Larkspur - Jane Abbott

LARKSPUR

JANE D. ABBOTT

AUTHOR OF
HAPPY HOUSE,
KEINETH, ETC.

GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

Made in the United States of America

PRINTED IN UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

TO THE FLOWERS OF MY OWN
GARDEN I DEDICATE THIS STORY

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

[An October Day]
[The Captain's Story]
[Renée Finds a Home]
[Gardens]
[First Aid]
[Eagles and Golden Eaglets]
[Aunt Pen Plans]
[Breadwinners]
[The New Lodger]
[A Scout's Honor]
[Young Wings]
[The Game]
[The Christmas Party]
[Hill-top]
[Pat's Pride and Its Fall]
[Good Turns]
[Angeline]
[For His Country]
[A Letter From France]
[The Lost Baby]
[Renée's Box]
[Surprises]
[The Best of All]

LARKSPUR

CHAPTER I

AN OCTOBER DAY

On an October day--a sunny day, and except for the yellow leaves that quivered on rapidly bearing branches, very like spring--Patricia Everett, from the window of her home, watched an automobile drive out of sight, carrying her mother and sister away to Florida, and confided to the empty room that she was the very unhappiest girl in the whole world!

Conflicting emotions tormented the soul of the little lady. She disliked very much seeing anyone depart from anywhere without her! Then, too, so hurried had been the departure that nothing in the shape of candy, books or toys had been left behind to comfort her! And saddest of all, at the last moment her mother had decided that she must not return to Miss Prindle's because of an epidemic of measles!

The curious quiet that had fallen upon the house after the bustle of departure added to Patricia's loneliness. With a heart bursting with pity for herself, she wandered up the stairs to her room--a pretty room, its windows hung in flowered chintz, a bird singing from a cage hanging in the sunshine.

When his little mistress walked into the room Peter Pan trilled more gayly than before--it was as though he bade her come to the window and look across the way!

If she had looked she would have seen in the kitchen window of the shabby brick house, across the intersecting street, Mrs. Mary Quinn and her daughter Sheila rocking in one another's arms and laughing like two children!

Mrs. Quinn's house was old and shabby, its fences tumbling down; hard times often knocked at her door, but with it all her smile was always as bright as the gay geraniums blooming on the spotless sill of the kitchen window that faced the Everett house.

Fortune had come to the Quinns that day in the guise of a new lodger. He had taken the second floor bedroom which stretched across the back of the house. Because this room was very big and had a queer, rickety stairway leading to it from the outside of the house, it had never been rented. But with the other lodgers who lived in the front rooms and the tiny side bedroom and the parlor, which had been converted into a "light housekeeping suite," Mrs. Quinn managed to keep her little family most comfortably and to have a bit left over for such luxuries as the flowers, a few books, pretty pictures and crisp muslin curtains.

"Faith, Sheila," she had cried, coming into the kitchen where her daughter was preparing apples for the oven. "It's just as though Dame Fortune knew it was your birthday! Now you shall have your music!"

"Oh, mother!" cried the girl, dropping her paring knife. "How wonderful!" Then, hesitating: "But maybe I hadn't ought to! That much each week would make things easier if----"

But Mrs. Quinn snatched bowl, apples and knife from her daughter's hands. "Don't let's be worrying over what's ahead, sweetness! We'll just take what comes! Didn't I have my bit of music when I was a girl and don't I know the longings that are in you to have things that other girls have, lassie? It's a good daughter you are to me and it's you that has always made the hard things easier----" She stopped suddenly as though something in her throat choked the words. For answer Sheila caught the rough hands that knew only work now and kissed them.

Then these two, arms around one another, the bowl tipping dangerously between them, laughed together as though there had never been a single hardship in the world.

"We're two sillies--that's what we are! Now we must be about our work or the gentleman will come and the room won't be ready!"

"Who is he, mother?"

"Sure, child, and I scarcely asked him! His name is Marks and he said he was employed at the Everett Works. I only thought of you, dearie! After supper you run over and see Miss Sheehan about the lessons; two a week--and we'll have a man come to tune up the old piano and we'll just pull it out here where it will be warm and where I can listen to you!"

So their work--and there was much for their quick fingers to do before the room could be put in readiness for the new tenant and the supper prepared for the younger Quinns, would be made lighter by their happy plans!

But Patricia was too miserable to even glance across at the window where the pink geraniums bloomed. She did not want to think that there was anyone happy anywhere in the world.

Sighing deeply she curled herself on her bed, drew from underneath her pillow her beloved diary and wrote upon its open page:

"This is such a cruel, sad moment in my life that I must write about it although it is too bad to put it in my nice diary." (Monthly she and Angeline Snow, her dearest friend at Miss Prindle's, exchanged diaries.) "I have been left alone here by a fond but heartless mother and sister who thinks only of herself and her troubles and my father is here at home and he is left, too, only of course my father is a man and he has his business. But the very worst of all because they are afraid of measles and Cis says my hair will come out and that it will never be thick like hers anyway though I remember you and I said that we hated thick hair when it was yellow like hers they will not let me go back to my dear Prindles and so I am a prisoner in a gilded cage. My Aunt Pen is coming to live with us while my mother is away and I love her and she always lets me do everything I want to do but she is not like you or the other girls at school. And though I have lived here many summers as the poets say, I have no friends because there are only the children I used to meet at silly parties and my mother's friends who are polite and stupid and I shall pine with loneliness. It is all Celia's fault though mother says she is very ill and that she has worn herself out doing war work and she looked very pail and interesting and I guess maybe she worried when Lieut Chauncey Merideth fell out of his airplane but I guess he'll be more careful next time. You remember I never liked him though when he comes back from war though he is only in Texas I guess he'll treat me a little different for he will realise I am almost fourteen if he comes back in time and does not fall out again. I do love my mother but she has been most heartless leaving me sad and lonely and with nothing to do. But as old English Sparrow says there is always work for idle hands to do and I shall find something so as to write to you all about it. I am too old to spend my hours repining. I remember the words of E. Sparrow how we are captains of our souls and I shall keep saying that in my loneliness. I guess now I will go down and order the dessert for dinner----"

This sudden thought so comforted Patricia that she closed her diary quickly, put it back under the pillow, slipped off the bed and ran downstairs to the kitchen.

