Doctor
MacLaren, who had been in service with Uncle Robert. Rosanna quite lost
her heart to him, he was so quiet and so gentle and smiled so sweetly at
her grandmother. She sat still as a mouse all through the meal,
listening and thinking.

After dinner when they had all wandered into the lovely old library that
smelled of books, she sat on the arm of her Uncle Robert's chair, and
while her grandmother was showing some pictures to the doctor, she
whispered to her uncle, "Don't you suppose the doctor could tell us how
much it would cost to cure Gwenny?"

"You tickle my ear!" he said, and bit Rosanna's.

"Behave!" said Rosanna sternly. "Don't you suppose he could?"

"I am sure he could, sweetness, but I sort o' think he would have to see
Gwenny first. Shall we ask him about it?"

"Oh, please let's!" begged Rosanna.

"Th' deed is did!" said Uncle Robert, and as soon as he could break into
the conversation, he said: "Rick, Rosanna and I want to consult you."

Rosanna squeezed his hand for that; it was so much nicer than to put it
all off on her.

Doctor MacLaren laughed his nice, friendly laugh. "Well, if you are both
in some scheme, I should say it was time for honest fellows like me to
be careful. Let's hear what it is."

"You tell, Rosanna," said Uncle Robert. "I can't talk and smoke all at
the same time."

So Rosanna, very brave because of Uncle Robert's strong arm around her,
commenced at the beginning and told all about Gwenny and her family, and
her bravery in bearing the burden of her lameness and ill health. And
she went on to tell him about the Girl Scouts and all the good they do,
and that she was sure that they would help, but they (she and Helen)
hated to put it before the meeting unless they had some idea of the
amount of money it would be necessary for them to earn. And another
thing; what if they should start to get the money, and couldn't? What a
_dreadful_ disappointment it would be for Gwenny and indeed all the
family down to Baby Christopher!

The two young men heard her out. Then Uncle Robert said:

"I don't know the exact reason, but it seems that you cannot work with
these Girl Scouts if you are a parent. Are you a parent, Rick?"

"Please don't tease, Uncle Bobby," said Rosanna pleadingly. "It is only
that we Scout girls are supposed to try to do things ourselves without
expecting all sorts of help from our mothers and fathers--and
grandmothers and uncles," she added rather pitifully.

Robert patted her hand. Rosanna was an orphan.

"I see now how it is," he said. "Tell us, Rick, what you think about
this."

"I think that Saturday morning, when there is no school, Rosanna might
take me to call on Miss Gwenny and we will see about what the trouble
is. And I think as she does, that it would be very wise to say nothing
at all about this plan until we know something about the case. It would
be cruel to get the child's hopes up for nothing. If there is anything
that I dare do, I will promise you now that I will gladly do it, but I
cannot tell until I see her."

"Thank you ever and ever so much!" said Rosanna. "We won't tell anyone a
thing about it!"

"Can you drive over to Gwenny's tomorrow and tell her mother that a
doctor friend of mine is coming to see her?" asked Uncle Robert.

"Indeed I can if grandmother is willing!" said Rosanna. "Oh, I _do_ feel
as though we will think up some way of earning the money!"

Rosanna was so happy that she overslept next morning and was nearly late
getting to school, so she did not see Helen until they were dismissed.
They walked slowly home and sat down on their favorite place on the top
step. They had been sitting quietly, watching a group of children
playing in the leaves, when Rosanna jumped to her feet and commenced to
dance up and down.

"Oh, Helen, Helen," she cried. "I believe I have it! I believe I have
it! Oh, I am _so_ excited!"

"Well, do tell me!" exclaimed Helen.

"That is just what I am going to do," said Rosanna, still dancing.
"Let's go around in the garden and sit in the rose arbor where no one
will disturb us."

"That is the thing to do," agreed Helen, and together they went skipping
through the iron gateway that led into the lovely old garden. Once upon
a time that gate had been kept locked and little Rosanna had been almost
a prisoner among the flowers and trees that made the garden so lovely.
But now the gate swung on well-oiled hinges and all the little Girl
Scouts were welcome to come and play with Rosanna in her playhouse or
ride her fat little pony around the gravelled paths.

The children banged the gate shut behind them and went to the most
sheltered spot in the garden, the rose arbor, where they were hidden
from view. They threw their school books on the rustic table and settled
themselves in two big chairs.

"Now _do go on_," said Helen with a little thrill in her voice. "Oh, I
_do_ feel that you have thought up something splendid!"




CHAPTER III


"I have been thinking and thinking," said Rosanna, "and not an idea have
I had until just now. Here is what I just thought up.

"You know Uncle Bob was telling me about benefit performances that
actors and musicians have. I think they get them up themselves mostly,
when they want some money, but I was talking to Minnie about it
yesterday when she came in for a minute and she says in her church they
have benefits all the time. People sing and play and recite poetry, and
it is lovely. And I thought up something better still.

"What if you and I, Helen, could make up a sort of play all about the
Girl Scouts and give it?"

"Write it out of our heads?" said Helen, quite aghast.

"Yes," said Rosanna. "It is easy. Before grandmother used to let me have
little girls to play with, I used to make up plays, oh lots of times!"

"With conversations?" pressed Helen.

"Yes, made up of conversations and coming on the stage and going off
again, and people dying, and everything."

"Dear me!" said Helen with the air of one who never suspected such a
thing of a friend. "_Dear me!_" she said again. "I am sure I could
_never_ do it. You will have to do it yourself. What is it going to be
about?"

"Why, I have to have time to think," said Rosanna. "You have to think a
long time when you are going to be an author. It is very difficult."

"You don't suppose you are all out of practice, do you?" asked Helen
anxiously. "Why, Rosanna, that would be too perfectly splendid! A real
play! Where could we give it? We couldn't rent a real theatre."

"Oh, my, no!" said Rosanna, beginning to be rather frightened at the
picture Helen was conjuring up. "We won't have that sort of a play. We
will have a little one that we can give in grandmother's parlor, or over
at Mrs. Hargrave's."

"I wouldn't," said Helen stoutly. "I just know you can write a beautiful
play, Rosanna, and I think we ought to give it in some big place where a
lot of people can come, and we will have tickets, and chairs all in rows
and a curtain and everything."

"Oh, I don't believe I could write a good enough play for all that,"
cried Rosanna.

"Well, just do the best you can and I know it will be perfectly lovely."

"I tell you what," said Rosanna, beginning to be sorry that she had
spoken. "Please don't tell Elise or anyone about it until I see what I
can write, and then after you and I have read it, if it is good enough,
we will show it to Uncle Robert and see what he says."

"It _will_ be good enough," said Helen positively. "Just think of the
piece of poetry you wrote to read at the Girl Scout meeting. It was so
lovely that I 'most cried. All that part about the new moon, and how you
felt when you died. It sounded so true, and yet I don't see how you know
how you are going to feel when you die. I can't feel it at all. I
suppose that is because you are a poet. Mother says it is a great and
beautiful thing to be a poet, but that you must look out for your
digestion."

"My digestion is all right so far," said Rosanna. "I am glad to know
that, though, because if your mother says so, it must be so."

"Of course!" said Helen proudly. "When will you begin your play,
Rosanna?"

"Right away after dinner," said Rosanna. "That is, if Uncle Robert goes
out. If he stays at home I will have to play cribbage with him. If I go
off to my own room, he comes right up. He says he is afraid that I will
get to nursing a secret sorrow."

"What is a secret sorrow?" asked Helen.

"I don't know exactly," said Rosanna. "Uncle Robert looked sort of funny
when I asked him, and perhaps he made it up because he just said,
'Why--er, why--er, a secret sorrow is--don't you know what it is,
Rosanna?'"

"Sometimes I wonder if your Uncle Robert really means all he says," said
Helen suspiciously.

"I wonder too," agreed Rosanna, nodding, "but he is a perfect dear,
anyway, even if he is old. He is twenty-four, and grandmother is always
saying that Robert is old enough to know better."

"I know he will be all sorts of help about our play, anyway," said
Helen.

"I know he will too," said Rosanna. "We will show him the play the
minute I finish it."

Rosanna went right to work on her play whenever she had any time to
spare.

When Saturday morning came she went with Doctor MacLaren to see Gwenny,
and after she had introduced him to Gwenny's mother she went and sat in
the automobile with Mary and Luella and Myron and Baby Christopher to
talk to. But she scarcely knew what she was saying because she was so
busy wondering what the doctor would do to poor Gwenny, whose back
nearly killed her if anyone so much as touched it.

The doctor stayed a long, long time, and when he came out he stood and
talked and talked with Gwenny's mother. He smiled his kind, grave smile
at her very often, but when he turned away and came down the little walk
Rosanna fancied that he looked graver than usual.

"Is she _very_ bad?" Rosanna asked when the machine was started.

"Pretty bad, Rosanna dear," said the doctor. "She will need a very
serious operation that cannot be done here. She will have to go to a
hospital in Cincinnati where there is a wonderful surgeon, Doctor
Branshaw, who specializes in troubles of the spine. He will help her if
anyone can. She is in a poor condition anyway, and we will have to look
after her pretty sharply to get her in as good a shape physically as we
can. If she goes, I will take her myself, and will have her given the
best care she can have. What a dear, patient, sweet little girl she is."

"Yes, she is!" agreed Rosanna absently. "Well, if she is as sick as you
think, I don't see but what we will just _have_ to earn the money some
way or other!" Rosanna was very silent all the way home, and that
afternoon she retired to the rose arbor and worked as hard as ever she
could on the play. It was really taking shape. Rosanna would not show
the paper to Helen or to Elise, who had been told the great secret. She
wanted to finish it and surprise them.

By four o'clock she was so tired that she could write no longer. She put
her tablet away and started to the telephone to call Helen. As she went
down the hall the door bell rang. She could see a familiar figure
dancing up and down outside the glass door. It was Elise, apparently in
a great state of excitement. Rosanna ran and opened the door.

Elise danced in. She caught Rosanna around the waist and whirled her
round and round.

"Behold I have arrive, I have arrive!" she sang.

"Of course you have arrived!" said Rosanna. "What makes you feel like
this about it?"

"Behold!" said Elise again with a sweeping gesture toward the front
door.

Mrs. Hargrave's house-boy, grinning from ear to ear, was coming slowly
up the steps bearing a large covered tray. Elise took it from him with
the greatest care and set it carefully on a table.

"Approach!" she commanded, and Rosanna, really curious, drew near the
mysterious article. Slowly Elise drew off the cover. Under it in all the
glory of a golden brown crust, little crinkles all about the edge, sat a
pie looking not only good enough to eat, but almost _too_ good.

"Peench off a tiny, tiny bit of ze frill," said Elise, pointing to the
scallopy edge. "A very tiny peench, and you will see how good. Now I can
be the Girl Scout because all the other things I can so well do."

Rosanna took a careful pinch and found the crust light and very flaky
and dry.

"Perfectly delicious, Elise!" she pronounced it. "Did you do it all
yourself?"

"Of a certainty!" said Elise proudly. "I would not do the which
otherwise than as it is so required by the Girl Scouts. And now I am
most proud. If you will so kindly take me when you go to the meeting
this afternoon, I will offer this to the most adorable little Captain as
one more reason the why I should be allowed to join."

"Of course I will take you," said Rosanna. "I was just going to
telephone for Helen. If she is ready we will start at once."

"I will go for my hat," said Elise. Then anxiously, "Will the beautiful
pie rest here in safety?"

"Yes, indeed; it will be perfectly safe," laughed Rosanna.

Elise was the happiest little girl in all the room at the meeting.
Everyone fell in love with her at once, her manners were so gentle and
pretty and she was so full of life. Her curls danced and her eyes, and
her red lips smiled, and it seemed as though her feet wanted to dance
instead of going in a humdrum walk. The Scout Captain and the committee
on pie decided that Elise had made the most delicious of its kind.

At the close of the business part of the meeting, the Captain asked as
usual if anyone had any news of interest to offer or any requests or
questions to ask. It was all Rosanna could do to keep from telling them
all about Gwenny and asking for advice and help, but she decided to keep
it all to herself until she had finished the play. Then if it turned out
to be any good (and it would be easy to tell that by showing it to Uncle
Bob) she would take it to the Captain, and if she approved, Rosanna
would bring the whole thing up before the next meeting.

On the way home, Helen said to Rosanna, "How are you getting on with
your play, Rosanna? Did you work on it this afternoon as you expected
to?"

"Yes, I did, and it seems to be coming along beautifully," said Rosanna.
"I wanted to ask you about it. Don't you think it would be nice to put
in a couple of songs about the Girl Scouts, and perhaps a dance?"

"Simply splendid!" said Helen. "Oh, Rosanna, _do_ hurry! I can scarcely
wait for you to finish it. Girl Scout songs and a Girl Scout dance! Do
you know the Webster twins can dance beautifully? Their mother used to
be a dancer on the stage before she married their father, and she has
taught them the prettiest dances. They do them together. They are
awfully poor, and I don't know if they could afford to get pretty
dancing dresses to wear, but I should think we could manage somehow."

"Oh, we will," said Rosanna. "I _do_ wish we could have our families
help us!"

"Think how surprised they will be if we do this all by ourselves except
what Uncle Bob does, and our Scout Captain."

"I don't see that Uncle Bob can do very much," rejoined Rosanna. "But he
is real interested and wants to help."

"We ought to let him do whatever he can," said Helen. "Father often
tells mother that he hopes she notices how much she depends on his
superior intellect, but she just laughs and says 'Nonsense! Helen, don't
listen to that man at all!' But we must depend on our own superior
intellects now."

"It won't take me long to finish the play," said Rosanna. "It is only
going to be a one-act play, and if it isn't long enough to make a whole
entertainment, we will have to have some recitations and songs before
and after it."

"I do think you might let me see what you have written," coaxed Helen.

"I would rather not," pleaded Rosanna. "Somehow I feel as though I
couldn't finish it if I should show it to anyone before it is done. I
will show it to you the very first one, Helen. Here is one thing you can
hear."

She took a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket, and while Helen
walked very close beside her commenced: "This is a song sung by two
sisters named Elsie and Allis. And you will see what it is all about."

"Is there a tune for it too?" said Helen in great wonder.

"No, I can't make up music," said Rosanna regretfully, "and, anyhow, I
think it would come easier to use a tune everybody knows. This goes to
the tune of _Reuben, Reuben, I've been Thinking_. You know that?"

"Of course," said Helen. "Now let's hear the poetry."

Rosanna had written:

"Two girls come on the stage, one from the right and one from the left.
One is dressed in beautiful clothes, and the other very neat and clean,
but in awfully poor things. She has on a thin shawl. She is Elsie. The
rich child is Allis. Allis sees Elsie, and sings:

  SONG

  Air, _Reuben, Reuben, I've Been Thinking_.

  _Allis._

  Elsie, Elsie, I've been thinking
    What a pleasure it would be,
  If we had some friends or sisters
    Just to play with you and me.

  All our time we spend in study
    There is no place nice to go.
  After school an hour of practice
    Oh, I get to hate it so!

  _Chorus_

  Just an hour or two of practice,
    One and two and three and four;
  Add, subtract, or find the tangent;
    Everything is just a bore!

  _Elsie._

  Then, dear Allis, when we finish,
    We can go and take a walk;
  That, unless the day is rainy,
    Then we just sit down and talk.

  And there's not a thing to talk of,
    Not a scheme or plan to make,
  Not a deed of gentle loving,
    Nothing done for Someone's sake.

  _Chorus_

  Not a thing for us to aim for--
    Not a height for us to climb!
  Just the stupid task of living;
    Just the bore of passing time!

  _Enter Girl Scout with many Merit Badges on her sleeve._

  _Girl Scout._

  Did I hear you wish for friendships?
    Mates to join in work and play?
  Someone true and good and loving
    You would chum with every day?

  See this uniform? It tells you
    You can wear it; be a Scout!
  See the sleeve with all the "Merits"?
    You could win without a doubt.

  _Chorus_

  _All--_

  Oh, what fun we'll have together!
    Oh, what work and jolly play!
  Walks and talks and happy study
    With the Girl Scouts every day.




CHAPTER IV


When Rosanna finished, Helen gave a sigh of delight.

"Rosanna," she said, "it is perfectly beautiful; perfectly _beautiful_!
Shall you have the Webster girls sing that?"

"I had not thought of them," confessed Rosanna. "I thought it would be
nice for Elise and you, Helen. You both sing so sweetly and you can both
dance too."

"I shall be frightened to death," said Helen, trying to imagine herself
on a real little stage; at least on a make-believe stage with a curtain
stretched across Mrs. Horton's or Mrs. Hargrave's parlor. But frightened
or not, she was more than pleased that Rosanna had thought of her, and
she had no intention of giving up the part.

She and Elise commenced to practice on the song, and between them made
up the prettiest little dance. Mrs. Culver and Mrs. Hargrave were
delighted to play their accompaniments and suggest steps. Of course they
had to be told something of what was going on, but they were very nice
and asked no questions.

A week later Rosanna's little play was finished and ready to show Uncle
Robert. Rosanna was as nervous as a real playwright when he has to read
his lines to a scowly, faultfinding manager. She invited Helen over to
spend the night with her so she could attend the meeting.

Her grandmother was out to a dinner-bridge party, so Rosanna and Helen
and Uncle Robert went up to Rosanna's sitting-room and prepared to read
her play. And if the truth must be told, Uncle Robert prepared to be a
little bored. But as Rosanna read on and on in her pleasant voice,
stopping once in awhile to explain things, Uncle Robert's expression
changed from a look of patient listening to one of amusement and then to
admiration. By the time Rosanna had finished he was sitting leaning
forward in his chair and listening with all his might. He clapped his
hands.

"Well done, Rosanna!" he said heartily. "I am certainly proud of you!
Why, if you can do things of this sort at your age, Rosanna, we will
have to give you a little help and instruction once in awhile. Well,
well, that _is_ a play as _is_ a play! Don't you think so, Helen?"

"It's just too beautiful!" said Helen with a sigh of rapture. "Just too
beautiful! Which is my part, Rosanna?"

"I thought you could be the little girl who discovers the lost paper so
the other little Girl Scout's brother will not have to go to prison.
That is, if you like that part."

"It is the nicest part of all," sighed Helen. "What part are you going
to take?"

"I didn't think I would take any," said Rosanna.

"Oh, you must be in it!" cried Helen.

"No, Rosanna is right," declared Uncle Robert. "It is her play, you see,
and she will have to be sitting out front at all the rehearsals to see
that it is being done as she wants it."

"That is what I thought," said Rosanna. "But you are going to help with
everything, are you not, Uncle Robert?"

"Surest thing in the world!" declared Uncle Robert heartily. "But as
long as this is all about the Girl Scouts, won't you have to show it to
your Girl Scout Captain, or leader, before you go on with it?"

"Of course," said Rosanna.

"Who is she?" asked Uncle Robert carelessly.

"Why, you saw her, Uncle Robert," replied Rosanna. "Have you forgotten
the dear sweet little lady who called when I was sick when we were
looking for someone very fierce and large?"

"Sure enough!" said Uncle Robert after some thought. If Rosanna had
noticed she would have seen a very queer look in his eyes. He had liked
the looks of that young lady himself. "Well, what are you going to do
about it?"

"I suppose I will have to go around to her house, and tell her all about
it and read it to her."

"Is it written so I can read it?" said Uncle Robert, glancing over the
pages. "Very neat indeed. Now I will do something for you, if you want
me to save you the bother. Just to be obliging, I will take your play
and will go around and tell Miss Hooker that I am Rosanna's uncle, and
read it to her myself."

"Why, you know her name!" said Rosanna.

"Um--yes," said Uncle Robert. "I must have heard it somewhere. For
goodness' sake, Rosanna, this place is like an oven!"

"You _are_ red," admitted Rosanna. "Well, I wish you would do that,
please, because it makes me feel so queer to read it myself. It won't
take you long so we will wait up for you to tell us what she thinks."

"I wouldn't wait up," advised Uncle Robert, getting up. "If she likes
me, it may take some time."

"Likes _you_?" said Rosanna.

"I mean likes the way I read it, and likes the play, and likes the idea,
and likes everything about it," said Uncle Robert. He said good-bye and
hurried off, bearing the precious paper.

The girls sat and planned for awhile, when the doorbell rang. Rosanna
could hear the distant tinkle, and saying "Perhaps he is back," ran into
the hall to look over the banisters.

She returned with a surprised look on her face.

"What do you suppose?" she demanded of Helen who sat drawing a plan of a
stage. "It is Uncle Robert, and Miss Hooker is with him. Oh, dear me, I
feel so fussed!"

"Come down!" called Uncle Robert, dashing in the door. "I have a
surprise for you both."

"No, you haven't! I looked over the banisters," said Rosanna, as the
three went down the broad stairs.

