“I’m glad of it,” Lena Barton flung out. “It was silly of us to think of taking a baby, anyhow. We better just help out somewhere—maybe with some older kid.” Her red-brown eyes flashed a glance at Jim.
It was then that Frances Chapin broke in earnestly, “O girls, I do so wish you’d take one of the old ladies at the Home! They need our help quite as much as the babies—more, I sometimes think, for they are so old and tired, and they’ve such a little time to—to have things done for them. The babies have chances, but the chances of these old ladies are almost over. There’s one—Mrs. Barlow—I’m sure you couldn’t help loving her—she is so gentle and patient and uncomplaining, although she cannot see to sew or read, and cannot go out alone. She has her board and room at the Home of course, but clothes are not provided, and she hasn’t any money at all. Just think of never having a dollar to buy anything with! And the money we could give would buy so many of the things she needs, and it would make her so happy to have us run in and see her now and then. There are so many of us that no one would have to go often, and she loves girls. She had two of her own once, but they both died in one year, and her husband was killed in an accident. She did fine sewing and embroidery as long as she could see; then an old friend got her into the Home. I took this picture of her to show you.”
She handed the picture to Laura, who passed it on with the comment, “It is a sweet face.”
The girls all agreed that it was a sweet face, and Mary Hastings, stirred by Frances’ earnest pleading, moved that what money they could spare should be given to Frances for Mrs. Barlow, but Frances interposed quickly, “She needs the money, but she needs people almost more. She is so happy when Elsie or I go in to see her even just for a minute! I shall be delighted if we take her for our Camp Fire ‘service,’ but please, girls, if we do, give her a little of yourselves—not just your money alone,” she pleaded.
“How would I know what to say to an old woman?” Lena Barton grumbled. “I shouldn’t have an idea how to talk to her.”
“You wouldn’t need to have—she has ideas of her own a-plenty. Girls, if you’ll only once go and see her, you won’t need to be coaxed to go again, I’m sure,” Frances urged.
“I’m in favour of having Frances’ old lady for our ‘Camp Fire baby,’” laughed Louise Johnson. “I second Mary’s motion.”
But Lena Barton’s high-pitched voice cut in, “Before we vote on that I’d like to say a word. I’ve no doubt that Mrs. Barlow is an angel minus the wings, but before we decide to adopt her I’d like to see some of the other old ladies. I’ve wanted for a long time to get into one of those Homes with a big H. How about it, Frances—would they let me in or are working girls ruled out?”
“O no, any one can go there,” Frances replied, but her face and her voice betrayed her disappointment. When Louise spoke, Frances had thought her cause was won.
“All right—I’ll go then to-morrow, and maybe I’ll find some old lady I’ll like better than your white-haired angel,” Lena flung out, her red-brown eyes gleaming with sly malice and mischief.