She found that Melodia, the cook, had already prepared mince tarts for dinner. They were spread temptingly upon a shelf. Patricia tasted one and immediately ordered Melodia to make nothing but mince tarts for dessert during her mother's absence! Perched on a stool Patricia asked several questions concerning the pleasant odors that came from the big oven. But Melodia seemed to be very indifferent as to the importance of her presence in the kitchen; Patricia was glad to remember that she had promised her mother to carry a report to the Red Cross Headquarters that very afternoon. So, slipping off her stool she stalked majestically away.

Now almost at the same moment that Sheila and Mrs. Quinn were laughing in their kitchen over their wonderful fortune and lonely Patricia was cheering her heart by tasting mince tarts, kind-hearted Mrs. Atherton, the official in charge at the Red Cross Headquarters on this October day, was wrinkling her pretty brows over an unusual situation.

Before her, watching her face anxiously, stood a man in the uniform of a captain of the United States Army.

"Perhaps I acted too hastily--bringing the child here, to leave on your hands, but--you can see how it happened; I'd given my word to that boy to take care of his little sister. If you could have known him! Why, there wasn't a fellow in my company that wouldn't have given up his life for him! They didn't need to--he did it first!" Capt. Allan's voice broke. "I got my orders back to the States and I just had time to go and find Renée."

"Wouldn't it have been better if you had left her somewhere in Paris?"

"You see you don't know the whole story, madam. This Emile LaDue was in the French uniform but he was sort of an American. And that was my promise--that I'd bring her back to America--somewhere. He didn't have time to say anything more--he gave me the address when we were in a shell hole waiting until it was dark enough to creep over to the enemy lines. We went out a few seconds afterwards--crawling along on our stomachs, he one way, I another. I--never saw him again."

Mrs. Atherton openly wiped her eyes.

The soldier went on: "I'd keep the little girl--just because I loved Emile LaDue, but I haven't any folks or any place to leave her and I have to report back over there! When I'm home for good----"

"If Mrs. Everett was here I am sure we could arrange something, but she is out of town."

It was at that moment that Patricia walked past the open door on her way from the Secretary's office where she had left her mother's report. Mrs. Atherton's rather high-pitched voice reached her ear. She stood quite still.

"The child would make any home happy--she's a dear little thing! Has plenty of clothes, I guess, but right now more than anything else she needs friends and love--quite a bit of that."

"A baby!" thought Patricia excitedly; "a war orphan!"

Patricia's mother had already adopted six French orphans; Patricia and her classmates at school were supporting several Belgian families and Celia was a godmother to ever so many disabled French soldiers. That all meant only sending money away just so often, but this was quite different--the baby was right here! Patricia had no time to think just what her mother might do in such a case! There was an offended tone in the man's voice as though he might take his war-orphan and go away and not come back! So she walked straight into the room.

"Mrs. Atherton, I will take this child immediately."

Both Mrs. Atherton and the captain gasped at the sudden appearance of Patricia. Patricia, seeing doubt in Mrs. Atherton's eyes, turned to the soldier.

"My mother is away, but if you will bring the--the baby to my home I will ask my father, and I know he will let her stay!"

Mrs. Atherton hurriedly explained. "This is Miss Patricia Everett, the daughter of the lady of whom I was speaking. Perhaps----" she hesitated. She was thinking rapidly--something, of course, must be done with the child! "This might solve our problem--until you return and wish to make other arrangements."

"Oh please bring her," cried Patricia in quite her natural manner. "I can't go back to school because of the measles there and I'd lose my hair and I am dreadfully lonesome, and I should love a baby! We'll go home and I'll send Watkins after Daddy and then we'll tell him."

It sounded so logical that even Mrs. Atherton nodded approvingly.

"Where is she?" asked Patricia, looking around the room as though some corner might conceal a bundle that would prove to be the little war-orphan.

"I left her outside, in the taxi. I wanted to find out what could be done."

"Well, let's hurry!" commanded Patricia, turning toward the door. "I know Daddy'll say yes, for you see my mother and sister have ever so many orphans and this will be mine and Daddy's." She was running eagerly ahead of Capt. Allan out of the door and down the long flight of steps.

"Can she walk yet?" she whispered excitedly.

"I should say so!" he laughed, throwing open the door of the taxicab.

And within Patricia beheld staring gravely at her from a corner of the automobile, her small hands clasped tightly in her lap, her pale face framed by a wealth of golden hair that hung in soft curls over her shabby coat--not the war-orphan she had pictured, but a little girl of her own age!

"Miss Renée LaDue," the Captain said with a sweeping gesture. "And this young lady----" he hesitated a moment, as though the name Mrs. Atherton had spoken had slipped his mind.

Patricia, almost too astonished and too delighted to make a sound, stammered:

"I'm Patricia Everett, but please, just call me Pat!"

CHAPTER II

THE CAPTAIN'S STORY

Certain that some serious catastrophe must have happened, Thomas Everett ran up the steps of his house with the speed of a schoolboy. Watkins, the chauffeur, had found him at his office.

"Miss Pat, sir, says you are to hurry home at once--that it is awfully important." He had repeated her exact words and even imitated her imperative tone.

When Mr. Everett had anxiously asked him "what had happened," he had shaken his head and had said: "I don't know, sir, what it is, sir, but I'm sure it is something because I've never seen Miss Pat so excited!"