Miss Hooker thought the play was so good and she was so proud to think
that one of her girls had written it that she was anxious to talk it
over at once, and had asked Uncle Robert to bring her right around to
see Rosanna and Helen.

They all drew up around the big library table, and Uncle Robert sat next
Miss Hooker where he could make suggestions. And Miss Hooker and the
girls made a list of characters, and fitted them to different girls in
their group. Finally Miss Hooker said there were several places that
needed a little changing and would Rosanna trust her to do it with Mr.
Horton's help? At this Uncle Robert looked most beseechingly at Rosanna,
who, of course, said yes.

"Where will we give it?" asked Helen. "As long as it is a benefit we
want a place large enough for lots of people to come. All our families
will want to come, and all the Girl Scouts' families, and perhaps some
other people besides."

"We will give it here, won't we, Uncle Robert? Grandmother will let us,
I'm sure. In the big drawing-room, you know."

"Not big enough," declared Uncle Robert, while both girls exclaimed.
"Now this is the part I can help about and I have just had a great idea.
You all know that big barn of Mrs. Hargrave's? We boys used to play
there on rainy days when we were little. The whole top floor is one
immense room. We can give our entertainment there. Mrs. Hargrave will
give the barn, I know. And for my contribution or part of it, I will see
that you have a stage and a curtain and all that."

"How dear of you, Mr. Horton!" said Miss Hooker.

"Oh, Uncle Robert, a curtain that goes up and down?"

"Of course," said Uncle Robert, "and footlights and everything."

"O-o-o-o-h!" sighed both girls, and Miss Hooker looked at Uncle Robert
and smiled and he seemed real pleased.

"I think I must go if you will be kind enough to take me home," said
Miss Hooker. "Rosanna, you must tell the Girl Scouts about Gwenny at the
next meeting, and read your play. Then we will get right to work, for
the sooner this is staged, the better. We don't want to interfere with
the Christmas work."

After Mr. Horton had taken the tiny little lady home, the girls raced
upstairs and went to bed, but it was a long, long time before they could
get to sleep. They finally went off, however, and did not hear Uncle
Robert when he came home whistling gaily. They dreamed, however, both of
them, of acting before vast audiences that applauded all their speeches.
And at last Rosanna woke up with a start to find that Helen was clapping
her hands furiously and stamping her feet against the footboard. After
Rosanna succeeded in awakening her, they had a good laugh before they
went to sleep again.

At breakfast Uncle Robert was full of plans for the Benefit. "Miss
Hooker and I went all over your play last night, Rosanna," he said, "and
smoothed out the rough places. You know every manuscript has to be
corrected. It is on the table in my room. You had better read it over
after school, and if it suits your highness I will have it typewritten
for you, and you can go ahead. I am going to see about the barn now, on
my way down town, and if Mrs. Hargrave is willing--and I am sure she
will be--I will get a carpenter to measure for the staging. I suppose,"
he added, "I ought to ask Miss Hooker to look at the place and get some
suggestions from her?"

"Oh, I wouldn't bother to wait for her," said Rosanna, who was wild to
see the stage built. "She won't care what you do. If you like, I will
tell her how busy you are and that you won't bother to come around to
her house any more because you can attend to things just as well
yourself."

Uncle Robert looked hard at Rosanna. It was a queer look; sort of the
look you would expect from a cannibal uncle who has a little niece that
he wants to eat. Rosanna, catching the look, was surprised and quite
disturbed. But when Uncle Robert spoke, he merely said, "Thank you,
Rosanna; but you see I _do_ need Miss Hooker's advice very much indeed.
The fact is I will never be able to put this thing through as well as I
want to put it through unless I can consult with her every day or so. In
fact, if I cannot consult as often as I need to, I will certainly have
to give it up. And that would be awful, wouldn't it?"

"Of course it would, Uncle Robert," answered Rosanna. "I just hated to
have you bothered."

"I will stagger along under the burden," said Uncle Robert, trying to
look like a martyr. "The thing for you to do is to forget how hard I am
working and how much help I have to have doing this, and get your girls
to studying on their parts."

"Miss Hooker says I am to read it at the Scout meeting next week and
then we will give out the parts and let them be learning them."

"All right, sweetness; get after them," said Uncle Robert, kissing
Rosanna, and Helen, too, "for luck" he said, and going off whistling.

"I think the play is making Uncle Robert very happy," said Rosanna as
the front door slammed and she heard a merry whistle outside. "He is a
changed person these last few days."

"That is what often happens," said Helen. "Probably he did not have
anything to occupy his mind after business hours, so he was unhappy.
Mother says it is a serious condition to allow oneself to be in. Now
that he has our play to think about, he feels altogether different. I do
myself. Do you know it is time to start for school? Let's be off so we
won't have to hurry, and we will have time to stop for Elise."

Elise was ready and the three girls sauntered down the street together.

As they passed a great imposing stone house, Elise said, "It is a
château--what you call castle, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Rosanna, "and a cross old ogre lives in it. He and his
sister live there all alone, with lots of maids and men to serve them,
and he is so growly-wowly that Minnie says even the grocer boys are
afraid of him. That is his car in front of the door. Did you ever see
anything so large?"

"Or so lovely?" added Elise. "If he was not so ze what you just call
growlee-wowlee, he might carry us to school; not?"

"There he comes," said Rosanna. "Does he look as though he would carry
any little girls _any_where unless he carried them off to eat?"

The great carved door opened and an old gentleman came down the steps.
He walked with a cane and to the children he seemed very old indeed with
his snow white hair and fierce moustaches. He scowled as he came and
stopped to switch with his cane at a vine that had straggled up the
step. He noticed the three girls approaching, and scowled at them so
fiercely that they involuntarily stopped to let him pass. But he was in
no hurry to do so. When he had looked them over sufficiently, he looked
past them and snorted loudly at something he saw up the street, but when
the girls looked around to see what was the matter, there was only a
little baby girl playing with a little woolly dog; so they all looked
back again at the old gentleman. He seemed to fascinate them.

Three pair of round eyes fixed on him caught the old gentleman's
attention.

"Well, well, well!" he said testily. "What do you see? Come, come, speak
out!"

Elise drew back but the other two stood their ground, and Rosanna, who
had seen him all her life and was at least accustomed to him, said
gently:

"We see _you_, sir."

"Ha hum!" sputtered the old gentleman, drawing his fierce white eyebrows
together. "What about me, young woman, what about me to stare at?"

Rosanna was distressed. There seemed nothing to do but tell him the
truth and that was almost too awful. She smoothed it down as well as she
could.

"If you will excuse me for saying so, you looked a little cross," she
said, "and--and something must be making you very unhappy."

"It is," said the ogre. "It makes me unhappy to see what a silly
no-account world this is; full of small children, and woolly dogs, and
things. Kittens! Babies! Chickens! Bah! All making noises! All getting
up at daybreak to play and meow and crow. Bah! Of course I am unhappy!"

He crossed the walk, waved the footman back with his cane, stepped
painfully into the car, and with his own hand slammed the door shut. But
his anger blinded him. He did not take his hand away soon enough, and
the heavy door caught it. With a cry of pain, he dropped back on the
cushions. The middle finger was crushed and bleeding profusely.

"Heaven protect us!" cried Elise.

The old gentleman was almost fainting. Rosanna did not hesitate. The
Girl Scouts had to understand First Aid. She ran up to the car and
entered it, tearing up her handkerchief as she did so. Helen, close
behind her, was doing the same thing with hers.




CHAPTER V


Gently but firmly taking the bleeding finger in her little hand, Rosanna
bound it up in the strips of linen, folding them back and forth in quite
a professional manner. Helen helped her to tie the bandages. Not until
they had finished did they take time to glance up at the old gentleman.
He was deathly white and leaned heavily against the cushions.

"Now, sir," said Rosanna, "if you will have your man drive you to a
doctor, he will treat it with an antiseptic and it will soon be all
right."

The old gentleman commenced to brace up as he saw that the bleeding at
least was checked. The girls got out of the car, and the old gentleman
with a muttered, "Thank you, thank you," gave an order and the chauffeur
drove rapidly away.

"He said _thank you_ once for each of us anyway," said Helen.

Elise shuddered. "Your dress!" she said, pointing to Rosanna. Sure
enough, Rosanna was spattered with blood.

"Oh, dear, I will have to be late," she said. "Just look at me! I will
have to go back and put on a clean dress." She turned reluctantly and
ran back home, while the others went on to school and the automobile
carried the old gentleman rapidly to the office of his doctor.

While the physician was attending to the hand, the old gentleman, whose
name was Harriman, sat and sputtered:

"First time I ever saw any children with a grain of common sense!" he
declared. "Little girl acted in a fairly intelligent manner. Suppose it
wouldn't happen again. Children never know anything, especially girls.
Bah!"

"Oh, yes, they do, Mr. Harriman," said Doctor Greene soothingly. "Oh,
yes, they do! Now I have two little girls of my own, and I can tell
you--"

"Don't!" said Mr. Harriman. "I make it a point never to listen to fond
parents. I am sure the two girls who fixed me up were unusual--very
unusual."

"Yes, they were," said the doctor. "You will have an easier time with
this hand of yours, thanks to their skill."

"Queer!" said Mr. Harriman. "Seemed to know just what to do."

"Must have been Girl Scouts," said the doctor musingly.

"Girl Scouts? What foolishness is that?" said Mr. Harriman.

The doctor smiled. He thought of his own two daughters.

"Ask them about it," he said, rising, and would say no more.

Mr. Harriman limped out.

"What are Girl Scouts?" Mr. Harriman asked his chauffeur as they drove
to his office.

"I dunno, sah," said the colored man, starting. He always jumped when
Mr. Harriman spoke. Everyone wanted to.

"Idiot!" said Mr. Harriman.

"Yes, sah," said the chauffeur cheerfully.

There seemed nothing else to say.

Mr. Harriman's hand healed very quickly for so old a man, and the doctor
stubbornly gave all the credit to Rosanna's first-aid treatment. Mr.
Harriman could say "Stuff and nonsense!" as many times as he liked, but
it made no difference to the doctor, who smiled and refused to discuss
the matter. Mr. Harriman commenced to have a troublesome conscience. He
felt as though he should call and thank the little girl who had
befriended him to such good purpose, especially as he had known
Rosanna's grandmother all her life, but he could not bring himself to do
it and contented himself with sending two immense wax dolls and a huge
box of candy to Rosanna's house addressed to "The two girls who recently
bound up my hand." Rosanna and Helen were quite embarrassed, but Mrs.
Horton, who was immensely amused, told them that all that was necessary
was a note of thanks, which they wrote and sent off in a great hurry.
They didn't want to keep Mr. Harriman waiting. No one did. But he
couldn't find out anything about the Girl Scouts because the only
persons he asked were the very persons who would never know anything
much about anything that had to do with girls or good times or youth or
happiness. He asked his old friends at the club, when he felt like
talking at all, and so the time went on.

In the meantime, at a Scout meeting Rosanna found herself telling the
girls all about Gwenny and the play and the plans for sending the poor
little cripple to Cincinnati for the operation which might make her
well. It was only _might_. Doctor MacLaren and the other doctors whom he
had taken to see Gwenny would only say that it could be _tried_. And the
great surgeon, Dr. Branshaw, had written Dr. MacLaren that as soon as
the child was in a fit condition she could be brought to him and he
would do what he could. He said nothing about the cost, Rosanna noticed,
when she read his letter, so she could not tell the girls what the
operation would cost. They were all as interested as they could be and
promised to work as hard as they could selling tickets, and the ones who
were chosen to take parts in the play were very happy about it. As a
matter of fact, all of them were to come on the stage, for those who had
no speaking parts came on and marched and so had a share in the glory.

And the way they learned their parts! They almost mastered them over
night. Rehearsals went on, and the day was set for the entertainment.

There was a great deal of hammering up in Mrs. Hargrave's barn. Mrs.
Hargrave and Miss Hooker and Uncle Robert spent a good deal of time up
there, but they would not let anyone else in. Even Elise was barred out,
and although she wrung her little hands and talked a funny mixture of
French and English in her pretty coaxing way, not one of the three would
relent and let her peek in. "Wait until it comes time for the dress
rehearsals," was all they would say.

A week before the play, a big box came for Uncle Robert. He opened it in
Rosanna's room. It was full of tickets nicely printed on yellow
pasteboard. Rosanna read them with rapture: the name of the play, _her_
play, and at the top in large print,

                         BENEFIT PERFORMANCE

"You have not said anything about what the performance is to be a
benefit _for_." said Rosanna.

"That's all right," said her uncle.

"And you have forgotten to say the price of the tickets," wailed Helen,
who was again spending the night.

"Well," said Mr. Horton, "when I went to order those tickets for you, I
had an idea. And it was this. I thought as long as this was a benefit
performance, why not let it benefit everybody present?"

"How can it do that?" asked Rosanna.

"In this way," said Uncle Robert. "There will be all sorts of people
there, because some of the Girl Scouts, Miss Hooker says, are very poor
indeed, and some of them belong to families who have plenty of money. So
Miss Hooker suggested a very good scheme. Tell the girls when they sell
tickets to say that as it is a benefit and so forth and so forth, that
the tickets are simply to let the people into the hall. As they go out
they are to pay whatever they think it is worth, from five cents up."

"Perfectly splendid!" said Helen, catching the idea at once.

"I don't know," answered Rosanna. "They will have seen the performance
and suppose everybody will feel as though it is worth only a nickel?"

"Oh, they won't feel like that at all, Rosanna," said Helen. "I think
every single person will think it is worth a quarter. Think if they
would all pay twenty-five cents!"

"I know several who expect to pay a dollar," said Uncle Robert.

"If they only will," cried Rosanna, almost sobbing, "Gwenny can go to
Cincinnati this very winter! I think it is a good idea, Uncle Robert.
After all, it is a good thing that you did consult with Miss Hooker,
even if it _has_ taken a lot of your time. I think you have been so
kind."

"Oh, I haven't minded," said Uncle Robert in a generous way.

"Why, you must have minded," went on Rosanna. "I have kept track all I
could, because I was so much obliged to you, and you have been over
there at Miss Hooker's house consulting--well, you had to go over five
nights last week, and Miss Hooker is always saying, 'I had a telephone
today from your uncle.' You must be tired to death. I nearly told Miss
Hooker so, but I thought it might sound rude."

"You are right about that, Rosanna; it would have been very rude indeed,
excessively rude I may say," said Mr. Horton with some haste. "I can
scarcely think of anything worse for you to say. My sainted Maria!"

"I didn't say it," Rosanna assured him, "and the thing is so nearly over
now, only a week more, that it really doesn't matter."

"Not a particle!" said Mr. Horton. "But I wish you would promise me that
you won't say anything of the sort. Not that it matters, but I seem to
feel nervous."

"Of course I will promise," agreed Rosanna. "I love Miss Hooker but of
course I love you more, and I just do hate to have you bothered."

"It is mighty nice of you, sweetness, but you must not worry about me at
all. Now to change the conversation, as the man said when he had nearly
been hanged by mistake, you give these tickets out to your Girl Scouts
and tell them to offer them to the people who would be most likely to
give more than a nickel. It ought to be easy. They are to say that the
benefit will cost them five cents or up as they leave the hall. With
your permission, I will make a few remarks and tell them about Gwenny.
But we will not mention her by name, because if there should be a
newspaper reporter lurking around he would put it in the papers and that
would be very embarrassing."

After Uncle Robert had gone out the girls made the tickets up in little
bundles, one for each girl in the group. Their own they spread out on
the table, planning how they would dispose of them.

"Whom shall you sell to first?" asked Helen.

"Mr. Harriman," said Rosanna quietly.

Helen dropped her tickets. "Dear _me_, Rosanna!" she cried. "I would be
too afraid to offer him a ticket."

"_I_ am not," said Rosanna. "I would do more than that for Gwenny, and I
am not afraid of him at all. Not even if he roars. And he has lots and
lots of money. I shouldn't wonder at all that he will be one of the
dollar ones if he comes. And he has _got_ to come if I go after him."

"Dear _me_!" said Helen again, quite awed. "You are brave. Shall I come
with you?"

"If you like," replied Rosanna. "We will go right after school
tomorrow."

The interview with Mr. Harriman took place as planned the first thing
after school. School let out at two o'clock, and it was half-past when
the girls mounted the steps of the grim old fortress in which Mr.
Harriman lived. Now it happened that half past two was a very dark hour
for Mr. Harriman because at about that time he was always in the clutch
of a bad attack of indigestion brought on daily because he would _not_
mind his doctor and omit pickles and sweets from his bill of fare. At
this time he read the morning paper and reviled the world at large. His
sister always left him with the excuse that she wanted to lie down, and
he was alone with his abused stomach and his pepsin tablets and his
thoughts.

The two girls entered the room and waited for him to speak.

Mr. Harriman looked up from his reading with a dark scowl. Most of the
newspaper was on the floor where he had thrown it to stamp on. He always
felt better when he stamped on the editorials that displeased him most.
It seemed to soothe his feelings. He managed to grunt, "'Dafternoon!
'Dafternoon!" when he saw the two girls advance across his library, and
then he waited, looking over the tops of a very grubby pair of glasses
for them to state their errands. It was Rosanna who spoke first,
although generally Helen was the spokesman. But Helen was frankly afraid
of the grouchy old gentleman, while Rosanna was too anxious to help
Gwenny to be afraid of anyone. So she said, "Please excuse us, Mr.
Harriman, if we have interrupted your reading."

"Well, you have!" said Mr. Harriman gruffly. "Whadder you want? Sell me
chances on a doll's carriage or sofy pillow? Who's getting up your fair?
Meth'dist, 'Piscopal? Here's a dime."

He held out the money, which Rosanna took gently and laid on the table
beside him.

"Thank you," she said. "We don't want any money today. We have come to
tell you about an entertainment we are going to give. First if you don't
mind I think I will just shine up your glasses. You can't see to think
through them the way they are," and as Helen looked on, expecting to see
Rosanna snapped in two any second, she held out her hand for the
glasses, shaking out a clean pocket handkerchief as she did so. No one
was more surprised than Mr. Harriman himself when he took off the smeary
spectacles and handed them to Rosanna, who silently polished them and
handed them back. They _were_ better; Mr. Harriman acknowledged it with
a grunt.

"Girls are real handy," said Rosanna with her sweet smile.

"Grrrrrr!" from Mr. Harriman. "Whadded you want to tell me?" but his
voice certainly seemed a shade less gruff.

Rosanna, speaking distinctly and as carefully as though she was
explaining to a small child, told the old man about Gwenny and the
benefit and after that, as he sat perfectly still looking at her through
unnaturally shiny glasses, she went on to tell him about the Girl
Scouts. You couldn't tell whether he cared a snap about it, but at all
events he listened, and Helen and Rosanna both thought it was a good
sign. They did not dare to glance at each other, but Rosanna went on
talking until she felt that she had told him all that he would want to
know if he had been a regular sort of a human being instead of a
grouchy, cross old man who seemed to delight in scaring everyone away
from him.

"That's all," said Rosanna finally, smiling up into the scowling old
face.

There was a long silence,

"Grrrrrr!" said Mr. Harriman again. "So you want me to come to your
show, do you? Haven't been to a show for forty years! No good! Silly!"

"Ours isn't," declared Helen, suddenly finding her voice. "Our
entertainment is perfectly splendid!"

"Perfectly splendid!" mimicked Mr. Harriman. "Sounds just like a woman!
All alike, regardless of age. Grrrrrr!"

"You will come, won't you?" asked Rosanna. "Please do! You see it is
only a nickel if you do not think it is worth more."

"A great many persons are going to pay a quarter," hinted Helen.

"All right, all right!" said Mr. Harriman. "You are less objectionable
than most children. I will come if I can remember it."

"Suppose I come after you?" suggested Rosanna, remembering what she had
said to Helen about getting Mr. Harriman if she had to come after him.

"All right, all right! Let it go at that! I know your sex! You will
forget all about your agreement by the time you reach the next corner.
If you come after me, I will go to your show. In the Hargrave barn, eh?
Anything to sit on, or shall I bring a chair?"

"No, sir; Uncle Robert has fixed seats and everything. And I will come
for you quite early because I have to be there doing my part."

"That's nuff!" grunted Mr. Harriman, nodding curtly. "'Dafternoon!" He
resumed his paper, and as he caught the opening sentences of the article
before him, there came a sound like the grating of teeth and the noise
of a large boiler that is about to explode.

The girls said, "Good afternoon!" in two small voices and went out as
quickly as they could.

Helen breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the outer air.

"Rosanna, you are certainly a very brave girl," she said. "I am glad to
get out alive. Every minute I expected to hear him say, 'Fee-fi-fo-fum,
I smell the breath of an English-mun!'"

