The Outdoor Girls in Army Service; Or, Doing Their Bit for the Soldier Boys

Produced by Charles Franks, Greg Weeks and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.
1918
Well, who is going to read the paper?
Amy Blackford stopped knitting for a moment, the half-finished sweater suspended inquiringly in the air, while she asked her question and gazed about impatiently at her busy group of friends.
It's your turn, anyhow, Mollie, she added, fingers flying and head bent as she resumed her work. You haven't read to us for five days.
Oh, don't bother me, snapped the one addressed as Mollie. She was black-haired and black-eyed, was Mollie Billette, with a little touch of French blood in her veins that accounted for her restless vivacity and sometimes peppery temper. You've made me drop a stitch, Amy Blackford, and if anybody else speaks to me for the next five minutes, I'll eat 'em.
Well, as long as you don't eat any more of my chocolates, I don't care, remarked Grace Ford, lazily helping herself to one of the threatened candies. I had a full box this morning, and now look at them.
Haven't time to look at anything, returned Mollie crossly, fishing in vain for the lost stitch. If the poor soldiers depended upon the sweaters you made, Grace, I'd feel sorry for them, I would indeed!
Oh, dear, girls, now what's the matter?
Framed in the doorway of the cottage stood Betty Nelson, their adored Little Captain, fresh and sweet as the morning itself, smiling around at them inquiringly.
What is the matter? she repeated as they moved up to make room for her on the veranda steps. I'm more afraid than ever to leave you alone these days when every dropped stitch means a quarrel. Give it to me, Mollie, I'll pick it up for you.