Patricia was awaiting her father in the hall. There were not many things that she had ever wanted that he had refused her--but then this was very different and he might say "No!" She greeted him with a violent hug and, talking so fast that he could not make out one word that she was saying, she dragged him toward the library door.

"They're in there, Daddy, and oh, please do let her stay!" she whispered.

Within the room Mr. Everett found a tall soldier holding a shy little girl by the hand. The officer introduced himself with a word or two, and with the same directness he had used in telling his story to Mrs. Atherton, he now plunged straight to the point.

"I have brought this little girl from France. She is one of--those many--who has lost everyone and everything--through this war!" He was trying to choose his words carefully so as to spare the little girl as much as he could.

Realizing his embarrassment Mr. Everett interrupted him. "Pat, dear, take the little girl and show her the birds." Patricia, rather reluctantly led the little stranger off to the small conservatory beyond the dining-room where, in beautiful cages, many different kinds of birds sang joyously.

"Thanks, sir," the officer drew a breath. "Taking care of this small lady has been the most difficult thing I ever attempted. I'll tell you the story, sir, so that you can understand. About six months ago a young French officer was attached to our company. He directed the scouting. There were six of us picked out to work with him. I was one of them. We did some mighty ticklish work, sir--for a few weeks there." Almost involuntarily the man's fingers went to the small cross of honor he wore on his tunic. "And we fellows get pretty well acquainted, you know--just lying hours in a shell hole next to another man is like knowing him for years and years back home. It was like that with this Emile LaDue and me. I found out that his father and mother had been born in America--they were both dead, for one night he told me that if anything happened to him--and there was plenty of chance for something to happen any minute--it would leave his little sister all alone in the world. He never talked much about himself--back in the lines he was the bravest, cheeriest one in the crowd, laughing at every sort of hardship, but when we'd get out he'd get quiet and I knew what was on his mind. He'd tell little things at different times. It seems he'd made a promise to his mother that he'd bring the little girl to America to live--and he'd kept putting it off, and then the war came along and he thought it might be too late! That bothered him more than anything else. The last night I was with him we were hiding in a dirty hole--four of us--almost covered with mud and water. He and I lay close together; we could only whisper, for some of the Boche had seen us and we had to keep low until it was darker. We'd been there for hours, not more'n just breathing when he whispered suddenly in my ear: 'Allan, I may not come out of this--and you may. Will you----' You know some of the boys over there have premonitions and they're pretty nearly always true and I suppose he had one! I knew what he wanted to say, and he'd been the bravest and best pal a man could ever find and we'd faced death a hundred times, side by side, and he'd never flunked once, so I whispered: 'Don't you worry--just tell me where I can find your little sister.' He twisted around until he could get a hand into his pocket. He gave me a card. He said: 'She's all alone in the world! Take her back to America--I didn't make good! All her life my mother planned that and when she died I promised to do it!' He tried to tell me something about a box, but a star shell burst right next to us and we had to dig down into the mud and we scarcely breathed for fear the Boche snipers would hear us!" Capt. Allan's voice, halting through the story as though it hurt him to recall the bitter memories, suddenly broke.

"Just after that we crawled out--we had to do our job and get back with the stuff the Colonel wanted to know! We divided up--two of us went one way and two the other. I got over and through and back to our lines with the information and I won this"--touching his cross--"and got a sniper's bullet in the shoulder. I was put out of business then--for three weeks." He stopped again--it was very hard for him to tell his tale. Mr. Everett was giving occasional nods of sympathy.

"When I got back to my company they told me the Jerries had caught LaDue! He had almost gotten away when he was killed by a hand grenade. The other man with him was made a prisoner. The boys found LaDue when they advanced--they buried him out there with a lot of others! That was always the worst, sir--these good pals that you'd messed with and bunked with under the same muddy blankets and lived with through hours and hours of waiting for no one ever knew what--and then--just flesh and bones out in that desolation and buried--any old place----" He pulled himself together. "Excuse me, sir--I loved the boy--I'd have liked to have just said--oh, good luck, old chap--or something like that! Well, I asked for a furlough to hunt up the little sister and what did they do but order me back to the States on a special mission to the Intelligence Department. I had just twenty-four hours to find the child. I had no trouble, though--she was at the address out in St. Cloud, living with a queer old couple--the man was a veteran of the Franco-Prussian war and the wife raises flowers--only no one in France is buying flowers now! I suppose they were all living on what Emile was sending to them. They didn't want to let the child go--I think they were truly fond of her, but when I told them what I had promised Emile they never said another word. I had to break it to them that he had been killed! I was afraid of Renée crying and wondering how I'd comfort her and then I wished that she would cry! She was such a pathetic little thing--all she'd say was 'He told me it would be for America and France!' I tell you, sir, even the little ones are as brave as any!"

"Well, old Susette packed her clothes and I started back with her, though I hadn't the ghost of an idea where to take her! I haven't a home or any folks of my own, sir, but I said to myself--there's the Red Cross, they'll tell me! I had come to this town first, sir, so I just brought her along with me and--here we are!" He laughed ruefully. "I guess I didn't think the thing out very much! Over there, you know, homes are smashed up in a twinkling, and so many kiddies--like this little one--are left along by the wayside, that you don't stop to think but just gather 'em in! Our boys can't stand seeing the children suffer, sir--why, I've watched many a one just turn his whole mess right over to a bunch of kids--they're so hungry looking." He paused for a moment. "That's all, sir, and if you can find a place for Renée to live where she'll be safe and--happy, I'll gladly give half my pay and take her when I come back!"

The story of Renée LaDue finished, the officer stood very straight and looked anxiously at his listener.

Often during the story Mr. Everett had brushed something suspiciously like tears from his eyes. He rose quickly now and held out his hand.

"With what you boys are doing--and giving up--there isn't anything we who have to stay at home could refuse to do! Renée shall be taken care of--I promise you that! Nothing must be said about money. When the war is over and you return--then you shall come and claim her if you wish!"