Rosanna laughed.

"He is pretty awful," she granted. "But I mean to make him come. I think
it will do him good to see that play, and I shall certainly go after
him. If he thinks I am going to forget about him, he is greatly
mistaken."

"Let's try to get rid of all our tickets this afternoon. You know we are
to meet Uncle Robert at the barn at five o'clock to see the theatre he
has fixed up. Oh, Helen, I am _so_ excited!"

For a couple of hours the girls repeated the story of Gwenny and the
benefit until they could say it by heart. The tickets went so fast that
they were sorry that they did not have twice as many. At a quarter of
five they hurried back to Mrs. Hargrave's, where Elise was waiting for
them and Uncle Robert soon joined them. There was a short wait then,
because he refused to unlock the door before Miss Hooker arrived
although the girls begged and begged, assuring him that she wouldn't
mind.

Finally they heard the tap, tap, tap of her tiny shoes on the old brick
walk, and round the corner she came, looking more dimply and dainty and
altogether beautiful than ever. Uncle Robert looked as though he could
eat her, but somehow it was not the sort of look he had given Rosanna
that other time. Not at all! Rosanna noticed it.




CHAPTER VI


The stairs were broad and easy, and the girls ran up after Uncle Robert
who proceeded to fit a large key in the lock of the big door at the head
of the stairs. It was a very fine stable, built many, many years ago,
and finished outside and inside with great care. The walls were all
sealed or finished with narrow strips of varnished wood. As the door
swung open, the three girls stood dumb with amazement. Then "Oh,
_darling_ Uncle Robert!" cried Rosanna, and threw herself into his arms.

Uncle Robert looked over her head at Miss Hooker and smiled.

"Glad if you like it, kiddie," he said. "It is my contribution to little
Gwenny. And Doctor Rick told me to tell you that he would send some
music for his share."

"Oh, Helen, Helen, isn't that _splendid_?" cried Rosanna. "Now we won't
have to have a Victrola! It will be like a real theatre."

"Just exactly," said Helen absently. She could not give very much
thought to the orchestra when the little theatre claimed her attention.

There was a real stage, and before it a long green tin that the girls
knew concealed the footlights. A splendid curtain hung before them,
painted in a splashy way with a landscape. To the girls it seemed a rare
work of art. Well, the sign painter who had done it was rather proud of
himself, so it _must_ have been all right.

They walked down the aisle between rows of nice new benches, made with
comfortable backs. Mr. Horton left them and went around back of the
stage. Immediately there was a sound of ropes squeaking, and the curtain
rose as majestically as though it was the curtain of a real theatre. And
there was the stage! The same accommodating sign painter had painted a
back drop and "flies" as they are called. It was a woodland scene. Trees
were the thing that accommodating sign painter could do best, and he had
made lots of them, as green as green! He had also painted two canvas
covered boxes so that you could scarcely tell them from real rocks.

"Isn't that pretty nifty looking scenery?" asked Uncle Robert proudly.
"It only goes to show that there is a lot of kindness floating around
loose in this work-a-day old world. The man who painted all this knew
Gwenny's mother when she was a girl, and when I asked for his bill he
said he had done it all Sundays and nights and it was his contribution.
He wouldn't take a cent. Doing it nights is why some of the trees look
sort of bluish but I don't think it hurts, do you?"

"What a nice, _nice_ man!" exclaimed Miss Hooker. "I should say it
_doesn't_ hurt! To think of his working nights after painting all day
long. I should admire those trees if they were a bright _purple_!"

"Of course you would," said Uncle Robert softly. "You are like that."

Rosanna was hurt. "Why, Uncle Robert! She doesn't mean that she would
just as _soon_ like a purple tree as a green one. She means how nice it
was of the man."

"Thank you, Rosanna; it is all perfectly clear to me now," smiled Uncle
Robert. "Perfectly clear." He looked again at Miss Hooker and she
smothered a little smile behind her little handkerchief.

They hated to go out of the theatre and see Uncle Robert lock the door.
Then they separated. Elise danced off to the house. Miss Hooker and
Helen went down the street together, and Uncle Robert and Rosanna cut
across the garden. Rosanna's heart was full. She wanted _everybody_ to
be happy.

"Uncle Robert," she said, "sometimes I wish that you were going to get
married after awhile. If you were only going to marry Miss Hooker or
some young lady just like her, so little and sweet!"

"Well, it is worth considering," said Uncle Robert. "I wonder now, just
for the sake of argument, that is, if I _should_ do it to accommodate
you, I wonder if Miss Hooker _would_ marry me."

"Oh, no," said Rosanna. "She wouldn't _think_ of it."

"Ugh!" said Uncle Robert. It sounded as though someone had knocked all
the air out of him.

"No," continued Rosanna. "We were talking about Minnie getting married
one day, and I said it was the only wedding I was ever apt to have
anything to do with because I had heard you say many times that you were
not a marrying man."

"What did she say?" asked Uncle Robert in a sort of strangled voice
which Rosanna, skipping along at his side, failed to notice.

"Oh, she said, 'How interesting!' and I said, 'Isn't it? Because he is
nicer than anyone I know, but he says that girls never cut any figure in
his young life except to play with.'"

"What did she say then?" demanded Mr. Horton.

"Nothing at all," answered Rosanna, "but she is sensible too, because
the next time I was there, she asked more about Minnie, and then she
said she had decided never to marry. She said she liked to be polite to
men and help them pass the time, and to assist them in worthy works, but
further than that she despised the whole lot of them, especially
blonds." Rosanna looked up to see what color hair Uncle Robert had, and
noticed a very queer look on his face.

"You look so queer, Uncle Robert," she said tenderly. "Don't you feel
well?"

"No, I don't," said Uncle Robert. "I think if you will excuse me I will
take a walk."

"How _do_ you feel?" persisted Rosanna.

"I feel--I feel _queer_," said Uncle Robert. "I feel sort of as though I
had been gassed."

He turned abruptly and went down the walk, leaving Rosanna staring after
him. At dinner, however, Uncle Robert declared that he was all right, so
Rosanna stopped worrying.

Everything went rushing along. And everything went beautifully, thanks
to the energy everybody put into their work. A couple of days before the
day of the entertainment Uncle Robert appeared with a copy of the
programs that he had had printed. All the Girl Scouts, when Rosanna
brought it to the rehearsal, read it until the paper was quite worn out.
At the bottom of the page, after the program part, was printed plainly,
_Given by the Girl Scouts of Group II_. Whoever saw the program at all
could not fail to see that they were all in it, one as much as another.

At last the great day came! It was Saturday, of course. No other day
would be possible for busy school girls. Directly after supper, the
Scouts commenced to file into the theatre by ones and twos and threes.
They gathered in the dressing-rooms back of the stage, where they sat or
stood in solemn groups. Helen and Elise had arrived, and as Rosanna
started across the garden she happened to think of Mr. Harriman. She
could not suppress a groan of dismay as she remembered her promise to go
after him. There was no time to get Helen or Elise to go. She looked
wildly up and down for some other Girl Scout, but there was not one in
sight. If she did not go, Mr. Harriman would indeed think that all women
were alike. So she flitted down the street looking like a good fairy in
her shimmering blue dress, with the tiny wreath of forget-me-nots
banding her dark hair. She had not taken time to put on her blue evening
coat, with its broad bands of white fox fur, but held it round her
shoulders with both hands as she ran.

Mr. Harriman was at home, the footman said, but he was engaged; had
company for dinner, and they had not quite finished. Would she wait?

Rosanna said she was sorry but she would have to go right in and speak
to Mr. Harriman. So she passed the pompous servant and at the
dining-room door a still more pompous butler, and stepped into the
presence of Mr. Harriman and his guests.

Miss Harriman, a thin, scared little old lady, sat at the head of the
table. Opposite her, busy with a large dish of plum pudding, sat Mr.
Harriman. His two guests sat on either side of him. They were old too,
so three white-haired old gentlemen turned and looked at Rosanna as she
entered and dropped a curtsey.

"'Devening! There you are again! Grrrrrr! Didn't forget, did you? Bah!
Want I should go to show?" said Mr. Harriman, partly to Rosanna and
partly to the others.

"Yes, sir; this is the night," said Rosanna.

"What's this?" asked one of the gentlemen, who looked as though he could
not have said _grrrrrr_ or _bah_ to save his life.

"That's a Girl Scout," said Mr. Harriman. "Told you at the club that I
would find out about 'em. Here's a live one. Caught her myself." He
acted quite pleased.

"Shall I wait and walk over with you, Mr. Harriman," asked Rosanna, "or
will you come as soon as you can? You see I must be over there very
early."

"I will come m'self," said Mr. Harriman. "Want piece puddin'? No?
S'good! I will come later. Won't break my word. Didn't break yours.
Bring these fellows along if they have any money."

"How much will we need?" said the third old gentleman, laughing.

"Anything from a nickel up," replied Rosanna.

"Cost you a quarter," said Mr. Harriman. "Cosgrove, here, will have to
pay thirty-five cents. Based on income tax!"

Rosanna, watching him, thought she saw a real twinkle in Mr. Harriman's
eye. She warned them to be on time and promised to save three seats for
them in the front row. Then she went skipping happily off. Three instead
of one to come to the play, two quarters, and thirty-five cents made
eighty-five cents right there! It was enough to make _anyone_ skip. When
she reached the barn people were filing up the broad stairs, and the
room was already half full. Uncle Robert stood near the door nodding and
smiling and telling the Girl Scout ushers where to seat one and another.
Rosanna hurriedly wrote "Taken" on the backs of three tickets, and laid
them on three spaces on the bench nearest the stage. As people kept
coming, she commenced to wonder if there would be seats enough. She
whispered her fear to Uncle Robert.

"That's all right," he said. "I have one of the box stalls downstairs
full of camp chairs, and the sign painter is here to help me bring them
up if they are needed."

"You think of everything," said Rosanna fondly, then set herself to
watch the door for Mr. Harriman. It was not long before she heard the
clump, clump, clump of his cane and the heavy footsteps of his two
friends. She escorted them proudly to their seats, and left them nodding
appreciatively at the bright curtain and all the fittings of the little
theatre. Then she hurried around back of the stage.

"They came, eighty-five cents' worth!" she whispered to Helen.

"What do you mean?"

"Mr. Harriman is here and two of his friends," said Rosanna. "And Mr.
Harriman and one friend will give twenty-five cents, and the other will
give thirty-five."

"Good!" said Helen. "How do I look? Is the place filling up? Have you
seen the music Doctor Rick sent? Five pieces! They have just come. They
are down in the feed room getting their instruments out. Oh, I am _so_
excited! And it is all to make Gwenny well."

"I am going out now," said Rosanna. "I wish you could all sit out in
front. It does not seem fair for me to do so."

"It _is_ fair," Helen assured her. "Didn't you write the whole play? Of
course you must see that it is played right."

When Rosanna appeared she glanced at Mr. Harriman and was surprised to
have him beckon her to him.

"Sit here," he said, making a small but sufficient space between himself
and one of his friends--the thirty-five cent one, Rosanna noticed. She
sat down, and as she did so the music started off with a flourish. How
splendidly it sounded! It quite drowned the sound of people entering.
Uncle Robert, and the sign painter, and a couple of brothers belonging
to one of the girls were busy bringing camp chairs and placing them in
the wide aisle and along the sides. Two bright red spots burned on
Rosanna's cheeks.

She looked at her wrist watch. In five minutes it would begin. And it
did.

A row of Girl Scouts in crisp, natty looking uniforms, marching
according to size, so that the large girls were in the center of the
stage, came out before the curtain and sang one of their best Girl Scout
songs. Their voices were so sweet and they sang so well that they had to
return and give an encore. Mr. Harriman pounded with his cane.

Then the Webster girls, dressed as fairies, came out and danced what the
program called the Moonbeam Dance, and behold, Uncle Robert had fixed a
spot light so they looked pink and white and purple and blue by turns
and it was like a real theatre.

There was so much applause after this that Rosanna could not help
wondering if it was a good strong barn!

Then there was a short pause while the orchestra played.

As it ended, Uncle Robert appeared before the curtain. He looked so
beautiful to Rosanna in his evening dress with his merry eyes and
pleasant smile, that her eyes filled with tears of pride. And he made a
beautiful simple little speech. He told the audience a great deal about
the Girl Scouts and all the good the organization was doing for the
girls and others as well, and then he told of the little lame girl,
suffering so hopelessly and so patiently, and how these Girl Scouts had
determined to help her. He told them there was no price set on the
tickets, because some might feel like giving ten cents or even a quarter
or so but that no one was _asked_ to leave more than a nickel. And then
he called their attention to the beautiful curtain and told them that
that and the scenery was the gift of a friend who was a sign painter,
who had done it Sundays and nights after work as his contribution to the
benefit, and everybody clapped furiously, and Mr. Harriman and the
thirty-five cent gentleman commenced to nudge each other behind Rosanna.
_She_ was sitting on the very front edge of the bench.

Then Uncle Robert said:

"After another short selection by the orchestra there will be a play
written by one of the Girl Scouts. We hope that you will enjoy it." He
bowed, and stepped behind the curtain, while everybody clapped and Mr.
Harriman thumped with his cane.

As the orchestra struck up, the thirty-five cent gentleman leaned over
to Mr. Harriman and said, "What are you going to do about it, Dick?"

"Do 'swell's you do," said Mr. Harriman.

"Just as much?" questioned the thirty-five cent gentleman.

"Yes," said Mr. Harriman, snorting. "And fifty over!"

"I will break even with you both," said the third gentleman, leaning
across.

Mr. Cosgrove took out a check book and a fountain pen and commenced to
write. Mr. Harriman leaned behind Rosanna and watched.

"Poh! Hum! Grrrrrr! Piker!" he said, and Mr. Cosgrove, laughing, tore up
his check and wrote another which he handed to Mr. Harriman. Rosanna did
not think it would be polite to look, but wondered what in the world
they were doing when they should have been listening to the music.

"S'all right," said Mr. Harriman. "Girl's pretty lame, isn't she,
Rosanna?"

"Gwenny can't walk at all," replied Rosanna, "and even at night her back
hurts so she can't sleep."

"Poor little broken pot," said the third gentleman softly. "A pity that
the hand of the Potter slipped."

"Save your poetry, Bristol!" grunted Mr. Harriman. "This talks better."
He struck the check book with his pen, and Mr. Bristol, borrowing a
page, wrote busily as the curtain rose.

Rosanna, hoping they would forget business for a while, bent her eyes on
the stage.




CHAPTER VII


As the play progressed Rosanna commenced to doubt her own senses. It did
not seem possible that she could have written anything so good and so
interesting.

When the act ended, there was a louder burst of applause than at any
other time, and to Rosanna's horror some one in the back of the room
commenced to cry, "Author, author!" Rosanna did not realize at first
that they meant her and was looking around the room with a great deal of
interest when she felt both Mr. Harriman and Mr. Cosgrove pushing her to
her feet. She stood up because they shoved her up, and she did not know
what to do next.

Then the most amazing thing of all happened.

Mr. Harriman rose to his feet and taking Rosanna firmly by the arm as
though she might dash off any instant, he started toward the three
little steps at one side of the stage. Up these steps he sternly piloted
Rosanna, while everyone in the room clapped and clapped again. All of
Louisville knew Mr. Harriman, and when everybody saw that _he_ was
escorting the little girl who had written the play, they sat quite still
to see what would happen next. When they reached the stage and stood
facing the audience, someone called, "Speech, speech!" but that was
'way, 'way beyond Rosanna, who was perfectly overcome anyway. She looked
pleadingly at Mr. Harriman, who knew what she meant, and took pity on
her.

"Hum, grrrrrr," he commenced. "Ladies and gentlemen, this little lady,
who is the author and producer of the play you have just seen, asks me
to speak for her. She thanks you for your appreciation, and for the help
you are giving to herself and these other generous Girl Scouts in their
efforts to assist a girl less fortunate than themselves. You have heard
about the little cripple who is to be benefited by the work of these
girls, and I think we, the audience fortunate enough to be present at
this memorable occasion, will esteem it a pleasure to do what we can
toward making it possible for this little sufferer to obtain a possible
cure through a very serious and expensive operation. We thank you.
Grrrrrr!" He _glared_ at Mr. Cosgrove and Mr. Bristol, and bowed.
Rosanna dipped a hasty curtsey, and they went off the stage again as
everybody clapped and the music struck up the jolliest piece they knew.
The entertainment was over!

Back with Mr. Cosgrove and Mr. Bristol, each old gentleman shook hands
with Rosanna and started for the door, where Uncle Robert, intent on the
most important part of all, sat at the table on which was a shoe box
with a slot cut in the cover. He was smiling and beaming and saying,
"Thank you!" over and over as people congratulated him on Rosanna's
play. Miss Hooker stood beside him looking so sweet and true and pretty
that when Mr. Harriman came up and looked at her, and started to say
"Grrrrrr," it actually sounded like a purr! He hastily shoved something
white through the slot, and Mr. Cosgrove and Mr. Bristol followed him,
looking very guilty.

Then Mr. Harriman turned back.

"Absolutely confidential, Horton! No newspapers!" he said.

"Absolutely, sir, and thank you," said Uncle Robert, bowing to the
three. He commenced to suspect something!

Miss Hooker stooped to whisper something to Robert. As soon as the last
person had left the hall, he obeyed the whisper, and taking the precious
box, which was sealed with red sealing wax where the cover went on, he
went behind the scenes. All the girls were there, as well as the sign
painter and the two brothers. These three looked immensely relieved when
a fourth member of their sex appeared. Mrs. Hargrave was there too, and
she was inviting everyone to walk over to her house and have something
to eat. She said she believed it was customary after the first
presentation of a play.

When some of the girls said they would have to go home with their folks
on account of getting home with escort, Mrs. Hargrave at once added that
she had arranged with Mrs. Horton to send the girls home in their
automobiles.

So very soon they were all in Mrs. Hargrave's immense dining-room,
sitting in chairs ranged round the room and being served chicken
bouillon and sandwiches, and fruit salad, and olives, and cocoa, and
ice-cream with whipped cream on top. All they could eat of each thing
too!

"I can't wait to see the inside of that box," said Mrs. Hargrave after
all the Girl Scouts and the sign painter and the two brothers had said
good night and thank you, and had gone. "What if these children of ours
_do_ have to sleep half the day tomorrow? Telephone your mother, Miss
Hooker, that you are here with me, and that you will be home presently,
and we will go into the library and watch Robert count the money. And
whatever is lacking, when it comes to settling for that operation, Mrs.
Horton and I intend to make up."

Robert Horton laughed.

"I have an idea that you are on the safe side of the bargain, dear
lady," he said. "I think this box will surprise us."

"How much do you suppose is in it?" asked Miss Hooker as she started for
the telephone. "A hundred dollars?"

"Five hundred at the least," answered Uncle Robert.

Everybody started to hurry for the library at that as though the money
in the box would have to be counted as rapidly as possible for fear it
might fly away.

Uncle Robert happened to sit beside Miss Hooker again, but Rosanna sat
on the other side. He cut the sealing wax and opened the box. There was
all sorts of silver money there _except nickels_! There was not one
nickel. Dimes, quarters, fifty-cent pieces, and silver dollars, but not
a nickel.

Uncle Robert placed the coins in neat piles, then he commenced to stack
the paper money. After he had done this, he sorted out five checks,
which he laid by themselves quite respectfully, face down.

Then he drew out a pencil and paper and commenced to count. No one
spoke. At the last, still keeping the faces of the five checks out of
sight, he added them in, covered the paper with his hand, and looked up.
He seemed dazed.

"How much do you think?" he demanded.

"Don't make us guess, Robert," said his mother.

"Two thousand, two hundred and thirty-four dollars and twenty-five
cents," he said slowly.

"Impossible!" exclaimed Mrs. Hargrave sharply.

Miss Hooker gave a gasp. The girls, perfectly round-eyed, sat silent.

"There it is!" said Mr. Horton. "Mr. Bristol and Mr. Cosgrove each gave
a check for five hundred dollars, and Mr. Harriman wrote his for five
hundred and fifty."

Mrs. Horton sniffed.

"Dick Harriman never gave twenty-five dollars to anything like this in
his life," she said.

"Well, here is his check," declared her son.

"So _that_ is where the fifty came in," said Rosanna, finding her voice.
She repeated the conversation she had heard. Everybody laughed.

"Poor Dick!" said Mrs. Hargrave. "He doesn't feel well, and his bark is
so bad that I doubt if anyone ever before stopped to see what his bite
was like until Rosanna tried. I reckon he is happier tonight than he has
been for a long while. He would think it was a great joke, too, to
cajole Henry Bristol and Clinton Cosgrove into giving that money. Well,
they can afford it many times over, so it will do them all good."

