“No,—because boys need to race around more than girls; it keeps them from exploding,” declared Ben, taking an extra high jump.
“I know a short way through the woods,” he added, stopping where a foot-path led from the left-hand side of the road. “It comes out just beyond our house; it’s pretty, too, and I can take you to a fine place to eat the lunch.” Ben was growing hungry.
Miss Ruth had kept the lunch-bag, insisting that it was her turn to carry it now. They all agreed to follow Ben’s suggestion; and indeed it was delightful to be walking along under broad-spreading trees through whose branches the late afternoon sunlight struck golden lances. There was an almost perfect stillness in the woods, except for the occasional calling of crows overhead among the tree-tops or the Jay! Jay! of that handsome robber, the blue-jay.
“How does the Convalescent Home have money enough to take care of all those children?” asked Elsa, sliding along, on the smooth carpet of pine-needles, toward Miss Ruth.
“The managers, the ladies who have charge of the Home, give money and their friends give money, to provide the clothing—shoes and stockings and nightgowns and little flannel dresses and everything,—besides paying the nurses’ wages and for the medicines. It takes a great deal of money; and ever so many more children could be brought here and cured if there were more money to provide care and clothing for them.”
“Perhaps my grandmother will give something,” Elsa said hesitatingly. “O, I know,” she added, her face brightening, “Uncle Ned will help. I will ask him.”
“I am glad we are going to give the children some dolls; they didn’t have many,” said Betty, rustling on ahead through the piled-up dry leaves.
“We might earn some money—our Club, I mean,” suggested Alice.
“We will give them all the dolls and playthings we can for Christmas,” said Elsa, putting her arm around Alice; “then, when we start a new club, we can maybe have it an Easter Club, and see how much money we can earn for those poor little children.”
“Alice and I had our names printed in the Convalescing Home report last year,” Ben called back over his shoulder; he was leading the way. “It said this: ‘From Ben and Alice, a music-box;’ we gave them one we had,” he explained.