The soldier's face beamed with pleasure.

"Oh, sir, that is splendid! You can't imagine how responsible I feel about my promise to Emile--or what a fine chap he was!"

Mr. Everett took a notebook and a pencil from his pocket.

"Please give me some of the facts concerning this child," he said in a business-like manner.

As Capt. Allan repeated them he entered each in the little book.

"And you know nothing more concerning Emile's family?"

"Only a little more--back in the hospital I talked with a French surgeon who had known Emile's father. He said he had been a sculptor--until he grew blind. I imagine they were very poor. The doctor said that Emile had been studying, too--in Paris. I remembered he had said something once to me that had made me think he was just waiting to finish his studies to keep his promise to his mother--to come to America to live!"

Thomas Everett shook his head. "Oh, what this war has done! The boy was doubtless gifted!" He sighed deeply. "When it is possible go to Paris and, for the child's sake, find out all you can of her family. In the meantime----"

But at this point Patricia, too impatient to longer await her father's decision, burst into the room!

CHAPTER III

RENÉE FINDS A HOME

At her first introduction in the taxi-cab Patricia had undertaken to converse with Miss Renée in the stilted French she had learned at Miss Prindle's. But Renée had answered in perfect English.

Now, with the singing of the birds to tune their voices to a happy note, with the pretty flowers bringing a smile to Renée's sad little face, it was easy to bridge over the formality of "getting acquainted." Renée exclaimed in delight over the birds and the flowers and Pat rattled on like a small magpie, though all the while straining her ears to catch a single word or tone of her father's voice from the library.

She had her own way--sometimes a rather naughty way--of getting what she wanted from her family, but this was so different, and she wanted it so very much that she felt very anxious and uncertain! So after she had waited what seemed to her a very long time she abruptly led Renée back to the library. As they entered the room her father held out both hands. One took one of hers, with the other he drew Renée close to him.

"My dear little girl, Capt. Allan is going to leave you with us for a little while! And I have given him my promise that you shall be as safe and happy as it is possible for us to make you----" He wanted to say a great deal more to make Renée feel at home but Patricia interrupted him with a tempestuous hug that almost swept him from his feet.

"Oh, you dear, dear Daddy!" Then she threw her arms around Renée's neck. "Oh, I am so happy!" she was crying over and over, as though she had been the homeless one and Renée had taken her in.

"Don't forget me, Miss Everett," the soldier put in so comically that Patricia almost embraced him, too! Instead she shook both his hands delightedly. As Renée turned to Capt. Allan her lips trembled a little, for she had learned to love and trust him and already looked upon him as her guardian.

"Just you be brave and happy, little sister!" he said softly to her, "and as soon as I can I will come back!"

Then he shook hands with each one of them and Renée shyly kissed him. Mr. Everett went with him to the door. Patricia, knowing how hard the parting was for her little guest, seized her hand and dragged her toward a door at the end of the big hall.

"Let's go and find Melodia! I know something she's got!"

Only a few moments before Melodia had been telling the butler and the upstairs maid about "that Miss Pat's giving her orders so comical" and they were all laughing merrily over it when Miss Pat burst in upon them, leading Renée by the hand.

"Melodia, I have a guest only she's going to live with us! Please make lots of tarts, and can't Renée have just a little one now? Jasper, carry Miss Renée's trunk to my room--it's in the front hall! Maggie, please get a cot from the storeroom and put it right next to my bed." She turned toward the pantry. "I'll take some tarts now, Melodia, for Miss Renée is hungry! Don't all stand and stare like that, but please do as I tell you!" She helped herself as she spoke to two of the juiciest of the tempting tarts.

"Well, I never!" Jasper and Maggie and Melodia all exclaimed.

Patricia turned with dignity. "Miss Renée has come from France. She is a--a----" She was going to say "war-orphan" but suddenly it occurred to her that that might make Renée unhappy. So she finished: "Her brother has died for us in France and left her all alone!" Patricia used an expression she had heard often. "You three and Daddy and me have a debt to pay--and we are going to pay it!"

The three servants were deeply impressed by the grandness of Patricia's words and manner; and, too, Renée's sad little face won their hearts in an instant. Jasper coughed violently and hurried away to find the trunk. Melodia wiped her eye with the corner of her apron.

"The dear little thing! Well, we'll just make you happy and put flesh on your bones, bless your heart, missy!"

Patricia, satisfied that she had properly established Renée in the household, then led her upstairs to her own room. Renée, accustomed to the tiny chamber under the gable at St. Cloud, exclaimed with admiration when Patricia opened the door. Already Jasper had put down the queer old trunk and was busily engaged unfastening its buckles and straps. Maggie was watching, much disturbed.

"Miss Pat, I wish your mother was home! I know she wouldn't want me to bring a cot in here a-cluttering up the tidiness of your room when there's the blue room and the violet room empty and that room on the third floor----"

Alarmed that Maggie might separate them, Patricia exclaimed quickly: "I don't--care! We won't make things untidy! I want her in here!"

"What's all this about?" interrupted Mr. Everett, coming at that moment to the door.

Patricia, Renée, Jasper and Maggie all turned to him. But Patricia, catching his coat, pulled him to her so that, by reaching on tip-toe, she could whisper in his ear:

"You see, Daddy, I want her right in here! Maggie says that it will make things untidy but we can't let her get homesick or--or unhappy, and she might if she's left all alone in the blue room or the vi'let room----" Patricia rubbed her cheek coaxingly against her father's shoulder, then added solemnly: "I guess I know what it is to be lonesome, for I have been lots and lots of times--just because everyone was so grownup and I hadn't anyone to be with like a little sister, and now--please, Daddy, we will keep the room as neat as can be!"

Renée's eyes echoed Patricia's pleadings.

"Well, well, Maggie, we'll have to let them decide things, I guess," he laughed, "at least until Miss Penelope comes!"