"Too bad Rick MacLaren isn't here," said Uncle Robert. "He has a sick
patient on hand, and couldn't come. I will tell him the first thing in
the morning."

"And these girls _must_ go to bed," said Mrs. Horton. "Are you going to
stay with Rosanna, Helen?"

"I think I will just have to go home and tell mother and father about it
if there is any way for me to get there," replied Helen.

"If Miss Hooker feels like the extra walk, we will take you on our way
to her house," said Uncle Robert eagerly.

"I would love it," said Miss Hooker obligingly.

Rosanna marvelled.

Miss Hooker lived blocks away from Helen, in the opposite direction, but
as the older people said nothing, Rosanna kept silence. At all events
the benefit was over, and her Uncle Robert would no longer feel obliged
to spend all his time with a mere girl, because no matter how lovely,
Rosanna knew that he didn't care for girls.

A number of girls ranging in age from twelve to sixteen were busy
repeating in a number of homes that night just how they had felt at
different times during the evening, and explaining to less fortunate
brothers and sisters how good everything had tasted afterwards. And
Sunday morning, a great many mothers had a difficult time getting their
Girl Scout daughters awake.

Rosanna had a long talk with Uncle Bob. She wanted to know what was
going to be done about the money.

"I have been thinking about that," said Uncle Robert. "I will put it in
the bank the first thing tomorrow morning. I shall put it in the office
bank for safe keeping until then."

"Do you suppose it will take all of it for Gwenny's operation?" asked
Rosanna.

"No, I do not," Robert replied, "but of course Doctor Branshaw is a very
high priced specialist, and he sets his own fees."

"If he knew that Gwenny was a poor little girl and that the Girl Scouts
were taking care of her, I wonder if it would make any difference?"

Uncle Robert shook his head. "I don't believe I would ask a favor of
anyone, now that you have earned such a lot of money. Just go ahead and
pay her way like good sports. At that, with the hospital charges and
nurses paid, I think you may have a little left over. If we have, we
will have to find the best way to spend it for Gwenny. I want to consult
with Miss Hooker about it later if she is not too tired."

"Consult again! Oh, _poor_ Uncle Robert!" said Rosanna compassionately.
"I thought that was all over with."

"It is not as painful as you seem to think," said Uncle Robert dryly.
"At all events, my health is not breaking under the strain. I never knew
you to fuss so, Rosanna. Just what have you up your sleeve anyhow? Don't
you like your Captain after all?"

"Oh, I perfectly _love_ her," cried Rosanna warmly. "You don't know how
sweet she is, Uncle Robert! And she is such a good Captain. Every girl
in the patrol loves her and will do anything in the world for her."

Seeing that Uncle Robert appeared to be listening, Rosanna went on
warming to her subject.

"At the Rally, I heard one of the ladies say that our Captain was
considered the best one in all the city. And she looks so young; just
like one of the girls when she gets into her Scout uniform. When we are
on hikes, she runs around and plays with us and joins all our games. Oh,
yes, Uncle Robert, I do love her dearly!"

"I don't know but what I do myself," admitted Uncle Robert unexpectedly.

"Why, Uncle _Robert_!" said Rosanna in a shocked tone. "What a thing for
you to say!"

Uncle Robert wondered if he had made a mistake. It was not the sort of a
remark he would want repeated. So he made another mistake.

"Wasn't it? A joke, Rosanna; just a merry jest. Thought you would laugh
over it. Ha ha! Ha ha!"

"Ha ha!" repeated Rosanna to be agreeable. Sometimes Uncle Robert was
rather disappointing. "But she is lovely anyway, and has loads and loads
of friends, and, Uncle Robert, I think she has a sweetheart because
boxes and boxes of flowers come to her, and she just keeps a little one
to wear, and sends all the rest to the hospital. And lovely books come
by mail and the fattest letters! One had poetry in it, too. I could tell
by the shape of the writing down the page."

"Don't snoop, Rosanna," said Uncle Robert sharply.

"I didn't, Uncle Robert," said Rosanna in a hurt tone. "She was sitting
close to me on the sofa, and I couldn't help seeing. She liked it too,
because she smiled so sweetly and showed all her dimples, even the one
that almost _never_ comes out."

"What a little ray of sunshine you are, Rosanna!" said her uncle
strangely.

"Thank you; a Girl Scout _ought_ to be," replied Rosanna.

"Well, you are, all right, sweetness," said Uncle Robert. He sighed
deeply almost as though the ray of sunshine had not come his way at all.
He kissed Rosanna and then sat her down rather hard in a deep chair. "I
don't know when I have felt so cheered up. And now, if you would like to
call the garage and order the little car for me, I will go around to see
Doctor MacLaren and tell him the good news of our fortune. And on second
thoughts, I don't believe I will have to consult with Miss Hooker at
all. I think perhaps you are right. I have bothered her enough."

"She has been _very_ polite and kind about it all, hasn't she?" asked
Rosanna.

"Most polite and kind," Mr. Horton agreed. "But we don't want to wear
her kindness out, do we, Rosanna? I will go see Rick, and in a day or
two my part of this affair will be finished. And I won't have to bother
anybody. I am thinking of a little trip out West, Rosanna. I wish you
could go with me."

"I wish I could!" said Rosanna, "but grandmother wouldn't want me to
leave school, and besides I couldn't leave the Scouts just now. Where do
you think of going, Uncle Robert?"

"Nowhere in particular, unless--" he thought a moment. "It might be fun
to look up some place where they had never heard of the Girl Scouts."

"Perfectly splendid!" said Rosanna. "_That_ would be doing a good deed.
You could tell the people about us, and start a patrol. I must tell Miss
Hooker about this; she will think it is so nice of you. She appreciates
kind acts, even if she doesn't like men."

"It is not worth mentioning, Rosanna," answered Uncle Robert. "Besides,
I didn't have just that in mind. However, I hear the car and will leave
you before--before I do anything I regret."

He went off, and Rosanna watched him through the window as he started
his car. He was real jerky with it, and it sputtered and missed, and
went off with a leap.

"He is all tired out," thought Rosanna.




CHAPTER VIII


Time passed, a great many things happening. Gwenny, accompanied by her
mother (there being plenty of money for everything), was taken away to
the place of her great trial. When the question arose as to what should
be done with Mary and Tommy and Myron and Luella and Baby Christopher,
Rosanna thought of Minnie, always so good and kind. She went to see her,
and the result was that Minnie volunteered to stay at Gwenny's and run
the little house and take care of the children as long as Mrs. Harter
was needed in Cincinnati. Both Doctor MacLaren and Mr. Horton went with
Mrs. Harter and Gwenny, and made the journey as comfortable as they
possibly could. The great Doctor Branshaw, after seeing his patient,
said that she must have at least a week of rest under his own eye before
he would be willing to try the operation. So Gwenny was settled in a
sunny room at the hospital where she at once became the pet of the ward
and Doctor MacLaren and Mr. Horton came home.

Late in the afternoon, the very next Sunday, Mr. Horton came into the
house looking the picture of gloom. He scarcely spoke to his mother and
Rosanna but rushed up to his room and immediately there was a sound of
things being dragged around, and many footsteps. And the door opened and
shut a great many times. Mrs. Horton wondered what that boy was up to
now and went on reading. But Rosanna listened with a black suspicion
growing in her mind.

And, sure enough, Mr. Horton came down presently to announce that he was
going away for a few weeks. He was getting stale, he said, and needed a
little change. When he saw Rosanna's round eyes fixed on him, he looked
away but repeated that he felt stale.

"It is that War," said his mother, as though the war should be severely
reprimanded. "Before you went into that war, you were always contented.
Now nothing contents you for long."

"Perhaps you are right," admitted Robert absently. "At all events I can
be spared from the office just now better than at any other time, and I
am going to go away."

And go he did an hour later. Mrs. Hargrave and Elise came in presently
to take Sunday night luncheon.

"Where is Robert?" asked Mrs. Hargrave, seeing that no place was set for
him.

"Gone off for a vacation," said his mother.

"Dear me, isn't he well?" asked Mrs. Hargrave.

"Perfectly, but he just took one of his notions and went."

"Anything--er--happened, do you suppose?" questioned Mrs. Hargrave.
"Anything--er, _you_ know. Misunderstanding?"

"Possibly," answered Mrs. Horton. "That is what I suspect. But I don't
_know_ anything."

"Oh dear, oh dear!" cried Mrs. Hargrave, folding her fine old hands
together. "It is too bad! Can't something be done? Why, Robert is the
finest boy in this world! He is just what I dream my son would have been
if I had had one. Do you suppose one could say anything to the other
person?"

"No, indeed," said Mrs. Horton. "I don't _know_, you see. I only
suspect."

So Uncle Robert went away, and Gwenny was off at the hospital, and
Rosanna and Helen spent all their time drilling Elise in the
requirements of the Tenderfoot examination. Elise was quick to learn,
but she found more difficulty in learning this because her knowledge of
English was of course limited. The girls were anxious to make a
brilliant showing with their recruit.

Over and over they drilled her in the Tenderfoot examination, at the
last requiring her to write the answers to the examination paper which
read as follows:

                        TENDERFOOT EXAMINATION,

                              WRITTEN.

 1  a  Give the Scout promise.
    b  What does the Scout motto mean?

 2     Give the Scout laws in order.

 3  a  What is the purpose of the Scout movement?
    b  What does a Scout's honor mean?
    c  Give the meaning of one law.
    d  How and when should the Scout salute be given?
    e  Explain the Scout badge.

 4  a  Who made the American flag?
    b  Why was a flag needed?
    c  In what city was it made? What year?
    d  Name the committee appointed to design it.

 5  a  Quote General Washington's words about the flag.
    b  When was the flag officially adopted?
    c  Describe the first official flag of the stars and stripes.

 6  a  What do the stars represent? The stripes?
    b  For what do the colors, red, white and blue stand?
    c  How many stars has the flag now? What day is Flag day?
    d  When is a new star added and why?

 7     Give fully the respect due the flag.

 8  a  What should Scouts do when the National Anthem is played?
    b  What should Civilians do at Retreat? Scouts?

 9  a  What is the United States Government?
    b  Who is at its head?
    c  Name the Commissioners of the District of Columbia.

10  a  Write America.
    b  Write The Star Spangled Banner (omitting 3rd stanza).

Then followed the demonstration of knots and knot tying. Over and over
they drilled her, and Elise was an apt pupil. Her delicate little
fingers seemed to know of themselves what to do.

"I am glad she is to _write_ that examination," sighed Helen the day
before Elise was to go to Captain Hooker and take her examination
formally. She was to be examined on Friday afternoon, and at the meeting
Saturday night she was to become a Tenderfoot Scout member of their
patrol.

"What difference does it make whether she writes the exam, or recites
her answers?" returned Rosanna. "She speaks brokenly, of course, but
that does not matter."

"All it matters is that no one could hear her speak of General
Washington the way she does in her funny broken English, without wanting
to scream. It is so funny."

Funny or not, Elise went through her examination most successfully and
Saturday night accompanied Helen and Rosanna to the meeting at Miss
Hooker's house. Their little Captain had fitted up a room specially for
her girls, where they could keep their various documents and where the
seats, the neat desk for the secretary, and the standard for the big
silk flag did not need to be disturbed in the intervals between
meetings.

Elise was thrilled beyond words.

As they entered the room she saw that the two girls saluted their little
Captain. Not knowing if she was expected to salute before becoming a
Scout, Elise dropped a shy curtsey and followed Rosanna to a seat where
they awaited the full number of Scouts and the shrill whistle from the
Lieutenant which brought the meeting to order.

"The first whistle means _Attention_," whispered Helen.

Once again it sounded.

"That is for Assembly," whispered Rosanna on the other side, as all the
girls rose.

Leaving Elise in her seat, the Scouts formed in double ranks at a
distance of forty inches between ranks and an interval of sixty inches
between patrols.

The eight girls who formed a patrol took their places in groups as
signified by the crosses.

    Patrol    Patrol    Patrol
     XXXX      XXXX      XXXX
     XXXX      XXXX      XXXX
    Captain    X  X   Lieutenant

Elise found out afterward that number one in the front rank of each
patrol is the Patrol leader, and number four the Corporal.

At the command "Company, attention!" from the little Captain, now
standing so straight and so stern that Elise scarcely recognized her,
the Company as a whole stiffened to attention.

The Lieutenant, a tall, pretty girl of nineteen, then commanded,
"Corporals from Patrols!" and the three Corporals stepped forward two
paces, made two right turns, and stood facing the center of the patrol.
The Corporals then snapped out together, "Attention! Right Dress!" after
which they faced left, took two paces, made right turn, right face, and
looked critically down the line to see that it was perfectly straight.
After two short left steps to straighten the rear line, they faced
right, took four paces forward, and with two right turns got back in
position facing patrol and called the command "Front! Count off!"

The Corporals then one after the other called the roll of her Patrol,
and finishing that, turned and reported to the Lieutenant that the
Patrol was formed, after which they returned to their places in the
ranks, and the Lieutenant, saluting the Captain, reported, "Captain, the
Company is formed."

Inspection then followed. Each girl, saluting, stepped forward and her
hair, teeth, hands, nails, shoes and general appearance was scrutinized.

Elise watched all this with great interest, interest which deepened as
the Captain commanded "Color guard, march!" and three girls stepped from
the ranks and stood side by side for a moment, then at a word of command
marched to the flag. There they saluted and marched back; when the
Captain and the Lieutenant faced about, and the Captain in her silvery
voice said:

"The Flag of your Country; pledge allegiance!"

With one voice the girls united in the beautiful pledge to the flag, "I
pledge allegiance to the flag, and to the republic for which it stands;
one nation indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."

Elise looked at the silken folds of the glorious red, white and blue
with tears in her eyes. How glad she was to make that pledge! Had not
that flag, the flag that was now her own, floated over the shell-racked
fields of France? Oh, she _loved_ it!

The color guard returned, and the fresh young voices rose in the first
verse of America.

"Scouts, your promise!" said the Captain.

  "To do my duty to God and to my country.
  To help other people at all times.
  To obey the laws of the Scouts."

the voices rang out.

"The laws!" said the Captain.

Again the chorus of girls repeated:

  A Girl Scout's honor is to be trusted.
  A Girl Scout is loyal.
  A Girl Scout's duty is to be useful, and help others.
  A Girl Scout is a friend to all, and a sister to every other Girl Scout.
  A Girl Scout is courteous.
  A Girl Scout keeps herself pure.
  A Girl Scout is a friend to animals.
  A Girl Scout obeys orders.
  A Girl Scout is cheerful.
  A Girl Scout is thrifty.

"Dismissed!" said the little Captain and, breaking ranks, the girls went
to their seats where they sat talking in low tones until the sharp sound
of the Lieutenant's whistle called them to attention again.

"Now I do come," said Elise to herself, and her heart commenced to
hammer in quite an alarming fashion. But it was not quite time for her
to rise. Looking at Rosanna, she saw her give a slight shake of the
head, and Elise leaned back in her seat while all the business of the
meeting was settled and plans made for some aid for a poor family living
near.

One thing Elise noticed particularly. The girls present were widely
different in looks, and Elise with her delicate perceptions saw plainly
that they belonged in widely differing classes, so called. A few of the
girls, Rosanna among them, had the carefully cared for and delicately
nurtured look of the very rich. More were like Helen, clean, carefully
groomed and almost precise in her dress and accessories. Others were
very evidently poor, with rough little hands that already told the story
of hard work and few toilet creams. But whoever they were, they saw no
difference in each other. They were Girl Scouts in the fullest and best
sense of the word: sisters pledged to each other, and living up to that
pledge in all earnestness and honor.

Elise, waiting for her summons to go forward, and understanding nothing
of the business that was going on, threw her thoughts backward. She saw
herself the idolized child of the gay, rich young couple in the great
château, where long painted lines of powdered and frilled and armor-clad
ancestors looked down at her from the long galleries, and where dozens
of willing servants danced to do her bidding. Then the picture changed,
and with the roll of drums and the thunder of cannon she saw the hated
foe march across her land, destroying as they came. Father, mother,
grandmother, home, riches; all went down as under a devouring tide. Then
the promises of her Monsieur Bob, and after long, long weary days spent
with the ladies of the Red Cross came the journey into the Unknown, that
trip across an ocean that was to forever separate her from a past that
was too terrible for a little girl to have known.

To have found refuge in Mrs. Hargrave's tender arms, to have won such
love and such friends--to be able to be a Girl Scout--

Elise turned her eyes, brimming with sudden tears, to the flag.

"Never, _never_ will I zem disappoint!" she whispered tenderly, using as
best she could the unfamiliar words of her adopted tongue.




CHAPTER IX


At last Elise saw the Captain glance in her direction as the whistle
blew once more for attention and the Captain commanded, "Fall in!" A
look of serious interest appeared on the faces of the girls as they
formed in a horseshoe, the Captain and the Lieutenant standing in the
gap and the American flag spread out before them.

Elise, with Helen beside her, walked to a place just inside the circle
and stood facing the Captain. In the Lieutenant's hands were the staff
and hat, the shoulder knot, badge and neckerchief of the Tenderfoot
Elise.

She could not refrain from a glance at them. How she had longed to wear
all those things; the insignia of everything she had learned to admire
and look up to in the girls of America!

"Salute!" said the Captain.

All saluted Elise, who stood waiting for some order, she did not know
what.

"Forward!" said the Captain to Helen, and the two girls stepped to the
center.

Regarding Elise with a long, careful glance, and speaking carefully, so
the little French girl should miss nothing of the full meaning of her
words, the Captain asked:

"Do you know what your _honor_ means?"

"Yess," said Elise, finding her voice after what seemed to her an
endless time. "Yess, it does mean that always I shall be trusted to be
faithful and true and honorable."

"Can I trust you," asked the Captain, "on your honor, to be loyal to God
and your country, to help other people at all times, and to obey the
Scout Law?"

Elise, coached by Helen and Rosanna, made the half salute in unison with
the whole company, as she answered, "I do promise on my honor to be
loyal to God and my country, to help other people at all times and to
obey the Scout Law."

"I trust you on your honor to keep this promise," answered the Captain.

The circle of girls listened with respectful and solemn interest. Well
they realized that the vow being given was not an empty or idle one.
They knew that it entailed hard work, self-denial, and many hardships.
Yet they gloried in it, and silently renewed their own vows as they
heard the Tenderfoot make her promises.

"Invest!" came the Captain's next order.

Stepping forward, the Lieutenant gave Elise her staff, and put the hat,
handkerchief and knot on her, and smiled as Elise said, "I thank you!"
in her pretty way.

Then, at a whispered word, she marched up the line to the Captain who
pinned on her trefoil badge and explained that it was an emblem of her
Scout "life." If for any misbehavior, the trefoil or "life" must be
taken away from her, she would become a dead Scout for the time the
Captain ordered and for that time in disgrace.

The new Scout was then initiated into all the secret passwords, a
proceeding which filled Elise with despair; she felt that she would
never be able to remember the queer words and phrases.

Then with the ceremony of marching back to their proper patrols the
ceremony was over, and in a moment the formal meeting was dismissed.

The girls crowded around, all anxious to meet the new Tenderfoot and
welcome her. They talked to her so hard that Elise felt her head whirl.
She was glad to hear the voice of the little Captain suggesting a song.
She handed a leaflet to Elise, but the girls knew the songs, and
gathering in a circle they wanted to know which one to sing.

"Sing _The Long, Long Line_," suggested the Captain, and the girls sang:

  THE LONG, LONG LINE

  (Tune: The Long, Long Trail)

  Recruiting song.

  Do you feel a little lonely?
  Are your friends too few?
  Would you like to join some jolly girls
  In the things you think and do?
  Don't you know your Country's waiting?
  Have you heard her call?
  See, the Scouts are crowding, crowding in,
  Where there's room for one and all!

  Chorus

  There's a long, long line a-growing,
  From north to south, east to west,
  There's a place awaiting in it, too, that you'll fill best.
  We are sure you'd like to join us
  If you knew what we can do
  And we'd like, O how we'd like to make a good Girl Scout of you.

It certainly sounded sweet as the fresh young voices blended, and Elise
thrilled as she listened. She was having such a good time! All the girls
seemed so friendly and so sweet, with the exception of one girl who hung
back and on whose face there rested the shadow of discontent and
dissatisfaction. Elise found herself wondering about her; she seemed so
out of place in that happy, merry throng. But none of the other girls
appeared to notice that one of their number sat apart and occupied
herself rather ostentatiously over a book.

They were all so busy making the evening pass pleasantly for the
charming new Tenderfoot who responded so prettily to their advances that
no one spoke or looked at the silent Scout, but presently Elise noticed
that the little Captain sat down beside her and compelled her attention.
Even then the girl looked as though she preferred to be let alone.

