“It was all you—you did it. You ought to have the honours instead of me,” she whispered, half crying.
“It’s all right. Don’t be a baby!” Olga flung at her savagely, to forestall the tears.
Then somebody nudged her and whispered, “Olga Priest, don’t you hear Mrs. Royall calling you?”
Wondering, Olga obeyed the summons. She had reported no honours won, and had no idea why she was called. Laura, standing beside Mrs. Royall, smiled happily at the girl as she stopped, and stood, her dark brows drawn together in a frown of perplexity.
“Olga,” Mrs. Royall said, “it has been a great joy to us to bestow upon Adawána the symbols which represent the honours she has won. We are sure that she will wear them worthily, and that her life will be better and happier because of that for which they stand. We recognise the fact, however, that but for you she could not have won these honours. You have worked harder than she has to secure them for her; therefore to you belongs the greater honour——”
“No! No!” cried Olga under her breath, but with a smile Mrs. Royall went on, “We know that to you the symbols of honours won—beads and ornaments—have little value—but we have for you something that we hope you will value because we all have a share in it, every one in the camp; and we ask you to wear this because you have shown us what one Camp Fire Girl can do for another. The work is all Elizabeth’s. The rest of us only gave the beads, and your Guardian taught Elizabeth how to use them.”
She held out a headband, beautiful in design and colouring. Olga stared at it, at first too utterly amazed for any words. Finally she stammered, “Why, I—I—didn’t know—Elizabeth——” and then to her own utter consternation came a rush of tears. Tears! And she had lived dry-eyed through four years of lonely misery. Choked, blinded, and unable to speak even a word of thanks, she took the headband and turned hastily away, and as she went the watching circle chanted very low,
“‘Wohelo means love.
Love is the joy of service so deep that self is forgotten—that self is forgotten.’”
With shining eyes—yet half afraid—Elizabeth waited as Olga came back to her. She knew Olga’s scorn for honours and ornaments. Would she be scornful now—or would she be glad? Elizabeth felt that she never, never could endure it if Olga were scornful or angry now—if this, her great secret, her long, hard labour of love—should be only a great disappointment after all.
But it was not. She knew that it was not as soon as Olga was near enough to see the look in her eyes. She knew then that it was all right; and the poor little hungry heart of her sang for joy when Olga placed the band over her forehead and bent her proud head for Elizabeth to fasten it in place. Elizabeth did it with fingers trembling with happy excitement. The coldness that had so often chilled her was all gone now from the dark eyes. Olga understood. Elizabeth had no more voice than a duckling, but she felt just then as if she could sing like a song sparrow from sheer happiness. It was such a wonderful thing to be happy! Elizabeth had never before known the joy of it.