In all the excitement Patricia had quite forgotten the approaching arrival of Aunt Pen.

"Aunty Pen, Aunty Pen," she cried, catching Renée's hands and, swinging her around. "I'd just clean forgotten she was coming! You'll love her!"

Certainly little Renée had not time to be unhappy--each moment seemed to bring something new! While Patricia was explaining all about Aunty Pen and why she was coming, and her story had, of course, to include Celia and even the Lieut. Chauncey Meredith and his fall from his airplane, Maggie, scolding a little under her breath, was spreading snowy sheets over a bed-lounge which Patricia had drawn up close to her own little bed.

In the next moment, Aunt Pen again forgotten, Patricia was tumbling her own possessions from one of the drawers of the mahogany chest to make room for the contents of Renée's little trunk.

"We'll just share everything," she cried. "We'll have just the same halves! And let's hang up your dresses now!"

Poor Renée did not need the generous space of one-half of Patricia's wardrobe for her shabby dresses--they were only four in number and sadly worn! But she hung them away proudly, telling Patricia that no one in France now wore new things!

"Poor Susette used to spend hours mending my clothes, trying to make them hold together," laughed Renée, tenderly recalling her good old friend at St. Cloud.

"Tell me all about her!"

So, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the almost empty trunk, Renée described Susette and the cottage at St. Cloud and the wonderful flowers that had used to sell so well before the war, and the school where she had gone after her mother had died; how she and Emile always talked in English because her mother had made them promise, and how in the long, anxious, lonely days after Emile had gone, she had used to teach simple English words to Susette as they sat together among the flowers that nobody wanted to buy!

From the bottom of the trunk Renée drew a box covered with worn leather, tooled and colored like the binding of a beautiful book. So old was it that the colors blended and looked all blue and gold and green. Renée lifted it tenderly, as though it was precious!

"Oh, how queer and how be-ut-iful!" cried Patricia, all admiration and curiosity. "What do you keep in it?"

Renée held the box very close to her.

"I don't know! It was my mother's and now it's Emile's and mine, or"--she carefully corrected herself--"I suppose it's just mine. But we don't know what is in it for we never had the key! My mother died before she could tell Emile where it was! And Emile made me promise before he went away that I would keep the box and never let anyone open it!"

"And you haven't even the teeniest idea what is in it? Didn't you ever just shake it?"

"Oh, lots of times!" confessed Renée. "But nothing makes any noise. And of course I would keep my promise to Emile."

Patricia rocked back and forth on her heels in joy.

"Oh, what a spliffy mystery! I can't wait to write to the girls!" Then she laughed at Renée's bewilderment. "Spliffy is a word we learned at Miss Prindle's and it means scrumptious or delicious or grand! Don't you love a mystery? And isn't it the lov-li-est box?"

"Emile said it must have been made by some Italian master years and years ago. I have this queer locket, too--it was my mother's," and from a little bag, wrapped in folds and folds of tissue paper, Renée drew a curious gold locket. "It is much too big to wear but I am very careful of it--it is all I have! I pretend that the box and the locket both once upon a time belonged to some royal prince in Venice! Once, when I was little, mother took Emile and me to Venice--she had been sick and she had to go where the sun was warm!"

Patricia, who had always considered herself an experienced and much traveled young lady, suddenly felt very small and young compared to Renée and all that she had done!

"Is Venice like the pictures--all colors like shells and funny boats and people singing?"

But Renée had no chance to answer. The doorbell clanged and in a moment they heard a cheery voice answering Mr. Everett's greeting.

"It's Aunt Pen--come on!" cried Patricia, rushing headlong down the stairs.

CHAPTER IV

GARDENS

"I'm certainly very glad you've come, Penelope; my family, which has so suddenly increased, is going to need a guiding hand!"

Penelope Everett, called by some a "strong-minded woman" because she had, since her college days, worn low-heeled shoes, boyish coats, comfortable hats and simple dresses, was Thomas Everett's favorite sister. Though many years younger than he, there was a directness about her, a something in the way she carried her head, poised squarely, that made him feel he could put anything upon her shoulders.

She gave a cheery laugh now in response to the seriousness of his manner.

Patricia and Renée had long since gone to bed, side by side. Renée had cuddled down under the soft coverings with a little sigh of content. Very tired with long days of travel she had dropped off to sleep quickly, while Patricia's voice, pitched to a low tone, had gone on in an endless account of "what we'll do to-morrow!" Aunt Pen, tiptoeing in a little later, had found Patricia's hand clasping Renée's tightly under the covers.

She recalled that now as she sat with her brother before the library fire.

"Do you know, Thomas, you've done the most wonderful thing in the world for Pat?"

Pat's father stared at her. He had thought she meant to praise him for taking in the lonely little girl from France!

"Why--what do you mean?"

"Just this--Pat's going to have something now that she's never had before--true comradeship!"

Thomas Everett nodded his head. "That is so! Pat said something queer to me, about being lonely lots of times!"

"Of course she's been lonely--often! She's almost a stranger in her own home! You whisk her from school to the seashore or some such place and then back--to another school! And everything on earth is done for her, she doesn't have to think of anything for herself, let alone for anyone else!"

Pat's father laughed. "Why, I thought we were bringing her up along the most model lines! But perhaps you have some new fads now!" He liked to tease Penelope.

"Poor Pat has been the victim of too many fads already! I tell you, brother, this war has shown us a whole lot of silly mistakes we were making in our living!"

"Before you go one bit further, Penelope dear, do promise to speak in words of one syllable! I know all about steel but I must admit I'm very stupid about girls!"

"Thomas, you're not stupid--you just don't think about them and yet your two girls are more precious to you than the whole steel market! And what are you doing with them? Look at Celia--how has she stood the trials of this wartime? Goodness knows, you've spent enough money on her to have made a strong woman of her!"