For a long while, the girls sat and told Elise about their work and play
and the camping in summer and the delightful hikes all the year. Finally
it came time to go home and some one called for another song.

"Which shall it be, Elise?" asked Helen. "You choose one of the songs."

"I see one follows the air of the _Old Colored Joe_," said Elise. "I do
know that loving song. Please to sing that; and if I may, I will try to
sing it also."

"Of course we will sing that, you dear," laughed the tall young
Lieutenant, and together they sang:

  WE'RE COMING

  (Tune: Old Black Joe)

  Camping Song.

  I

  Come where the lake lies gleaming in the sun;
  Come where the days are filled with work and fun.
  Come where the moon hangs out her evening lamp;
  The Scouts are trooping, trooping, trooping back to camp.

  Chorus

  We're coming! We're coming! To the lakes, the hills, the sea!
  Old Mother Nature calls her children--you and me.

  II

  Come where we learn the wisdom of the wood;
  Come where we prove that simple things are good,
  Come where we pledge allegiance to our land;
  America, you've called your daughters--here we stand.

  Chorus

  We're coming! We're coming! 'Til we spread from sea to sea,
  Our country needs us--wants us--calls us--you and me!

"That is so _most_ lovely," said Elise as the song was finished, never
for a moment realizing that her own pure and bell-like voice had added
richness and beauty to the song.

The other girls looked at each other and smiled. Here was indeed a find.
Never had there come a Scout to the council with such a wonderful voice.
They felt that the pretty young Tenderfoot was a great acquisition to
their number. So they all crowded around and said good night,--all but
the silent Scout who had not joined in the jollity. Elise and Rosanna
and Helen filled the two automobiles that were waiting for them with the
girls. Never, never had those big cars been so crowded. Certainly they
had never held happier passengers. But there was no noise or
boisterousness, no singing or whistling. The girls chatted in tones that
were agreeably low and as each one reached her destination, she thanked
Rosanna or Elise. When the last passenger in the Hargrave car had been
set down, Elise leaned back in a corner and thought deeply. She was
happy beyond words.

To do good to someone every day; that was part of her pledge. Such an
easy part! But it was hard _not_ to be good when everyone was so good to
her. Then suddenly she thought of the sulky face of the girl at the
meeting.

All the time she was telling Mrs. Hargrave about the installation and
the songs, and trying them over for her, she saw the dark, discontented
face before her. She could not feel perfectly happy because somehow the
face seemed to send her a message. "Help me; help me!" Elise heard in
her soul. But what could she, a stranger, a girl who could scarcely
speak the new language, what _could_ she do for that girl? And besides,
why did she _need_ help? Elise, whose bright eyes saw everything, had
noted the beautiful silk stockings, the texture of the black hair
ribbon, and at the last, the expensive fur that edged her coat. Also a
car had come for her, in which she went off alone. It was not poverty,
at all events, decided Elise. She could walk; she was not lame like the
poor little blond in the corner. As Elise thought it over, she puzzled
more and more. She decided to ask Rosanna or Helen next day; then a
better decision came to her. She would find out for herself. No one
should tell her. Then if she made any mistake, why, the mistake would be
hers.

But the next day but one the plot thickened. She went over with Rosanna
to see Miss Hooker about some Scout work, and as they stood on the steps
waiting for the door to open, it did open with a jerk, and the girl
Elise had been worrying about dashed down the steps and into her
limousine. Her face was disfigured with tears.

"Dear me!" said Rosanna. "What do you suppose has happened to Lucy
Breen? She has been crying."

"Assuredly. The _petite pauvre_ one!" answered Elise sadly.

Rosanna with her usual directness asked Miss Hooker the moment they
entered what was the matter with Lucy.

Miss Hooker hesitated. "You really ought not ask a question like that,
Rosanna," she said finally, "but perhaps I ought to tell you. You will
all have to know."

"Please _don't_ tell me, Miss Hooker," Rosanna begged with a deep flush.
"I thought perhaps someone had died or something like that."

"No, but for a week Lucy must be a dead Scout herself."

"How _awful_!" cried both girls, and then were silent.

"I prefer not to tell you why just now, but of course this will not make
you shun her. You must show all the kindness and consideration that you
can for her, and be with her all you can." More than that Miss Hooker
did not seem to want to say, and the girls, saddened and quiet, finished
their errand and left.

A day or two later, going with Mrs. Hargrave to the Red Cross rooms down
town, Elise thought she saw Lucy Breen shrink out of sight behind some
portières at the back of the store that the Red Cross used as a sales
room.

Elise acted on a generous impulse. She went back through the store
looking at one thing and another until she in turn came to the
portières. Behind them was a space used for a sort of store-room for
articles brought into the shop, and as Elise looked curiously through
the curtains as though wondering what lay beyond, she saw Lucy standing
in a corner, crowded against the wall. Elise nodded gaily.

"Are you what they call making the sort of things in here, Lucy?" she
cried. "Is it not fun to see what the good kind people give away?"

She stepped into the store-room as she spoke, smiling and nodding. "Yes,
it is droll, some of the things," she chattered on, as though Lucy was
doing her share in the conversation. Finally, however, like a little
clock, Elise ran down. She could not think of a single thing to say
further, and she trailed off, looking shyly into Lucy's dark face.

Lucy was smiling a set and bitter smile.

"Don't you think you had better get out of this and leave me?" she
asked. "Perhaps you don't know that I have lost my badge. I shall be a
dead Scout for a week, and I don't care in the least whether I ever wear
it again or not."

Elise came close and laid a hand on Lucy's shoulder, but the girl shook
it off.

"_Don't!_" she said pettishly.

"I knew that you had resigned your badge for the so small time of a
week," said Elise gently, "but one week soon passes."

"Do you know _why_ I lost it?" asked Lucy harshly.

"No," said Elise, "and I do not so much care. That is for you to know,
and our dear Captain. I am just so so sorry that you are unhappy. But
you will be happy again. Always unhappiness goes away. We do not forget,
but it ceases to wound. And if the fault makes you so unhappy, why,
certainly you will never, never so do again; will you, dear Lucy?"

To her surprise and dismay, Lucy turned and, hiding her face in her
arms, leaned against the cracked old wall and sobbed.

"Oh, I _am_ unhappy!" she cried. "I am unhappy, and I don't know what to
do! Sometimes I think I will run away!"

"Oh, don't do that; don't do that!" cried Elise. "Think of your dear
mama and your father. Oh, you could never have a fault that would make
you need to do anything that would make them so unhappy!"

Lucy laughed her bitter little laugh.

"I think I will tell you what has happened," she said, "and then you can
see just how I feel."

"Can you not tell to someone more wise than I?" asked Elise, her dismay
growing. "I will be so glad to listen, but for advice, I am so ignorant,
so what you call it? I speak your English so poorly, that maybe I say to
you the wrong thing."

"You needn't say anything," said Lucy. "You were so good to come and
speak to me, and I want to talk to someone. I had advice from Miss
Hooker but I shall not take it."

"Was it not good advice?" asked Elise, who thought every word that Miss
Hooker uttered was a pearl of wisdom.

"I suppose so," said Lucy with a sneer, "but she does not understand.
Oh, Elise, I shall _die_, I am so unhappy."

"No," said Elise softly, "you will not die so. If it could be, I would
be dead long since but I am not, and I am happy--so very, very happy
just as my most dear ones who are dead would wish me to be. So it will
be with you."

"I want to talk to you," said Lucy.

"Let us sit here then," said Elise, "where no one comes. There is a what
you call 'meeting' which my maman is here to attend. It goes on in the
upstairs, and she told me it would meet for an hour or two. Tell me all
your woe."

She pulled Lucy down on a pile of velvet curtains and patting her hot
little hand, said softly, "I wait."




CHAPTER X


"When I was only two years old, my real mamma died," Lucy commenced,
"and papa's sister, who was a great deal older than papa, came to take
care of us. I had a brother five years older than I. Aunt Mabel was so
kind to us, and let us do just as we pleased about everything. I don't
see why things could not have gone on like that always, because as soon
as I grew up I intended to take charge of the house and run it for papa.
I am thirteen now so it wouldn't have been long before I could have done
it. But when I was ten years old, my brother died, and after that, papa
stayed away from the house all he could, although Auntie Mabel was
always talking to him about his duty to me.

"Well, one day, when I was eleven years old, papa came home, and the
very minute I saw his face I knew something had happened.

"'Goodness, papa,' I said, 'you look as though you had had good news!'
'I have, my dear,' he said, and then somehow as I looked at him I had
such a funny feeling. All at once I didn't want to _know_ what made him
look so glad. So I just sat there and said nothing.

"'Don't you want to know what it is?' he said, and I said, 'I don't know
whether I do or not.'

"Papa came over and put his head down on my shoulder the way he used to
when he called me his little comforter, and said, 'Oh, yes, Lucy, you
want to know! Please say you want to know what your daddy has to tell
you.'

"So I said, 'All right,' and Elise, he was going to get married! Oh, I
just hated it! He told me lots about the lady. She was from Boston, and
that was why I had never seen her, and had never heard about it. She had
never been in Louisville. He said she was beautiful, and she did look
nice in the picture he had in his pocket case, and he said she was just
as lovely as she could be. I just sat there and let him talk, and
finally he said, 'Well, chicken, what do you think about it?' I don't
know what made me say what I did. Somehow it popped out before I
thought. I said, 'Are you sure she isn't marrying you for your money?'

"And papa sort of stiffened up and looked hard at me, and finally he
said in a queer voice, 'Good Lord, how old are you?' I said, 'I am
eleven,' and he said, 'Well, you sound like Mrs. Worldly Wiseman, aged
fifty. I suppose you will feel better if I say that the lady has more
money than I have, and that I will be lucky if people do not claim that
_I_ have been the fortune hunter.'

"'Well, what _is_ she going to marry you for?' I asked. 'She says she
loves me,' papa said. I said, 'We don't want her here! We are getting
along all right.' Oh, I didn't mean to be so ugly, but somehow I _hated_
to have papa marry anyone, and I didn't know this lady. So papa went off
awfully cross at me and the next person was Auntie Mabel. Papa had told
me first; he thought he ought to, and then he went up and told Aunt
Mabel. She came down pretty soon. I was right there in the big chair,
trying to imagine what it would be like to have a stranger in the house.

"Auntie said, 'Well, Lucy, what do you think of the news?' I said, 'It
is nothing to us; we can keep in our rooms most of the time.'

"'I can't,' said Aunt Mabel, 'because I shall leave when she comes. Not
that I have the slightest objection, but all the same off I go. I knew
it would happen sooner or later, but Henry waited so long that I hoped
he was going to let well enough alone. But men are all alike!' And she
_did_ go, Elise, the very day before papa brought the lady home. And I
_couldn't_ go because there was no place for me to go and Auntie
wouldn't take me with her because she said it would make papa angry. So
I had to stay whether I wanted to or not. It was perfectly awful!"

"Poor, poor Lucee!" murmured Elise, patting the hand she held.

"I was expecting to see a lady 'most as old as Auntie, and papa came up
the steps with somebody _young_. Why, she was _awfully_ young, and had
as much powder on her nose as anybody. I was looking through the
curtains, and when I saw them coming, I ran upstairs and hid. Papa
hunted and called, but I wouldn't answer, and I heard him getting angry,
and then she said, 'Don't mind, Henry; it is the most natural thing in
the world. Let me find her, I know just where to look,' and papa said in
the silliest way, 'Go ahead, darling, the house is yours, and the child
too if you will have such a bad one.'

"Well, Elise, she came up those stairs and straight to the table I was
under, as though someone had told her! The cover went down to the floor,
and she lifted it up, and said 'Coop!' but I came out crosser than ever,
and we had a horrid time.

"So that is the way it went. Worse and worse all the time. Papa was not
cross with me because she wouldn't let him be, and I felt pretty mean to
think a stranger had to tell my own father how to treat me. At first she
tried to act so sweet to me, and used to want to play with me. I told
her I thought it was silly, but she said she had lots of brothers and
sisters, and they always romped around together and had a fine time, and
she said if I would only be friends we could have such larks. I told her
I hoped I was polite and all she said was to wonder where I got my
disposition.

"At first they used to make me stay down with them at night after
dinner, but by and by I was allowed to go upstairs. I said I wanted to
study. I always kept a study book open on the table, and would go to
reading it as soon as they came up. Papa used to come in once in awhile,
and she was always asking me if she could help me with my lessons. She
said she used to help her brothers.

"After a year, one of the brothers came to visit. He was a real nice
boy, and I would have liked him only he was so silly about her; used to
want to be with her all the time, and put his arm around her and all
that! We had a real good time though, and I thought that I had been real
nice to her before him until the day he went home. I was in the library,
and he came in. I was just going to ask him to put his autograph in my
album when he said: 'Gee, you are a disagreeable little mutt! My sister
would half kill me for saying it, but honest, I don't see how she stands
you!'

"Of course I just walked out of the room. I knew then that she had been
telling things about me. And I knew that must be the reason why papa was
so different to me."

"But _was_ he?" asked Elise wonderingly.

"Yes, he was, and Miss Hooker says it is all my fault. I had been coldly
polite to her for a good while before that. I read about a girl who was
abused by a stepmother and the girl was too noble to abuse her in
return. She was just 'coldly polite,' the book said, and so was I. But
after that horrid boy went home I let myself be as mean as I could."

Elise nodded. "I saw it in your face," she said.

"And the more I thought of it, the more I was able to _act_ ugly. It is
so funny, Elise, the way she makes everybody like her. Papa just gets
worse all the time, and the servants _adore_ her, and she is so popular
with all the people who come to the house. She makes them all like
her--all but me."

"We will talk about that later," said Elise.

Lucy sighed. "Well, things have been getting worse and worse, but I
think we have both tried to keep it from papa. We hate each other, but
we don't want him to know how bad things are in the house. Papa is not
happy, though. Oh, he has talked and talked to me and threatened to send
me to school, and I always tell him I wish he would. But the other day
the worst happened. Papa had gone to the office, and I was reading in
the library, and she was walking around and around, fussing and singing
under her breath and sort of acting happy. It made me so mad. Presently
she saw me looking at her, and she said, 'Don't you wonder why I am
singing?' and I said, 'No, I had not noticed.' She went right on: 'I
have had some good news, wonderful news, and I wonder if you would like
to hear it, Lucy?'

"I said, 'I am not at all interested,' and went right on looking at my
book. She came over and leaned down on the table close to my face, and
stared and stared at me. She said, 'Look at me, you bad, difficult,
cruel child, look at me and tell me why you are bound to hate me so!' I
never saw anyone look so angry. Then her face changed and got pleasant
again, and she said, 'What have I _done_? Your own mother, if she can
see this house and its unhappy inmates, knows that I have tried to make
friends with you.'

"I remembered how furious the girl in the book was when her stepmother
spoke of her mother, and I raised my hand and slapped her."

"Oh, oh, oh!" cried Elise, covering her eyes. "The poor, poor lady!"

Lucy went doggedly on.

"Of course I had no business to do that. She went to her room, and
stayed there all day, and when papa came home he went right up. I was on
my way to my room, and I heard him say, 'I don't believe it is a
headache at all. I think Lucy must have been annoying you,' and she
said, 'No,' and papa said, 'I shall send that child away to school.' And
she said, 'No, give us one more chance. I am going to see Miss Hooker,
her Scout Captain, and see if her influence is strong enough to make
Lucy see things in the right way.' As soon as I heard that I made up my
mind to see the Captain first, so I went over and that was the day I saw
you on the steps. We had had a long, long talk and she said I was all
wrong and took away my trefoil. So here I am a dead Scout, and I am so
unhappy that I don't know what to do and I am going to run away. I want
you to have my pony. I am going to send it over to your house tomorrow."

"No, no, no!" cried Elise. "Everything is wrong; so wrong! Oh, let me
think! That poor, poor lady! I am so, so sorry for her."

"Sorry for _her_!" cried Lucy. "There is no need to be sorry for _her_!
I am the one to be sorry for. _She_ has everything."

"Why has she?" asked Elise. "She has nothing that you have not. She has
your most dear papa; so have you. You both have a most lovely home,
everything beautiful, friends, comfort. You are safe in a great land,
where no enemy may come and keel all you love. You have both the same
things. You share them." She sat thinking. "Yes, she is the one to be
sorry for, because she is so disappoint. When she go to marry your
_père_, she have something promised that she never gets and so she is
full of mournsomeness."

"She has everything papa can get for her," said Lucy bitterly. "I wish
you could see the pearls he gave her the other day."

"Pearls!" said Elise scornfully. "What are pearls? He promised her
something only _you_ could give her, and now she has it not, and she is
sad, and you are sad; everybody sad. What do you call her?"

"I don't call her anything," said Lucy stubbornly. "I wait until she
looks at me and then I say what I want to say."

"Foolish, foolish one," said Elise, "That is what no one likes. Besides,
it is what you call rude not to speak the name. Most rude!" She saw a
frown deepen on Lucy's brow and gently pressed her hand.

"You wanted to tell me, did you not?" she said softly. "Now I want to
tell you what I have not so many times told because I cannot speak of it
unless my heart feels like it does bleed. I have had _such_ sorrows, and
have seen such dreadfulness; I have been so cold, and hongry, and
frightened. I have lived in the wet underground for so long time that
all this makes a differentness in me from you. Something in me feels
most old and weary. I keep it shut up because my darling Maman Hargrave
wants me a happy child, and I want it for myself, but I do feel the
oldness when I see others unhappy when they could so easily be full of
joy. No, let me talk!" she added, as Lucy tried to speak.

"I must say this, I feel it on me, to save that poor lady her happiness.
I shall be sorry for you some other day, but now I am most sad for her.
When she marry your papa, she think all the time that she is going to
have a most sweet daughter because that is how your dear papa would tell
her of you, and then what happens? You know.

"Oh, Lucee, dear, _dear_ Lucee, there is one thing you must give to her,
right now today quick."

"What is that?" said Lucy, startled by Elise's vehemence.

"_LOVE!_" cried Elise, her sweet voice thrilling. "Love! So easy, so
sweet! Please, my Lucee, do not turn away. I know I am right on account
of the oldness in my heart. That tells me. Think how most glad your own
mother is to have the pretty one taking such good care of your papa and
of you. Does she select your clothes?"

"Yes," said Lucy.

"They are always the prettiest," said Elise. "No other girl is so
chic--what you call stunning. And so modest, so quiet. And you yourself
say everyone but you loves her. You too must love her, and the best of
all. You _must_! You are a Scout, and so you do always the right thing.
Where is she now?"

"Home, I suppose. I came down to bring some of my last winter's dresses.
Oh, Elise, even if I could, it is too late. I _can't_ go back to the
beginning again and start over."

"Of course not," said Elise wisely. "It is a most bad waste of time when
we try going back to beginnings. It is better to start right from here.
_Anywhere_ is the best place to start. When you go home you start then!
You start here by making some new sweet thoughts in your heart. Dear
Lucee, please try! Please, for the sake of your Elise who also has to
try to be always happy and not remember those blackness behind her.
Won't you, please? I know I am right. Will you try to give her love?"

Lucy, the tears pouring down her cheeks, leaned her head against the
shoulder near her.

"I don't see how I _can_," she said huskily. "But I will try. I am so
sick of everything the way it is."

"Of course you are!" said Elise. "One is always seek of wrong. It makes
a blackness over everything."

"What will I do? How will I begin?"

"I cannot tell you," said Elise. "You will know what to do. Something
will tell you. Something always tells. I think it is _le bon Dieu_. Just
trust and you will know what to do and to say. Come, let us go. I hear
the meeting talking itself down the stairs. Is your car waiting?"

"Yes," said Lucy dully as she allowed Elise to lead her through the
store. "Oh, Elise, I _don't_ love her, and I don't know what to do!"

"It is because of the hatefulness you put in your heart long ago that
you do not love her," said the wise, sad little girl who had suffered
beyond her years. She stood at the door of the limousine and smiled at
the little girl who sank back so wearily.

"Don't forget it is _now_ we make those beginnings. And you owe her what
your dear papa promised her, your love." She stepped back with a wave of
her hand as the machine started away.

Lucy's heart throbbed violently as she approached her home. Her one hope
was that Mrs. Breen was out, so the moment might be delayed. But as she
passed the door of the library she saw Mrs. Breen lying in a low
lounging chair. How pale she looked! Lucy was quite startled to see the
look of suffering and weakness on the beautiful young face. She had been
too blind to notice what had been worrying her father of late. Was it
_her_ fault? Had _her_ actions brought her self-made enemy so low? Lucy
was shocked.

