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.