"But she's young, Pen----"

"Celia's twenty-one--that's the age they've been drafting the boys to go and fight for us! She's a few years older than some who have died over in France. And now she's had a nervous breakdown! Why in the world should Celia have any nerves at all?"

"You're right, Pen, but----"

"This draft we have had in this country has been a wonderful thing; it has sorted out our manhood. But I'm sorry the women couldn't have had it, too, I wonder how many would have measured up to the standards, and why not? Because we older ones make mistakes with the girls--like Pat!"

Penelope was standing now, very straight, before the fire, her eyes bright in her earnestness.

"I tell you we've reached a wonderful day, brother--we can see things as we never saw them before! Silly old prejudices and habits and notions have been swept aside. Do you know one thing we've learned? That it is something even greater than love for one's country that has made men go out and fight--to victory; it's a love for right and justice! And in one of John Randolph's books he tells us that it is that love for right and justice that will make the real brotherhood of men and nations! Who is going to carry on this ideal as we have found it? Why, our boys and girls--girls like Pat!"

"Pen, your eloquence makes me feel as though I had never known the real meaning of the word duty!"

"Oh, it isn't half so much--duty, Tom, as it is plain common sense. I've often thought that raising girls and boys is something like a garden! If you were planning a garden and wanted to grow something beautiful--oh, say larkspur, for I don't think any garden is perfect without it and no flower is harder to get started--wouldn't you want to know that you were putting in seed that would grow into hardy blossoms, blooming year after year, keeping your garden lovely and the world richer for their beauty?"

Penelope paused long enough to draw a deep breath.

"There at Miss Prindle's Pat is learning to speak French and Latin and how to use her hands and feet and walk out of a room properly and a dinner-table-speaking acquaintance with art and the masters and ancient history--and that's all very well, but how much will she know of the problems she must face by and by unless she begins to mingle with the sort of people that make up this world? And above all else--unless you build up for her a strong body that will mean a brave heart and a clear head, what service, I ask you, can she give to her fellowmen and her country?"

"You're certainly right, Pen! And now, if you've finished a very good sermon, let's get down to business. I take it you want to--raise larkspur! I don't know much about 'em, even in gardens! I've left these things to the children's mother!"

Penelope dropped into a chair with a little, ashamed laugh.

"My sermon does sound as though I was criticizing Caroline dreadfully! I know she is devoted to the girls. And so am I--and so are you. She's bringing them up just the way she was brought up!"

"Well, what shall we do?" asked Pat's father with the tone of a conspirator.

"You've started doing right now the very best thing in the world--bringing that poor little girl into the family! Patricia loves her already and she'll learn for the first time to consider another child before herself. She's never had to do it before! Why, to-night I found her carefully dividing her clothes so that Renée might have just as many things as she had."

"Does Renée need clothes? I'll----"

"Now don't spoil it all by buying new things--let Patricia give up some of her own! It is making her very happy. Through Renée she is going to know something of the trials that come to others and she is going to learn to want to be helpful. She has gone to sleep now holding Renée's hand."

Both their minds turned to Renée.

"A curious tragedy--this, that has brought this child into our circle! Caroline might have made some other arrangement, but Pat's heart was set upon keeping her--and she will have her own way!"

"Pat's mother is too absorbed now in Celia to think much about it and when she returns Renée will win her love with her little face! What a story the child's life makes with just what we know! The family must have been American--evidently exiled; they loved this country, else why would the mother have made the brother promise to come back? I hope sometime we will know more about them!"

"Capt. Allan has promised to look them up as soon as he can!"

"Captain Allan----" Penelope breathed, her face flaming, then turning white. When her brother had told her Renée's story, so intent had she been upon the tragedy of little Renée and the poor Emile that she had not heeded the name of the American officer.

"Can it be the same?" she thought now, a wild fluttering at her heart. Then she sternly admonished herself. "Of course not! Don't be silly! There are hundreds of Allans and I don't even know that he joined the army!"

She said aloud, very calmly: "Love has given to Renée what money couldn't--she has been well educated, I believe! Her mother taught her, she says, and after her mother's death she went to a communal school near St. Cloud. She will help our Pat a great deal!"

"Yes, I'm very glad we have her with us! And now, Pen, I'll put you in command--head gardener, or whatever you want to call yourself! Raise your larkspur--only let a mere father be of what help he can! Things are pressing pretty hard at the Works--I can't help but fear that the winter may bring serious problems of unemployment and we must be ready to solve them! A few weeks will see the end of this war--it is in sight now! By the way, we are just completing the formula for a new explosive--more powerful than any the world has ever known! If the enemy knew it the war would end to-morrow!"

Penelope shuddered. "Why do we need it?"

"My dear, that little formula alone, scrap of paper as it is, will be a safeguard against future wars! The government is sending on experts to go over the experiments and the formulas. And, if they are satisfied, it will be my gift--the gift of my men--to our country!"

Penelope listened with divided attention, her mind not so much upon the wonders of shot and shell as upon the problems of the two little girls upstairs. She stared into the crackling flames.

"Do you think Miss Pat will fall into your plans, sister? Remember she is sadly spoiled!"

Pen laughed. "She'll never know we're making plans--wait and see! The first thing we must do is to make Renée feel that this is home and then--well, we must fill their days with sunshine--flowers and children grow better with that, you know! And I promise you, Thomas, that after a few months--if I'm let alone that long--you'll agree that my hobbies are commonsense things after all!"

"You're generally right, sister--I've found that out from long, sad experience! Grow your larkspur and I'll help! And now I move that we call the plot finished and go to bed--you've worn me out!"

With two fingers he tipped her face toward him and kissed her good-night. Each was very fond of the other--it was this affection that bound Penelope's heart so closely to her brother's children.

Long after he had gone she sat alone before the fire, her elbows on her knees, her chin dropped into the palms of her hands. And as she mused over her plans, between her and the flames danced pictures of what she would like to do to help Pat, and now Renée, grow into "hardy blossoms, blooming year after year, keeping the garden lovely and the world richer for their beauty!"