She went up and put away her wraps. Still she did not know what to do or
what to say. Twice she passed the library door. No thought came to her.
She went in, not speaking, and selected a book at random from the
nearest shelf. Mrs. Breen did not speak but her great blue eyes seemed
to follow Lucy appealingly. Then Lucy found her courage. What she said
was rough and crude but it came from the heart--an honest statement and
appeal for tolerance and understanding. She came, clutching her book,
and stood facing Mrs. Breen.

Her voice sounded so husky and shaken that she did not know it for hers.

"Mamma," she said, stumbling over the unfamiliar word. "Mamma, you know
I do not like you, but I am going to try to love you!"

And then, clasping her book with both hands, she fled.




CHAPTER XI


Years had passed before Mrs. Breen and Lucy ever found the courage to
speak of that day when Lucy had hurried from the room, leaving Mrs.
Breen too surprised to follow her, or even speak. She sat thinking, so
glad and so happy and so proud of the courage shown by Lucy. She heard
the front door close softly and was not surprised, a little later, to
have one of the maids come and tell her that Miss Lucy had telephoned
that she was at Mrs. Hargrave's, and would stay for supper with Elise.

Mrs. Breen sat thinking for an hour, then the right thought came to her.
She hastened to the telephone and had a long talk with her husband, and
after a good deal of argument, she went to her room, packed a small
trunk, ordered the car, had a talk with the housekeeper, and went out.
She drove to her husband's office, and he ushered her into his private
room.

"Now what is all this?" he demanded.

"I told you over the telephone what happened in the library," Mrs. Breen
said. "My dear, I am _so_ happy and so proud of Lucy! But there will be
the most distressing awkwardness for a little, unless something out of
the ordinary happens to help her out. Now I have never been away without
you since we were married. So I have decided to give the child a chance
to regain her poise and strengthen her new resolutions. Something has
changed her, and I am contented to accept it without question until the
time comes when she will tell me of her own accord. I will go home for a
week, and you must spend all the time you can with Lucy. And when you
feel like it, speak well of me."

"That will be a hard job," said her husband, smiling.

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Breen. "Another thing, to keep her interest in
me, if you should decide to repaper my room and want to _surprise_ me, I
would be perfectly satisfied with Lucy's taste."

So when Lucy came in that night, dreading the next step toward the
right, she found only her father reading under the library light.

"Hello, Donna Lucia," he said, looking up. "Did you know that we are
orphans?"

"No," said Lucy. "What has happened?"

"Mamma decided very suddenly that she had to go home to Boston to attend
to some matters, and she did not have time to telephone you or call
around at Mrs. Hargrave's. But she managed to stop in at the office, and
she has left me in your charge."

Lucy heaved a sigh of relief. Thank goodness, she would have a little
time to herself anyway.

A couple of days later Mr. Breen approached the subject of the new
wall-paper. He merely _approached_ it, because at the first mention Lucy
fairly flung herself on it and appropriated it. The very thing, she
decided. She thought that room was about as shabby as it could be. Could
she select the paper? Of course she could! She knew exactly what mamma
would like.

At her use of the word mamma, Mr. Breen's heart leaped. He had been a
patient, but very unhappy man, and the thought that his little household
might become united was the greatest happiness he could imagine. So he
grumbled out that he was glad of that, because he never could tell the
_least_ thing about the silly strips of paper they showed in the stores,
and Lucy could go ahead and get whatever she wanted.

But the following morning, when a van backed up to the door and a couple
of men commenced to take away all the prettiest wicker furniture in the
house he demanded some explanation.

"Why, they have to be painted for mamma's new room," said the practical
Miss Breen. "You said I could go ahead, and I have gone!"

"All our furniture has gone too, I should say," said Mr. Breen.

"Just the best of the wicker," answered Lucy. "I thought and thought all
last night, and I have decided just what would be the _loveliest_ thing
in the world for her, with her violet blue eyes and golden hair. So when
you were shaving I telephoned for the men to come and take the chairs
and tables and that chaise-longue and they are all going to be painted.

"And today you had better write her that you think it would be a good
thing, as long as she is there, to stay another week. Don't let her
suspect, but _don't_ let her come home."

"Very well," said Mr. Breen with a twinkle in his eye, but outwardly
very meek. "Just as you say. Send the bills to me."

"Oh, I was going to," said Lucy with the happiest laugh he had heard
from her for months.

Mr. Breen did not come home for luncheon, and every day Lucy managed to
have Elise or Rosanna or Helen take that meal with her.

Lucy worked like mad and nearly wore the workmen out, she hurried them
so. Mrs. Breen decided to make a longer stay, but even then there was
but little time, because Lucy had decided that all the woodwork must be
re-enameled. When that was done and the paper on, she cast aside the old
rug with scorn, and took the three girls downtown to buy others. As the
days went on, Lucy found that her point of view was wholly changed. She
was so intent on the beautiful surprise she was planning that it seemed
to sweep her mind clean of all the dark and unworthy feelings that had
filled it. She even wrote to Mrs. Breen at a suggestion from Elise, a
pleasant friendly letter, ending, "With love, Lucy."

And to her surprise Mrs. Breen answered the letter at once, with a long
one all about her visit, and enclosing funny little cartoons of each one
of the family, including the boy who had spoken his mind to Lucy.
Strange to say, Lucy was able to acknowledge the truth of the young
man's remark.

"Some day," said Lucy to herself, "if this turns out all right, I will
tell him that he was _perfectly right_."

Lucy was coming to think, with a sense of deep chagrin, that she herself
had been the one in the wrong. And being an honest girl and wanting very
humbly and deeply to live up to the pledge of the Girl Scouts, she was
growing most anxious to make good her faults.

So she drove the painters and paperhangers and upholsterers almost wild,
and had the happiness of seeing the beautiful room all settled and in
order two days before Mrs. Breen was expected. It had a hard time
staying settled however, because Lucy spent all her time after school
trying things in new places to see if they looked any better. Her father
vowed that he would go up and nail the things down, but he was just as
proud and pleased as Lucy.

With all the planning and plotting, and various jaunts to the shops
together, and to some movies and once to the theatre, Lucy and her
father had entered a new epoch in their lives. They too seemed to have
forgotten the past.

As Elise said, they found that they could make a beginning anywhere. And
once begun, they found that it was like a door that had opened into a
beautiful place full of happiness and sunshine--a door that closed
softly behind them and shut out all the despair and gloom on the other
side.

When the day came for Mrs. Breen's return, Mr. Breen insisted on Lucy
coming to meet her, and Lucy, in whom some of the old dread seemed
struggling to awake, went silently. But when she was suddenly caught in
a warm embrace, before even her father was greeted, and when a sweet
voice said, "Oh, what a _long_ two weeks it has been, Lucy! _Do_ say you
have missed me!" Lucy felt that all was indeed well with her world.

Mrs. Breen had brought another brother with her: a shy, awkward boy,
evidently frightened to death of Lucy, a fact which of course set her
completely at her ease. They drove home, and Lucy and her father dogged
Mrs. Breen's footsteps up the stairs when she said she would go and take
off her things. Not for worlds would they have missed seeing her first
look at the newly decorated room. And it was worth all the trouble to
witness her delight and appreciation.

So Happiness and Love and Understanding came into the Breen home. Lucy
wore her trefoil with a new gratitude and a new understanding. Elise
felt a happiness that she had thought she could never feel, for she had
helped a sister Scout through a dark and dreadful place in her life.
Mrs. Breen was so happy that she sang and sang all the day long, and
when one day a baby boy set up a lusty roar in the beautiful room that
Lucy had made, it was Lucy who named him, and Lucy who assumed such airs
of superiority in speaking of "my baby brother" that the girls grew to
avoid the subject of children in general as it was sure to bring from
Lucy some anecdote to prove the vast superiority and beauty of the Breen
baby.

Rosanna was happy too. Uncle Robert had been away longer than Rosanna
liked. She was surprised to find how much she missed Uncle Robert. And
much as she loved him, and wanted him to be happy, she decided that it
was really a good thing that he did _not_ care for girls. The various
uncles who did like girls she noticed had a way of marrying one of them
and leaving home for good. That was a poor plan, thought Rosanna, as she
felt the silence in the big old house. No number of girls could make the
whistly noises Uncle Robert could when he ran upstairs three steps at a
time or dashed down again. No one but Uncle Robert could tootle so
entrancingly on the flute, or pick out such funny records for the
Victrola. No one in the world would think to bring one a box of candy
and leave it hidden in his hat, or just outside the door for one to find
after dinner. No other Uncle would remember a little girl's birthday
once a month with a new dollar bill.

Rosanna, driven by a real loneliness to confide in someone, spent much
time with Miss Hooker and while Rosanna honestly thought she was
attending strictly to Scout business, the conversation was sure to slip
around to Uncle Robert. Miss Hooker never appeared to join Rosanna in
her talk, but it was surprising what a good listener she proved to be.
The only time she said anything was when Rosanna would enlarge on the
way Uncle Robert felt about girls. Then Miss Hooker would always assert
that she thought he was perfectly right, because she herself thought
very little of men. Silly creatures she said they were, at which loyal
Rosanna would always declare, "But Uncle Robert isn't."

Miss Hooker would answer, "_Possibly_ not," in a manner that insinuated
that perhaps he wasn't, and perhaps he _was_, but Rosanna let it go.

However, Rosanna was happy because Uncle Robert had written her that he
was coming home in a day or two, and that she might get ready to look in
the left hand pocket of his overcoat, and whatever was there she could
have. When she told Miss Hooker she was grieved to hear her say that she
was not sure that she would be around to see the surprise, because she
was planning to go away herself, and wasn't it too bad?

"I should say it was!" said Rosanna. "Why, then you won't see Uncle
Robert either!"

"No," said Miss Hooker, "but it really doesn't make any difference. I
don't suppose I am any more anxious to see him than he is to see me."

When Uncle Robert appeared and came up the front steps three at a time
as usual, Rosanna was at the door to meet him. She jumped into his arms
and hugged him until he begged for mercy.

As she let him go, she happened to think of the left hand pocket, and
had to think which was the left. While she was deciding, she heard a
funny noise, and there in the pocket was a fuzzy head. The most adorable
little head! It was a tiny baby collie, looking like a small bear.
Rosanna had him out in a second, and Uncle Robert left her with her new
pet while he went to speak to his mother.

That night he came up to show Rosanna how to put her puppy to bed for
the night, and when the little fellow at last snuggled down in his
basket, and went to sleep, Uncle Robert settled down in his favorite
chair and lighted a cigarette and wanted to hear all the news.

"What shall I start with?" asked Rosanna, listening to the soft
breathing of the little collie.

"Oh, it doesn't matter," said Uncle Robert. "Begin with Miss--er
Gwenny."

"Why, you needn't call her _Miss_," said Rosanna. "You never used to! I
thought first you were going to say begin with Miss Hooker."

"Ridiculous!" laughed Uncle Robert, cocking his eye up at the ceiling.
"Begin with Gwenny, of course."

"Well," said Rosanna, "we have only had two letters from her mother. One
was soon after you went away, and said that Gwenny was very comfortable
indeed, and had a fine room, and was making a great many friends. The
doctor couldn't tell when he would operate, because he would have to
take Gwenny any time she happened to be at her best. That was about all
of that letter. The next one was just the other day. And Uncle Robert,
they have operated! They telegraphed for Doctor Rick, and he is there
now. But Mrs. Harter wrote that the operation was over and Doctor
Branshaw thinks it will be perfectly successful."

"Well, that is perfectly splendid!" said Uncle Robert. "Did she tell you
how Gwenny stood it?"

"Yes. She said for a couple of hours they were afraid her heart was
going to stop, but that Doctor Branshaw stood right over her, and had
everything ready to start it again if they could. He stayed with her all
night. You ought to hear the way Mrs. Harter talks about him. She thinks
he is a saint, as well as the greatest doctor in the whole world."

"He assays pretty well toward solid gold," said Uncle Robert.

"Mrs. Harter says they don't know when they will be able to get home,
but already Gwenny sleeps better and is beginning to want to eat. She
never did, you know."

"That is certainly fine news," said Uncle Robert. "Anything else
happened while I was away?"

"You know that Lucy Breen?" asked Rosanna.

Uncle Robert shook his head.

"She has turned out to be a real nice girl, and Helen and Elise and I go
over there a lot. And her mother (it's really her stepmother, only Lucy
is mad if you call her that) is perfectly lovely. If you could only
marry _her_, Uncle Robert!"

"Thank you, Rosanna, but Mr. Breen looks husky and he might object."

"Oh, that was a joke," said Rosanna. "Like the time you said you pretty
near loved Miss Hooker. I wish you could have heard her laugh when I
told her that."

"Oh, you told her, did you?" said Uncle Robert.

"It was so funny I had to."

"What did she say?" asked Uncle Robert, sitting up suddenly.

"She said she thought you were the most amusing person she had ever met
and that no one could possibly take you seriously. I agreed with her."

"I'll bet you did!" said Uncle Robert.

"She has gone away," said Rosanna as an afterthought. "She went today. I
told her I was sorry she wouldn't be able to see what you brought me,
and wouldn't see you either, but she said it didn't make any difference
as she wasn't any more anxious to see you than she supposed you were to
see her."

Uncle Robert laughed a short, queer laugh.

"Well, Rosanna, just you watch what happens now! I will just pay her up
for that."

"What do you care?" asked Rosanna. "I don't see what difference it
makes. She likes you all right; she thinks you are so funny."

"I will show her how funny I can be," said Uncle Robert. "Where has she
gone?"

"To Atlantic City," said Rosanna.

"I may see her there," said Uncle Robert. "The doctor says the sea air
would be great for me."

"What ails you?" said Rosanna anxiously. "You look perfectly well."

"A little trouble with my heart," said Uncle Robert soberly. "It acts
like the very deuce, Rosanna. Part of the time it feels sort of--sort
of, well, sort of _empty_, and then it has spells when I get to thinking
hard and beats as fast as it can. It is awful, Rosanna."

"I should say it was!" said Rosanna, "Oh, Uncle Robert, _do_ try to get
it well! If anything should happen to you, I would think it was that
benefit. You had to work so hard."

"I think myself that had something to do with it," said Robert, "but of
course I only did my duty, and I don't blame a soul."




CHAPTER XII


There was a long silence during which Rosanna studied her uncle closely.
She even forgot the puppy. What if anything should happen to Uncle
Robert? As she looked at him it flashed over her that she cared for him
with all her heart. She would not know what to do without him. She felt
very sad, and when Uncle Robert looked up and surprised the worried
expression on her face he laughed, and said:

"Cheer up, sweetness! I am all right, and I want you to promise me that
you won't tell mother what I have just told you. I don't want to worry
her."

"I promise, Uncle Robert; and I always keep my promises," said Rosanna.

"That is a good thing," said Uncle Robert. "I wish I had known that
before. I would have had you make me some." But he wouldn't explain that
remark, and soon went out, not seeming to care for the rest of the news
which, being all about the Scouts, Rosanna had left until the last as
the most important.

The Girl Scouts were very busy now getting ready for Christmas. There
was a cast-iron rule in that particular troop that all Christmas
presents should be finished and wrapped up three weeks before Christmas.

So with all their own work well out of the way, they were busy as bees
making tarleton stockings and collecting toys and dolls for the
particular orphanage they had assumed the care of. Louisville is full of
orphanages, and every year the girls were in the habit of choosing one
of them for their attention. They dressed a tree, and secured presents
for each of the children. These presents were often dolls and toys that
had been cast aside by more fortunate children, but the girls took them
and mended and painted and dressed them until you would have been
surprised at the result. At least they never offered anything that
looked shabby. The stockings were filled with popcorn and candy, and a
big golden orange gladdened each little heart.

Rosanna worked harder than anyone. School went right on as it always
does whether or not Girl Scouts are busy at other things, and every
spare moment was spent with the dear little puppy that her uncle had
brought her. Mr. Horton still complained to Rosanna about his heart, but
was unable to go east as he had planned. He often asked Rosanna if Miss
Hooker had returned, although Rosanna had told him a good many times
that she did not expect to come back before spring.

But news came from Gwenny. She was so much better that she could come
back. As Miss Hooker was away, and Uncle Robert always seemed to have
time to do things, the Girl Scouts made him a committee to go and pay
the doctor and the hospital bills, and see that Gwenny and her mother
reached home safely.

Uncle Robert dashed off to Cincinnati that very night. The next day he
returned without Gwenny, and with a queer look on his face asked Rosanna
to ask their Lieutenant, who was in charge of the troop, to call a
meeting that very afternoon or evening. Rosanna called Miss Jamieson up,
and between them they were able to get word to all the girls. Rosanna
was as excited as any of them, because Uncle Robert would not tell her
what the matter was. When the girls all gathered in Rosanna's
sitting-room, he came in, looking very mysterious and important.

"I have news for you girls--quite remarkable news, I think. To begin, I
went down to Cincinnati and found Gwenny so improved that I actually did
not know her. Of course she is still in a wheel chair, and will have to
stay there most of the time for the next year but every day she goes
through certain exercises, and soon will begin to take a few steps.
Doctor Branshaw assured me that she will some day be as well as any of
you. They have taught Mrs. Harter just how to rub her, and help her with
her exercises.

"After I had seen Gwenny I went down and paid the hospital bill. It came
to a little over two hundred dollars. I have the items in my pocket.
Then I went to Doctor Branshaw's office, and asked him for his bill. He
said, 'Sit down. I want to have a talk with you.' Well, girls, he wanted
to know all about you, and the work you are doing, and how many there
are of you in the troop that is taking care of Gwenny. I told him about
the benefit, and he said he had heard about that from Gwenny, and her
mother as well.

"I didn't want to bore him, so after we had talked you pretty well out,
and over, I asked him again for his bill, and he said, 'Horton, there is
no bill.' I said, 'Well, sir, whenever you will have it made out, I will
give a check for it. The money the girls made is banked in my name for
the sake of convenience.'

"'How much is there?' asked the doctor. I thought he didn't want to
charge over the amount we have so I told him. He fiddled with a pencil
for awhile, then he said:

"'Horton, I make the rich pay, and pay well, but I do not intend to ask
those girls of yours a cent for this operation.'"

A great "O-o-o-o-h!" went up from the girls.

Uncle Robert went on.

"Then the doctor said, before I could thank him, 'I wonder if the girls
would mind if I make a suggestion,' and I assured him that you would
like it very much.

"'Well then,' said the doctor, 'here it is. Gwenny will require a great
deal of care for many months to come, rubbing and so forth. Why don't
those good girls take the money and buy a little house somewhere on the
edge of the city, or on a quiet street, where the Harters could live and
where Mrs. Harter would not have to work so hard to earn the rent? From
what she says, the boys earn nearly enough to feed the family. What do
you think of that?'

"I told him that I thought it was a splendid idea, and would see what
could be done about it. Then he made the finest suggestion of all. He
said that another week in the hospital would be of great benefit to
Gwenny, and why didn't I come home and see you and if you all approve,
we can buy a small house and settle it and Gwenny can be moved right
there."

A shriek of delight went up, and everyone commenced to talk at once.

"Order, order!" cried Mr. Horton. He could scarcely make himself heard.

At last after much talking, it was settled that Mr. Horton should look
at a number of houses, and when he had seen them he was to select the
three that seemed most promising and take all the girls to see them. But
he stipulated that a couple of older ladies should look them over with
him, and Mrs. Breen and Mrs. Hargrave were chosen by unanimous vote.

"Now, girls, how are you going to thank the Doctor?" he asked.

No one knew and finally Rosanna suggested that it would be well to think
it over. So they all trooped home, Uncle Robert promising to make a
report at the end of three days.

It was a long three days, but it passed finally, and Uncle Robert
appeared with an account of three little bungalows that seemed all that
he had hoped for, and more. One of them he thought was the one for them
to take, as it was right on a good part of Preston Street where the
children could easily get to school. It was brand new, and had never
been occupied. Indeed it was not finished but would be within two or
three days. After the girls had seen the three houses, Mr. Horton said
he would tell them which one Mrs. Hargrave and Mrs. Breen liked the
best. Of course all the girls piled into the automobiles of the girls
who had them, and made the rounds, and equally of course they all
decided on the Preston Street house which was the very one that Mrs.
Hargrave and Mrs. Breen had liked. It was all done except the plumbing
in the kitchen, so Mr. Horton went right over to see Minnie who was
still keeping house for the Harter children. Minnie heard all about the
new plan, and Mr. Horton asked:

"Now, Minnie, do you feel like moving these people all over there,
before Mrs. Harter and Gwenny come home, or is it too much to ask you?"

"Just you fetch me a moving van the day you want we should move," said
Minnie, "and I will do the rest." She cast an eye around the
dilapidated, shabby room. "My, my! What a piece of good luck for the
_deservingest_ woman! I tell you, Mr. Robert, the time I've been here
has been a lesson to me. The way she has scrimped, and saved, and
patched, and turned, and mended, and went without! My young man and me
on his wages ought to put away fifty dollars every month of our lives.
And so I told him we was going to do. Of course I will move 'em! And Mr.
Robert, if it was so I could go around and see the house, perhaps I
could tell better how to pack."

"That's right, Minnie. Suppose we go over now," said Mr. Horton.

Minnie was overjoyed when she saw the little house, and at once picked
out a room for Gwenny. The other children could double up, but Gwenny
should have a room to herself. Minnie seemed thoughtful all the way
home, and finally said, "Mr. Horton, up in your garret, there is a pile
of window curtains that don't fit anywhere, and they will never be used.
I have handled 'em a million times while I worked for your mother. And
there's a square table with a marble top that your mother can't abide
the sight of, and a couple of brass beds put up there when they went out
of date. If your mother would spare any of those things I could fix that
house so tasty."

"I don't suppose she wants any of them," said Robert heartily. "I will
speak to her about them when I go home, and after supper Rosanna and I
will take a joy ride over here and tell you what her answer is."

The answer was that Mrs. Horton was only too glad to get rid of the
things Minnie had mentioned, and suggested that before settling the
house Minnie might go through the attic and see if there was anything
else that she thought would be of service. Mrs. Horton, knowing that
Minnie would know better than she could, just what the Harters would
appreciate, refrained from making any suggestions; and Minnie found many
treasures in the attic. There were portières, and a soft low couch, the
very thing for Gwenny to rest on in the pleasant sitting-room, and the
beds, and a table and two bureaus. And she found two carpet rugs.

She set Mary and Myron to work with a pot of cream colored paint, and in
two days the shabby old dining-room table and shabbier chairs were all
wearing bright new coats.

As soon as ever she could, she called on Mr. Robert for the moving van,
and moved everything over to the new house. Settling was a joy, there
were so many to help. All the Girl Scouts wanted to do something, and
between them they outfitted Gwenny's dresser (a walnut one that was put
through the paint test and came out pretty as could be). The two carpet
rugs were laid down in the living-room and the dining-room, and looked
scarcely worn at all after Minnie had finished scrubbing, and Tommy and
Myron had whipped them. The dining-room rug was dark blue, and how that
table and those chairs did show up on it. The springs were broken down
in the couch Minnie had picked out, but she turned it over and her young
man nailed a new piece of webbing underneath, and in five minutes it was
as good as new. Rosanna helped her as much as she could. When they were
busy putting up the curtains Minnie said, "Rosanna dear, I think your
Uncle Robert looks thin."

"I think he does too," said Rosanna, but remembering her promise would
say no more.

"In love," said Minnie, wisely nodding her head.

"Of course _not_," said Rosanna. "He doesn't like girls."

"No, he doesn't. Oh no!" said Minnie. "Of course he is in love! Do you
mean to tell me, Rosanna, that you don't know that he is in love with
little Miss Hooker? Don't tell me that!"

"I _do_ tell you," said Rosanna. "He doesn't even like her, sweet as she
is."

"My good land, hear the child!" said Minnie, sitting down on the top
step of the ladder, and letting the stiffly starched curtain trail to
the floor.

"Do you remember the day she came to see you when you were sick after
your accident, and your grandmother had said you could be a Girl Scout?
Do you remember that your Uncle Robert was there when she came in? Well,
believe me, Rosanna, your Uncle Robert fell in love with her that very
day and hour and minute, and that's the truth."

"I wish it was," sighed Rosanna. "I _do_ wish it was, but he truly does
not like her. I don't know why."

"Well, that beats me!" said Minnie, picking up the slack of the curtain
again, and sadly hanging it. "I certainly am disappointed, for she is
the _sweetest_ little bit I ever hope to see, and it would be a mercy to
see that good, kind, nice actin' young man get the likes of her rather
than some high nosed madam, who would look down on all his humble
friends (as friends we _are_, Rosanna, as you may well believe)."

Rosanna did not answer. She was too low in her mind. She knew that Uncle
Robert did not care for anyone, but what if someone _should_ grab him
anyhow? Rosanna felt that life was full of perils.

Two days later the little house was in perfect order, and Uncle Robert
went again to Cincinnati after Gwenny. It was decided that no one should
meet them on account of tiring Gwenny after her journey, so Uncle Robert
carried Gwenny to the automobile and took her home to the little new
house, her mother looking back with her sweet, anxious smile from the
front seat of the automobile. When they reached the Preston Street
house, and Mary and Myron and boisterous Tommy and little Luella all
filed out quite quiet, but brimming with happiness, Mrs. Harter could
only stare.

"This is Gwenny's house, Mrs. Harter, deeded to her. Come in!" said Mr.
Horton, as Minnie rushed out and led the dazed woman into all the
glories of the new home.

Mr. Horton carried Gwenny straight to her own room, and laid her down on
the sparkling, gleaming brass bed, where he left her listening to Mary's
rapid explanations. When he went downstairs he found Mrs. Harter in the
kitchen, crying silently.

"Now, now, Mrs. Harter, you must not do that!" he said. "Brace up like a
good woman! Gwenny will need a lot of care for a few days, and you will
need all your strength."

"Oh, but I am so thankful that my heart feels as though it would break!"
said Mrs. Harter.

Mr. Horton laughed. "It won't break," he said. "Minnie, shall I take you
home?"

"Thank you, sir, but my Tom is coming over a little later. I have supper
all fixed, so we will have a small feast to celebrate, after Gwenny is
attended to and safe in bed, so I will get home nicely, thank you."

"Good night then," said Mr. Horton. "Don't let those Girl Scouts run
over you, Mrs. Harter." He raised his hat and ran down the steps
whistling.

"There goes one good man," said Minnie solemnly. "Come, dear, and take
off your hat in your own house, and see the ducky closet under the
stairs to keep it in."

And so it was that Gwenny came home.

Mr. Horton sped to his own home as fast as he dared drive the car, the
chauffeur sitting silently beside him. Robert was too happy to let
anyone else handle the wheel. Once more he dashed up the steps three at
a time, whistling. Rosanna was at the door.

"Be careful of your heart, Uncle Robert," she whispered, looking around
to see that her grandmother was not within hearing. "Were they pleased?"

"_Were_ they?" said Uncle Robert. "I should say they _were_! Everybody
perfectly happy! Gwenny staring around her pretty room, and Mrs. Harter
crying in the sink. Yes, everybody is happy. Teedle-ee, teedle-oo!"
warbled Uncle Robert.

"How good and kind you are, dear Uncle Robert!" said Rosanna tenderly.

"Yes, _ain't I_?" said Uncle Robert, deliberately ungrammatical. "Oh,
yes, I _be_!" he went on chanting, as he sat down and fished out a
cigarette. Then changing to a sober tone, "Rosanna, whom do you think I
found in Cincinnati? Up there at that Hospital as large as life?"

"I don't know," said Rosanna.

"Well, if you will believe me, there was that bad little bit of a Miss
Hooker, who had come back from Atlantic City to see that Gwenny was all
right. She helped me bring them home. And Rosanna, perhaps I didn't _get
even_ with her, for what she said about my being funny! You know I told
you I would. I did! It was hard, hard work but I done it, I done it!
Tra-la-de-lu-de-lu-de-i-i-i-i-i!" yodeled Uncle Robert, whisking the ash
off his cigarette.

"What did you do to her?" asked Rosanna in a small, fearful voice.

Uncle Robert looked very sternly at Rosanna.

"What did I do?" he asked. "What did I _do_? Well, I made her promise to
marry me; _that's_ what I did! Pretty smart uncle, hey, Rosanna?"




CHAPTER XIII


Rosanna sank feebly down on the hall bench, and to her own surprise and
Uncle Robert's dismay burst into tears.

"Well, who next?" said Uncle Robert. "Mrs. Harter crying in the sink,
and you weeping all over our nice hall. Oh dear, what a wet, wet world!"

"Oh, don't mind me," said Rosanna, choking back her sobs. "I am
perfectly happy, only everything turns out so differently from
everything else!"

"I suppose you are right," granted Uncle Robert. "You must be if you
know what you mean."

"I am not sure _what_ I mean," said Rosanna, "but I am so glad, glad,
_glad_ that you are going to marry that dear darling Miss Hooker instead
of that high nosed madam!"

"What are you talking about?" demanded Robert. "High nosed? Who is she?"

"I think it is someone Minnie made up," said Rosanna. "She said what a
shame if she married you."

"Well, she didn't and won't," declared Uncle Robert with conviction.
"And as far as _nose_ goes, my girl has only enough nose so that one
knows it _is_ a nose. Get that, Rosanna?"

Rosanna giggled. "Have you told grandmother?" she asked.

Uncle Robert looked suddenly sobered.

"No, I didn't, and I should have done so first and I meant to, and it is
all your fault, Rosanna."

"How so?" asked Rosanna in surprise.

"Well, if it hadn't been for you I would never have been traipsing over
the country on errands for the Girl Scouts and you wouldn't have been
waiting for me in the hall, and I wouldn't have been so fussed at seeing
you that I would forget to tell my mamma first. And she won't like it
unless she gets told right quick," added Uncle Robert, getting up.
Rosanna wiped her eyes, whereupon Uncle Robert sang:

  "There, little girlie, don't you cry,
  We'll have a wedding by and by,"

and ran up the stairs, three at a time, whistling as he went in search
of his mother.

Uncle Robert was not one to take chances. After seeing his mother, who
was truly pleased and had the good sense to show it, he started to Mrs.
Hargrave's, and after a short visit left that dear old lady busy at the
telephone. The result was a wonderful announcement luncheon a week
later, given by Mrs. Hargrave, at which the little Captain looked
dimplier and sweeter than ever. After the luncheon she went over to
Rosanna's house, where she found all her Girl Scouts ready to
congratulate her.

"You won't give us up, will you?" they all asked anxiously, and she
assured them that she would not. Seeing that they were really anxious,
she made them all sit down close around her, and one by one they sang
the Scout songs. They were happier after that, and only Rosanna was just
a little lonely when she thought of the days when Uncle Robert was away,
and reflected that all the days would be like that by-and-by. Just her
grandmother and herself in the great stately old house, not occupying
half of the rooms, and making so little noise that it made her lonely
just to think of it. However, she put it out of her mind as bravely as
she could.

Miss Hooker stayed to dinner, and Mrs. Horton was so charming that
Rosanna could not help thinking what a very lovely young lady she must
have been. After dinner, Mrs. Horton calmly carried her little guest
away to her own sitting-room for what she called a consultation, and
Rosanna and Uncle Robert who had nothing whatever to consult about now,
sat and read. Upstairs, Mrs. Horton sat down opposite her son's
sweetheart, and said smilingly:

"I want to say something to you that Robert does not dream I am going to
say, and if you do not approve, I want you to be frank enough and brave
enough to tell me. Will you?"

"Yes, indeed I will," Miss Hooker promised.

"I am an old woman, my dear, and silent. Sometimes I fear I am not very
agreeable. It is a hard and unchildlike life that our little Rosanna
leads here with me. I want you to ask yourself if for her sake you could
bring yourself to live here for a few years. I know how dear a new
little house is to a bride's heart, and I tremble to ask you such a
favor. But Rosanna has a lonely life at best, and with you here this
house could be made gay indeed.

"I would never ask it for myself, but I do for Rosanna. I would gladly
do anything I could for her, but I cannot fill the house with the sort
of joy and gayety that she should have. She loves you deeply, and her
Uncle Robert is her ideal.

"Wait a moment, dear," she added as she saw her guest was about to
speak. "I want to tell you what we could do. There are nine large rooms
on this floor. You could select what you want for a suite, and you and
Robert could decorate and furnish and arrange them to suit yourselves. I
would be so glad to do this just as you wish, and then of course, my
dear, the house is all yours besides. Could you consider it?"

"I don't have to consider it," said the little Captain. "I have already
thought about it, and was worried about Rosanna, but I knew that she
could not come to us and leave you all alone here. I am sure Bob will be
glad to arrange it as you suggest, for he is very devoted to his mother
and to Rosanna as well."

Mrs. Horton gave a sigh of relief. "I can't thank you enough, my dearest
girl," she said. "No one wants to make your life as happy as I do, and
if there is anything I can ever do for you, you have only to tell me.
Now we must have everything new in the rooms you want, so we will go
down and tell Robert and Rosanna. How glad that child will be!"

Rosanna was tired and very nervous, and when Mrs. Horton and Miss Hooker
came down with their great plan, Rosanna once more, to her own horror,
commenced to cry.

"Well, for goodness' sake," her uncle cried, "I never _did_ see anything
like this! What ails the child? This certainly settles me! I shall
never, never plan to get married again. Rosanna is turning into a
regular _founting_; yes, ma'am, a regular _founting_!"

"Oh, I am so sorry--no, I mean I am so _glad_," said Rosanna.

"You mean you are all tired out, and ought to go to bed," said her
grandmother.

"And if I am to come here to live," said Robert's sweetheart, dimpling,
"I may as well see how I shall like putting a girl in her little bed."

Rosanna, nearly as tall as the little lady, laughed through her tears.
She went over and kissed her uncle good-night.

"I am sorry I was so silly," she whispered. "I was _so_ lonely when I
thought you were going away that somehow when I found you were not, why,
I just couldn't help myself."

"I know how you felt. It is all right, sweetness," Uncle Robert
whispered back. Rosanna's clasp tightened round his neck.

"Uncle Robert, shall I--do you suppose--will I be your sweetness just
the same even after you are married?"

Uncle Robert kissed her hard. "Before and after, and forever and ever
more!" he said. "Just as soon as I get to be a sober married man, I
shall be your uncle and your daddy too, and you are going to be the
happiest little girl in the world."

"Oh, Uncle Robert!" was all Rosanna could say, but her look thanked him
and tears were very near his own eyes as he watched the little orphaned
girl skipping off with her arm around the shoulders of his future wife.
But they were tears of happiness.

"Don't you love this room, Captain?" asked Rosanna, as she switched on
the soft flood of light.

"Indeed I do!" said Miss Hooker. "I expect to spend a great deal of my
time here. Between us, Rosanna, we ought to be able to plan the most
wonderful things for our Scout troop. And next summer Bob says he will
find a place for us to camp, and fit us out with tents and all that, so
we will not have to go to a boarding-house or hotel, but stay right in
the open. Won't that be splendid?"

"Think of it!" said Rosanna. "Won't the girls be wild when they hear
about it? Oh, dear, I wish I was eighteen so I could be a lieutenant!"

"I don't wish you were eighteen," said Miss Hooker. "I like you just as
you are."

"Oh, Miss Hooker, you are _so_ sweet!" said Rosanna.

Miss Hooker dimpled. "One thing we had better settle right now," she
said. "What are you going to call me?"

Rosanna looked blank. "I hadn't thought about that at all. Of course I
can't go on calling you Miss Hooker, and then Mrs. Horton. And you are
too little and too young to be anybody's aunt."

Miss Hooker watched her with a smile.

"What are you going to do about it then? I want you to call me just what
you like. You are to choose."

"Then I will tell you what," said Rosanna brightly. "I was reading the
sweetest little story the other day about a Spanish family, and they
called each other _Cita_. It means _dear_."

"_Cita_," repeated Miss Hooker. "Why, I think that is just as sweet as
it can be, and I should love to have you call me that."

"Then that is what you are, little Cita," said Rosanna with a kiss. And
to her devoted household, Cita she remains to this very day.

Cita and Uncle Robert did not seem able to agree on a date for their
wedding. Cita declared that it would take at least six or eight months
to get what she mysteriously called her "things" together. Uncle Robert
declared with equal fervor that she had everything she needed, and that
they were not going to go off and live on a desert isle where there were
no shops.

Finally Uncle Robert had an inspiration. "I tell you what let's do," he
said after a long argument. "Let's leave this to an outsider: someone
with no special interest in the affair. And as a business man, I will
name the agent."

"Very well," said Cita. "See that you play fair."

"I name and nominate Miss Rosanna Horton, and as her aids and assistants
I name and nominate Miss Helen Culver and Miss Elise Hargrave."

"That is not playing fair at all!" cried Cita. "You know perfectly well
that they want us to be married soon."

Robert shook his head. "Not at all! Our marriage is detrimental to those
persons named, insomuch as I shall take you off on a wedding trip, and
by so doing shall interfere with the routine of work in your Scout
troop. That is a good committee, and I shall trust them. I shall now
call them in."

The three girls were working in the Scout room on the tarleton
stockings, filling and tying them. Robert stepped to the door and
summoned them. Putting the question before them in the most serious
manner, he told them that they were to decide.

"I should think I ought to decide my _own_ wedding day!" cried Cita.

"You don't seem able to do it," said Robert. "You have been trying to
decide for the last ten days. You see it is a business proposition with
me. Perhaps if these good, kind young ladies succeed in fixing a wedding
day, say before Christmas, I won't have to buy you any Christmas
present."

"I don't _want_ to be married before Christmas," wailed Cita, looking
appealingly at the girls.

Rosanna nodded her head understandingly, and the three girls left the
room.

"When will we set it?" asked Helen. "Do they really mean that we are to
do so?"

"Tell him we have decided on the fifteenth of February," said Rosanna.
"That is the date she has fixed, but he is such a tease that she has
been teasing him in return. That will give her all the time she needs,
and she won't be all tired out. Everyone loves her, and wants to do
things for her and, besides, it is going to take weeks to get those
rooms fixed. I never saw grandmother so fussy over anything before. She
is going clear to New York and is going to take Cita to select hangings,
and she has an artist friend selecting pictures; that is, a list for
Cita to look over. Grandmother wants every last thing to be Cita's own
selection. And, girls, it is going to be _too_ lovely. What do you
think? You know those ceilings are about twenty feet high, and
grandmother has had them all lowered with plaster board and beams, so it
looks so much cozier. Grandmother is really splendid. I never loved her
so much."

"Are you almost ready to report?" demanded Uncle Robert at the door.

"All ready!" said Helen as the committee went skipping in.

"Well, let's hear the verdict," said Uncle Robert. "If this committee is
as sensible as it looks, I expect to hear them say that the date is set
for next week Tuesday."

"The fifteenth of February," said Rosanna firmly.

A look of relief spread over Cita's face.

"Wha-a-a-t?" said Uncle Robert. "Impossible! Why, _I_ named this
committee and by all the rules of politics you should have brought in
the report I want."

"But it wouldn't have been fair," said Rosanna.

"What has that to do with politics?" groaned Uncle Robert. "All right! I
have been done up; sold out, and by my own constituents. The fifteenth
of February it is. But don't you dare to make it a day later, young
ladies!" He rose.

"Where are you going?" asked Rosanna.

"Where?" said Uncle Robert, with a twinkle in his eye. "_You_ ask me
where? Well, I am going to drag myself downtown to get that Christmas
present."

"And now," said Cita after he had gone, "now don't let's think of
weddings or anything else but our Scout work. Things have been dragging
lately, and I think it is my fault. If we do not do better and snappier
work right away, I will know it is my fault, and I shall give the troop
over to someone else. Engaged girls have no business trying to run a
troop."

"Don't say that, Cita," said Rosanna. "We have all been working so hard
for Christmas that I think we have no energy left."

"Possibly," said Cita, "but we must put things pretty well in order at
the next meeting, and before then I want all these Christmas things
marked and in their proper baskets. That meeting, the last before the
holidays, will be an important one."

"Then let us go to work merrilee," said Elise, picking up a stocking,
and letting a gumdrop slide down into the toe.




CHAPTER XIV


After the usual formalities of a meeting, Captain Hooker desired the
girls' full attention. She held a formidable sheaf of notes in her hand,
and it looked to the Scouts as though there was going to be a good deal
of work parcelled out to them.

"In the first place," said their Captain, "I have asked the approval of
the National Headquarters, and you are at liberty to send a Thanks badge
to Doctor Branshaw. Now you have not yet sent him any formal thanks for
what he did for Gwenny and I wonder if any of you have an idea of some
attractive way of expressing your gratitude."

"I thought of something, Captain," said Lucy Breen, "but perhaps it
wouldn't do."

"Let us hear it," said the Captain.

"How would it be to write him, each of us, a short letter of thanks,
just a few words, and at the top of each letter paste a snapshot of the
girl who has written it? Then bind them all in a sort of cover or folder
with our motto and a print of our flower on the outside."

"I think that is simply a splendid idea," cried the Captain. "Don't you
think so, girls?"

Of course everyone did, and it was settled that Rosanna should go and
buy the paper for the letters so they should all be alike. As for the
cover, Miss Hooker, who was an artist of more than ordinary talent and
skill, offered to illuminate the cover with the cornflower as the motif;
and she decided to illuminate it on parchment, with the deep blue of the
flowers and dull gold lettering. The girls who had no snapshot of
themselves promised to have one taken at once. Before they finished, the
"Thanks Book" as they called it, promised to become a beautiful and very
attractive affair. Miss Hooker warned them all to write natural and
simple letters.