CHAPTER V

FIRST AID

Renée wakened to find the sun streaming through the pink-flowered curtains and Patricia sitting bolt upright in bed, staring at her. She had been dreaming of Susette and Gabriel; she had to rub her eyes once or twice before she could remember that this was America and her new home!

"I thought you'd never wake up! I was just sitting here thinking how nice it is to have you here. Miss Prindle would never let any of us have a room-mate. Let's dress fast--there's so much I want to show you! I'll ring for Maggie."

As she spoke Patricia sprang from her bed and ran barefooted across the floor to the bell. With the sunshine and Pat's enthusiasm, the little homesick feeling that had begun to ache its way into Renée's heart disappeared in an instant.

Aunt Pen answered the bell instead of Maggie.

"Lazy girlies!" she cried cheerily. "I have been waiting an hour to eat breakfast with you! Melodia has a touch of her "rheumtics" and I've told Maggie that she may stay downstairs and help her. You and Renée can put away your things and make your beds." She was throwing back the bedclothes as she spoke and did not notice the surprise that flashed across Pat's face. Pat did not guess that this was one of Aunt Pen's "plans" because she did not know, yet, that Aunt Pen was "planning"; she had never made a bed in her life, nor had she ever had to hang away her clothes! But already Renée was neatly tucking into a corner of the wardrobe her warm, comfy slippers and was hanging her nightgown upon a hook, so, although Patricia had opened her lips to utter a protest, she closed them, suddenly ashamed.

Over their breakfast Aunt Pen and Pat made the plans for the day. It must be like a holiday to celebrate Renée's coming! She must be taken about the city and shown every spot of interest.

"It will seem stupid to you after Paris," declared Pat.

Renée smiled. "Oh, it couldn't! Paris is beautiful but--this is America! Always my mother told us stories of America. She loved it and she wanted us to love it, too! She used to say that America was like a splendid, growing boy! I think she meant that everything here is young and over there in France it is so old! But I love France!" The child's eyes grew dark with feeling. "Only I feel so sorry for France! She's like poor Susette and her flowers!"

"It's Susette's cheery, brave soul that you love, my dear--as we love the cheery, brave soul of France," finished Aunt Pen.

"Well, maybe France has a soul but does she have pancakes like these?" put in Pat, for she felt that Renée and Aunt Pen were growing far too serious for such a glorious morning.

The day was full of interest for them both; for Patricia, because she suddenly found a new pride in showing to her little guest the various things in her home city of which she was justly proud. Then Aunt Pen gave bits of historical information that added to everything they saw. Pat had not known that over the stretch of pretty park near her home the early settlers had once fought with the Indians; that the huge boulder in the park, shadowed by old elms, marked the grave where some unknown soldiers, who had given their lives in the war of 1812, were buried. Aunt Pen also pointed out the street, thronged now with trucks, wagons and street-cars, that had once been the trail through the forest over which, when the Indians had burned the village, Patricia's great-great grandmother had escaped, hidden under sacking and straw in the back of the old farm wagon, drawn by oxen.

"Oh, how thrilling!" cried Pat with a little shiver of delight. "What fun it would be to have to escape now! Only we'd just go in this car with Watkins driving about fifty miles an hour!"

Later in the day Patricia begged that she might take Renée again along the river road, past the old fort that had once leveled its wooden cannon toward the shore of Canada, past the huge factories with their countless chimneys belching forth flame and smoke. Aunt Pen had let them go alone and the ride had been one of endless interest. They were returning swiftly along the maple-shaded street that led toward home when the car swerved sideways, Watkins gave a quick laugh, and the air was pierced by the sharp cry of a dog in pain.

"Watkins--it was a dog!" cried Patricia.

"I know it. He'll be more careful next time!"

Renée had covered her eyes. Pat sprang from her seat and leaned toward the chauffeur.

"Stop!" she cried so commandingly that he ground on the brake. "I think you're--you're awful to go on and leave the poor dog!" Tears threatened her voice. She opened the door and sprang out, followed by Renée.

But another little girl had gone to the dog's rescue. Sheila Quinn, walking homeward from school, had seen the accident. She had run out into the street and had gathered the dog into her arms. When Pat and Renée had reached the spot she had laid Mr. Dog upon the grass and was examining him.

"Is he dead?" cried Pat and Renée in one voice.

"Oh, no! See him try to lick my hand! He knows we want to help him! I guess he's more scared than hurt! Here, it is his leg. See, it is broken."

"How can you tell?" asked Pat, filled with admiration at the quick careful way Sheila had examined their patient.

"Run your hand gently over his body; see, it doesn't hurt him! But look at his leg--how it hangs! And watch him, he'll wince if I just move as though to touch it! We won't hurt you, doggie dear, just keep quiet and we'll fix you up all nice."

"What will we do?" asked Pat anxiously.

"We must put it in a splint and bandage it," promptly answered Sheila, looking around her as though to find the necessary things.

"I know--I know! There's the white stuff Aunt Pen got at the Red Cross, we can use that! She forgot it--it's in the car."

"That will be just the thing!"

"Get it, Renée! And here are some sticks--won't they do for splints?" asked Patricia eagerly.

"It ought to be something firmer, at least until the bone is set." Sheila was straightening out the poor little leg with so gentle a touch that the dog only whimpered. "If you'd let me use your scarf we could make a sort of pillow----"

For answer Pat snatched the woolen scarf from her shoulders. Sheila, rolled it tightly into a firm pillow. Renée had returned with Aunt Pen's package and she and Patricia commenced tearing it into strips. Their fingers, eager though they were, made awkward work of it.

"Let me do it! You hold his leg," exclaimed Sheila. She tore off strips two inches wide. Then she neatly covered the woolen scarf with a wider piece. Renée and Pat, deeply concerned, leaned over the dog and watched. Pat held the injured leg and Renée gently stroked the dog's head.