"How many of you have been over to see Gwenny in her new home?" asked
the Captain. "After the holidays, I think it would be a very kind thing
for you to each give up an afternoon once in so often (you can decide
how often you can spare the time), and go spend the afternoon with
Gwenny. Her mother feels that she should do a little work now and that
faithful little Mary is taking care of a couple of children over here on
Third Street every afternoon, to earn her share of the household
expenses. So Gwenny is left very much alone."

"My mother has been in the Norton Infirmary for a month," said one of
the girls, "and she said the nurse told her that it would mean a great
deal to some of these patients if we girls would only come in once in
awhile, and talk to some of the patients who get so lonely. Mother said
there was a boy there with a broken hip, and he was always going to be
lame, and he grieved so about it all the time that it kept him from
getting well. And there was another patient, a girl about my age, with
something wrong with her back. She is in a plaster cast, and her only
relative is a father who travels, and he is in California."

"Now there is an idea for you all," said Miss Hooker. "I want to talk
all these things over today, because if I am away at any time I want to
feel that I know just about what you are doing. I should think that it
would do a lot of good to visit those poor young people. There is just
one thing to remember if you want to be popular with the nurses and
helpful to the patients: always stay just a little _shorter_ time than
you are expected to. Then the nurses feel that you are wise enough to be
trusted without tiring the patients, and the patients are left with the
desire to see you soon again."

"That is just what my mother said," said the girl who had spoken. "She
says so many people come who just stay and stay and if the nurse does
not get around in time to send them home, why, they have the patient in
a fever."

"Perfectly true," said Miss Hooker. "Make your visits short--and often.
Next," said the Captain, "I want to tell you that Lucy Breen has passed
the examinations successfully in two subjects. She is now entitled to
wear the Merit badge for Horsemanship and Clerk."

All the girls clapped.

"_Bon bon_, dear Lucee!" whispered Elise.

Lucy smiled back at the dear girl who had befriended her at a moment
when she needed a friend so badly.

"I want to ask how many of you girls are taking regular exercises every
morning?" asked Captain Hooker. "It does not seem as though you had as
good color as you should have. I want my girls to be the finest looking
troop at the great meeting in the spring. It is to be in Washington; did
I tell you? And I want every one of you to go. Now, there is an
incentive to work. The rally is in June just after school is over, and I
want you to earn the money for your railroad tickets. Of course we will
all get special rates, and it will not cost us anything after we arrive
there, as we will be the guests of the Washington Scouts, or some of the
women's organizations. But you should all of you be able to earn ten
dollars before that time. It will take that much, but no more. If any of
you girls belong to families who could send you, you are at liberty to
help some other girl who is less fortunate, but you must each one of you
earn the sum I have mentioned."

"What if we earn more?" asked Lucy Breen.

"I am sure you will be glad to have a little spending money when you get
to Washington," said Miss Hooker.

"Some of us will earn more and some less," said Helen. "After we earn
the ten dollars, why couldn't we put everything else we earn in your
hands, and then it could be evenly divided at the end, and we would each
have the same amount to spend, and when we come home we can each tell
what we spent it for."

"Splendid!" exclaimed Miss Hooker. "What do you girls think of that? I
think it would be quite a test of your ability to get a good deal of
pleasure or profit out of a stated amount."

Again everybody clapped, and with a little more discussion the subject
was left settled.

One of the Webster girls raised a hand.

"What would you suggest that we could do to earn money?" she said. "All
we can do is dance, and mamma won't let us dance in public until we are
grown up. We don't know how to do anything else."

"Marian, I get awfully cross with you sometimes," laughed Miss Hooker.
"What are those two merit badges on your sleeve?"

"Oh, _those_!" said Marian in a helpless voice. "The gridiron for
Cooking and the palm leaf for Invalid Cooking. But I can't go out and
cook."

"What can you make best?" asked Miss Hooker.

Another girl spoke up. "She makes the loveliest jellies you ever tasted
and they always stand right up, never slump over at all."

"And you, Evelyn Webster, what is that on your sleeve?"

"The palette," said Evelyn.

"There you are!" said Miss Hooker. "What is the good of earning these
badges if you are never going to make use of the things they stand for?"
She picked up the Girl Scouts Hand Book that was lying on her lap, and
turning over the pages said, "Listen to this:

"Employment.

"'Stick to it,' the thrush sings. One of the worst weaknesses of many
people is that they do not have the perseverance to stick to what they
have to do. They are always wanting to change. Whatever you do, take up
with all your might and stick to it. Besides the professions of nursing,
teaching, stenography and typewriting and clerking, there are many less
crowded employments, such as hairdressing, making flowers, coloring
photographs, and assisting dentists, and gardening. There are many
occupations for women, but before any new employment can be taken up,
one must begin while young to make plans and begin collecting
information. 'Luck is like a street car, the only way to get it, is to
look out for every chance and seize it--run at it, and jump on; don't
sit down and wait for it to pass. Opportunity is a street car which has
few stopping places.'

"Now there you are, Marian and Evelyn, with your jelly and your
beautiful lettering. Make some of that jelly, and put it in the
prettiest glasses you can find, and tie the tops on with a little ribbon
from the five-and-ten-cent store, and illuminate some sample cards for
window displays, and take them down to the Women's Exchange. You,
Evelyn, take your cards to the manager of one of the big stores, and ask
him if he could use such work. He will probably want a thousand of them.
I am glad this came up. If you are all as helpless as Evelyn and Marian
when it comes to using your knowledge, why, there is really not much use
in earning merit badges.

"I think we will talk this over for ten minutes informally, and then we
will call the roll, and see what each one thinks she can do."

The Captain turned to the Lieutenant and commenced to talk to her in a
low tone, and for ten minutes the room buzzed. Then at the sharp command
of the Lieutenant's whistle silence fell, and the roll was called, and
each girl's chosen task was jotted down beside her name. The outlook was
rather black for some of the girls who had chosen to try for merits in
unusual rather than in available subjects. For instance, one girl wore
badges for proficiency in Swimming, Signaling, Pioneer, Pathfinder, and
Marksmanship.

None of these seemed to offer an opening for moneymaking, especially
during the winter months. But she was plucky, and merely said that she
would find a way to earn the money. And she did it by going to the Y. W.
C. A. and assisting the swimming mistress for a couple of hours every
afternoon. So well did she do that when the money was turned in, she had
twenty-five dollars to put in the general fund for spending money.

Another girl had a merit badge for Aviation, but she went to work in her
workshop and built box kites that no boy could resist, and sold them by
the dozen.

As Miss Hooker told them, the trick was to make use of what they had
learned. Of course a good deal of this worked itself out later, but when
they had finished their discussion, and Miss Hooker had urged them to
get to work as soon as they possibly could, she changed the subject by
saying, with just a little hesitation:

"I wonder how many of you know that I am to be married?"

Every hand rose and a voice said, "But we don't know when."

"That is what I want to talk to you about," smiled Miss Hooker. "We are
going to be married on the fifteenth of February, and I shall not have
bridesmaids and all that girls usually have; I want my own Scout girls
as attendants--all of you. Will you all come?"

There was a series of exclamations of "Oh, Miss Hooker!" and "Indeed we
will!"

"Thank you!" said Miss Hooker, quite as though she was asking a favor
instead of conferring one. "Then I will depend on all of you, and a
little later I will tell you the plan I have for the wedding. Of course
you are to arrange to attend the reception afterwards, and we will have
automobiles to take you all home."

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" chorused the girls.

Miss Hooker found that after her invitation it was impossible to
interest the girls in anything in the nature of routine work, so she
soon dismissed the meeting, and the girls as usual piling into the
automobiles belonging to Rosanna and Elise and Lucy and one or two
others, were driven home in a great state of excitement.

A Girl Scout wedding! That was what it amounted to. Miss Hooker,--their
dear Captain, thought so much of them that she had chosen them to attend
her rather than her own friends. It was thrilling in the extreme.

It struck about twenty of them about the same time later, that there had
been nothing said about clothes. This was an awful thought. Rosanna
seemed likely to know more than any of the others, on account of the
distinction of having Miss Hooker marry her uncle, so the twenty anxious
maidens rushed to as many telephones and gave central a very bad time
for about an hour, saying "Line's busy," while Rosanna talked to each
one as she secured a clear line, and assured her that she knew nothing
at all about it.




CHAPTER XV


The fifteenth of February sparkled all day long. Not half of the Scouts
were able to sleep, and they saw the round bright sun bounce out of the
east and start blazing up in a cloudless sky. All day it was the same.
Not a cloud in the sky, not a shadow on the earth. Automobile horns
seemed to take on a joyous toot. The heavy "ding, dong, ding, dong," of
the locomotive bell as it crossed Third Street lost its mournful tone
and sounded sweetly solemn like a wedding bell.

All day relays of restless Scouts belonging to Captain Hooker's troop
drifted in at the open door of the beautiful old cathedral and watched
the silent workmen setting the palms and flowers under the direction of
a bevy of young ladies who were Miss Hooker's schoolmates and life-long
friends. They had claimed the right to decorate the church since they
were not included in the wedding other than as spectators.

On twenty-four beds twenty-four Girl Scout uniforms in a terrifying
condition of starch and cleanliness lay stiffly out, with hats and
staffs beside them. And at about three in the afternoon twenty-four Girl
Scouts lay down on other beds, so they would be "fresh" for the wedding.
All the shades were pulled down, but not one of the twenty-four managed
to get to sleep. It was awful! Actually painful! Each one lay wondering
what the others were doing, and what Miss Hooker was doing. Wondered
what she would wear, wondered if she was frightened. The two Websters
had refused to rest in separate rooms, so they talked in a cautious
undertone, while their mother in the next room pressed imaginary creases
out of their tunics. The whole troop had beautiful new hair ribbons from
Miss Hooker and from Mr. Horton a beautiful gold bangle bracelet. A
messenger boy had delivered them all around just at noon, and while they
rested twenty-four left arms were held up to catch the light on the
gleaming band. The idea of anyone sleeping!

At six o'clock sharp the Lieutenant, Miss Jamieson, hurried up the steps
of the Hargrave house where the girls were to meet, and ten minutes
later three patrols marched nervously along and turned in. Then for
endless ages, too nervous to talk, they sat waiting for the automobiles
that were to carry them to the old cathedral. They were torn with fears.
What if Mr. Horton and his best man, Doctor MacLaren, had forgotten to
order the cars at all? What if they should be late, and the wedding go
on without them? The voice of Mrs. Hargrave's house boy announcing "De
cahs is heah, ma'am," sounded like music.

The cathedral, down in the oldest part of the city, seemed a million
miles away, and the cars crawled. Not a traffic policeman but stopped
them as they approached--but at last they arrived and entered the
church. How beautiful it was, softly yet brilliantly lighted through its
high arches. White satin with heavy gold embroideries draping altar and
desk, tall candles burning at either side of the Cross. And somewhere
softly, thrillingly out of space, spoke the most entrancing music.

People went down the aisles in gaily clad groups, the delicate perfumes
of the flowers worn by beautiful women wafting to the girls as they
passed. Mrs. Breen's two brothers and the brothers of the two Girl
Scouts who had helped at the benefit were all acting as ushers and they
were certainly busy.

Standing just inside the door, the girls were aware of a little stir,
and a group entered, walking more slowly and carefully than the others.
Even the girls were surprised as they stared. For first of all came
Gwenny, Gwenny leaning heavily on the arm of the kindly sign painter,
but Gwenny was _walking_!

Behind, looking very shiny and quite agonized, followed Mary and Tommy
and little Myron firmly clutching the still littler Luella, who looked
on the verge of tears. After them, to close all avenue of escape, walked
Mrs. Harter, and Minnie and Tom. Very slowly, in Gwenny's halting
footsteps, they went down the aisle--down and down until they came to
the satin ribbon that fenced off a portion of the seats for Miss
Hooker's most particular friends. And even then they did not stop, for
Doctor MacLaren, who was with them, led them to the fourth seat from the
front. It had evidently been saved for them, for in the corner next the
aisle was a big pillow for Gwenny's back. Cita's girl friends kept
drifting in, lovely, colorful creatures in dancing frocks, and the girls
reflected with joy that they too were asked to the reception afterwards.

Then came the group of the bride's relatives, and close behind, Mrs.
Horton, walking with her hand on the arm of the older Breen boy, and
looking like a queen in her pale gray satin robe, brocaded with silver.

And then the Lieutenant, who had been standing outside all this time,
returned, looking quite pale, and gave an order in a tone so low that
half of the girls did not hear at all, but they were so keyed up that
they knew just what to do and formed a double line facing the chancel.

The music burst suddenly, joyously into the Wedding March, and the girls
started slowly down the broad aisle, keeping step to the music. So
smoothly and so quickly had it been done that they had not had a glimpse
of the bride, who was following them on her father's arm, with Rosanna
all in white before her as maid of honor.

Down the aisle, straight and trim, marched the Guard of Honor. When the
first two girls reached the foot of the chancel steps, they stopped and
turned to face each other, taking two steps backward. As the line all
formed, the staffs were raised until the tips met, and under this arch,
all misty tulle and gleaming satin, her cheeks faintly flushed, her lips
softly smiling, passed their little Captain. Mr. Robert who had been
waiting just beyond came forward and took her hand, and the Dean stepped
down to meet them, while the Bishop waited before the altar.

The music muted. And in the place of the march came faint sighs of
melody. Then in a pause of the ceremony, from somewhere silvery chimes
rang out. The little bride stood motionless, her tulle train seeming to
melt into the whiteness of the marble on which she stood.

And then, almost at once it seemed, it was all over. The little Captain
had made her new vows, the ring was on her hand, the blessing on her
bowed head. Quite solemnly Mr. Robert kissed her, then the organ broke
out with a burst that filled the great church, and fairly beat down the
rising throngs, as the married couple, passing under the crossed staves,
passed down the aisle and out into their new life.

The Guard of Honor, in their automobiles once more and whirling after
the bridal car to the reception, found their tongues and all talked at
once. No one listened; no one cared. They went through a canopied,
carpeted tunnel across the sidewalk to the house, and there were firmly
handled by a bevy of colored maids who took their staffs and hats and
sent them forth with nothing to do with their hands. But Mr. Robert
shook all the hands they had, and the little Captain kissed them each
and every one. And then she asked them to form just back of her until
she had greeted all the guests. This took a long time, but was such fun,
because they saw everyone and all the dresses, and everything.

But finally the line thinned out, the congratulations were over, and the
little Captain, taking her filmy train over her arm, drifted out among
the guests and the girls broke up into groups. A little later Rosanna
came hurrying around to tell the girls to come to the library. They
found the Captain and her husband there, talking to a chubby, smiling,
altogether kindly and delightful little gentleman, who stared beamingly
at them through immense horn-rimmed spectacles.

"I want to present you to Doctor Branshaw, girls," said Mrs. Horton. "He
came all the way from Cincinnati to attend our wedding and to meet you."

The girls stepped up one by one to be presented to the great man.

"I didn't see any other way of meeting you all," he said. "My time is
always so broken, and they keep me so busy down there that I actually
didn't have time to write and tell you how greatly I appreciated that
book you sent me. I think it was quite the nicest thing in the world. I
shall always keep it."

"It was poor thanks for what you did for Gwenny," said Miss Jamieson,
finding that someone had to answer.

"I was glad to do it," said the Doctor, "after you had led the way. It
is an honor to work with the Girl Scouts. When you are twice as old,
yes, three times as old as you are now, you will realize what a
wonderful work you are doing in the world. I come across evidences of it
every day. This Gwenny, for instance. Did you see the way she went down
that long aisle tonight? Why, that girl is going to be well, perfectly
well! Think of the years of pain and misery you have saved her, the
agonizing nights and the untimely death. Whose plan was it, anyway?"

"Rosanna Horton's," said half a dozen voices.

Rosanna flushed. "No, don't say that!" she objected. "It is just as the
doctor says. If I thought of it it was because I am a Scout. Call it the
Girl Scouts' Plan."

"Yours or theirs, Miss Rosanna; it was a divine thought and should make
you all happy. You have given the three greatest boons to a fellow
creature: life, health, and happiness, and all because your splendid
order teaches you to watch for just such opportunities. Now I will give
you an opportunity to do a good deed tonight," and he laughed the
jolliest laugh. "There are a couple of very wise gentlemen here tonight,
who would like to talk to me, and they would want to talk about
operations and anesthetics and all those things that I left locked up in
my office at home. But I can't tell them that, so I wish you could just
look after me for the next hour, and sort of beau me around, you know,
and if you see any bald heads or spectacles bearing down on us, just
close in and protect me."

"Oh, we will!" chorused the girls, greatly pleased.

So the great Dr. Branshaw, quite the greatest and most eminent man
present, passed happily from room to room surrounded and tagged by a
chatting, smiling throng of uniformed girls.

When a cheering looking line of waiters appeared with plates and
napkins, the great man and his little court settled in a cozy nook and
proceeded to fly in the face of all the best health experts. And to see
the Doctor shamelessly send for more bouillon, and consume sandwiches,
and sliced turkey, and candied sweet potato and salad, and oh, dear, all
_sorts_ of things, was enough to make any Scout hungry, and they just
feasted and feasted.

Although the doctor refused to talk to the wise men, he did talk to the
girls, getting on the subject dearest to him, as all professional men
will, and telling them many an amusing story and pathetic incident.

Finally he rose. "I must go, girls," he said. "I said good-bye to Mrs.
Horton when I came in, so I could just slip out a little side door there
is here."

He shook hands all around and patted each straight shoulder. "Don't
forget me," he said, "and remember if there is anything I can do to
help, we are all working together. See this?" He smiled and pulled aside
his coat. There on his waistcoat was the Thanks Badge they had sent him.
"I always wear it," he said, and with a merry good-bye hurried through
the little door, and was gone.

Rosanna went to the hall and looked out.

"Hurry, hurry!" she called. "Here she comes! We nearly missed her!"

The bride, in her travelling dress, was coming down the stairs. She
paused on the landing and looked down at the sea of smiling faces below.
Then suddenly she tossed her bouquet out. A dozen hands reached for it,
and the girl who caught it danced up and down. Everyone laughed.

"What did she do that for?" asked one of the Websters.

"The one who catches the bride's bouquet," said Miss Jamieson, "will be
the next one married."

"Quick!" cried Elise. "Let us all form the guard-line for her. Never
mind those staves!"

Slipping through the throng and out the door, the girls formed a double
line to the automobile waiting at the curb. A great white bow was tied
on the back, and Rosanna quickly took it off and hid it.

"Cita wouldn't like that," she explained. Then she stood with her hand
on the door. The house door opened and in a blaze of light, confetti and
rice showering about her, rose leaves floating above her, the little
bride and her tall young husband ran down the steps and through the
double line of Scouts, who closed solidly before the door of the
limousine as she entered it. The other guests were shut out. For that
moment she was again their little Captain and belonged to them alone.
Forming in a solid group, they suddenly shouted the Girl Scout yell,
threw her a shower of kisses, and crying good-bye over and over, watched
her little hand wave a farewell as the car sprang forward.

                  *       *       *       *       *

Helen and Elise were Rosanna's guests for the night. A couch had been
prepared so the three girls could sleep in the same room. They rolled
themselves up in bathrobes, and sat on the edge of the couch just as
they had sat on the top step so many months ago, only this time Elise
did not knit. She too sat with her chin in her hands, staring out of the
window. Rosanna had snapped off the light. A million stars in a deep
frosty sky looked down on them. The night sparkled. It was very, very
late, but Mrs. Horton with surpassing wisdom had not asked them to go
right to bed. She too was awake, dreaming long dreams.

Presently Elise spoke. "So much of happiness makes me sad," she said.

"Well, it is all over," sighed Rosanna.

"Not at all!" cried Elise. "What could be over? Not Meeses Horton, who
is just beginning. Not us, who have so many, many works to do. Not
Gwenny who steps into a new life. Just see all those stars. They shine
and sparkle always, no matter what goes on down here."

"You sound like a little sermon, Elise dear," said Helen, smiling.

"I don't know just yet what it is you call sermon, but I hope it is
nice," replied Elise.

"Yours is, anyway," said Rosanna, kissing the fair face beside her.

"All I meant was that this is over, the wedding and all that. Oh, of
course I didn't mean that _everything_ was over. It is just as though a
beautiful day had ended, as it has," Rosanna continued. "Others will
come, many, many other busy, beautiful days, and on my honor, I will try
to do my duty to God and my country, to help other people at all times
and to obey the Scout laws," said Rosanna softly, lifting her eyes to
the eternal stars.

THE END





End of Project Gutenberg's The Girl Scouts Rally, by Katherine Keene Galt