"Isn't he a darling?" cried Pat. "I just hate Watkins for hurting him!"

"It wasn't Watkin's fault--he might have saved the dog and had a serious accident and hurt--you girls! The dog ran out in front of the car! This will be a lesson to him."

The splint ready Sheila gently placed it under the dog's leg and instructed Pat how to hold it in place. She wound the bandage around and around, careful to avoid the break, but firmly, so as to hold the splint securely in place. Then she straightened up from her kneeling position with a long breath.

"There, now--that will do nicely, until someone can set it!"

"I think you're wonderful--the way you can do things!" cried Pat, always generous in her praise. "Where did you ever learn? And oh, I forgot, we don't know your name and we'd like to----"

The three girls, grouped about the injured dog who lay very contentedly with his head pillowed on Renée's lap, presented striking contrasts. Pat, like a picture in a fashion book in her trim green broadcloth coat and turban set jauntily on her smooth dark hair, had a frankness and sunniness in her face that was invariably winning despite a slight imperiousness of manner; Renée, small for her thirteen years, her delicate face, framed in golden curls, touched by the shadow of the sorrows she had known, seemed like a fragile flower. And Sheila Quinn, a head taller than even Pat, her black hair neatly braided in two tight pigtails reaching almost to her waist, her face and form showing the vigor gained from healthy exercise and simple living, had something both of Patricia's winsomeness, Renée's quiet poise and a happy contentment all of her own which came from the Quinn philosophy of "just make the best of everything, sweetness, there's sure to be some sunshine somewhere!"

Sheila laughed. "Which question shall I answer first? I'm Sheila Quinn! I know you are Patricia Everett, but----" she hesitated as she glanced toward Renée. Patricia added:

"This is Renée LaDue who has come way from France to live with us!"

"Oh, how nice!" Sheila glanced with friendly curiosity up and down the little figure. "And I learned bandaging and all that at the scout meetings. I was highest in my first-aid test," she concluded proudly.

"Scouts----" queried Pat.

"Girl Scouts," explained Sheila. "I belong to Troop Six and it's the best troop in the city!"

"Les Eclaireuses!" cried Renée. "There were some in the School of St. Cloud. I loved them--they used to bring the soldier's coats and socks to Susette for us to mend! They were like little girl soldiers."

Again Patricia felt small and insignificant before the greater experience of Renée and now, Sheila! But her nature was too sunny to show the moment's sting of pride. Besides, she was immensely curious.

"What do you have to do to be a Girl Scout?"

"Why, just want to join! I mean just want to be all that a scout must be and then put in your name. I wish you'd join Troop Six--it's the best and everyone just loves Captain Ricky--she's the scout captain."

"What do you have to want to want to be a scout?" asked Pat.

Sheila squared her shoulders. "This is what you have to want," and she repeated with dignity, for she was leader of her patrol and felt the responsibility of her position, "to do my duty to God and my country, to help other people at all times, to obey the scout law. There are lots of laws but they're the kind you just like to obey. Captain Ricky says the real meaning of scouting for girls like us is service to God and our country; that it helps each one of us to build strong characters that anyone can depend upon! And when girls are scouts why, we don't stop to think that one, maybe, is rich and another poor and one's black and one's white or one's a Jew and one's a--a Baptist--we're just all scouts and loyal! Oh, I love it!"

"Renée, let's be scouts!" cried Pat. "Let's tell Daddy we want to join Troop Six--it's the best in the city!"

Mr. Dog, his patience exhausted, had commenced to stir restlessly and lick his bandaged leg. The three girls exclaimed in dismay:

"We've forgotten the dog!"

"What shall we do with him?"

"I'd better take him home. I am sure my mother can set his leg and then we'll put it in a stronger splint," said Sheila.

Pat and Renée could not dispute Sheila's claim to the interesting patient.

"Then we'll come over to-morrow to see him. I think he's a nice dog because he looks just like Miss Prindle's General who has all kinds of prizes, only dirty!" Patricia motioned to Watkins who, resigned to waiting, had become more concerned in the afternoon newspaper than in the fate of the dog.

He looked a little angry now when Pat explained that they intended to carry the dog in the automobile to the Quinn home, but there was something in Pat's face that stilled the protest on his lips.

Pat exclaimed with delight when she found that Sheila lived in the old brick house whose windows were in sight of her own. With Renée and now Sheila, the world that had seemed only the day before to be so lonely, now seemed full of friends. Sheila did not tell Pat that she had often watched her come and go from the house that was so like a palace compared to her own. Sheila knew that there had been just a little envy in her heart at times and she was ashamed of it. For, after all, not for worlds would she exchange her dearest mother and the three small brothers for the wealth of the Everetts!

"Let's have lots of good times together," Pat called in parting, "and we'll come over first thing to-morrow to see the dog!"

So much had Pat and Renée to tell of their day that Mr. Everett quite forgot an after-dinner engagement he had made with a business acquaintance. All four of them, Aunt Pen and Daddy, Pat and Renée sat before the fire. Pat, with a diplomacy not suspected by her innocent family, led up very carefully to what she wanted "more than anything else in the world!" That was always the way she put it. She used the very words now as she told of Troop Six--the best in the whole city!

"Bless Pat!" cried her father, using Melodia's favorite expression, "I can't keep up with you! Yesterday it was one thing and to-day it's another, and it's always what you want more than anything else in the world!"

"Yes, Daddy--this is!"

"A Girl Scout----" he glanced over the children's heads at Penelope and his brows lifted as much as to say, "Well, this is your garden--what have you to say?"

Aunt Pen answered his look.

"Do you know, Thomas, I think it's just the thing! It will bring the girls in touch with joys and responsibilities they've not known before!"

"It makes us build up--oh, something about character!" In her excitement Pat could not remember Sheila's grand words. "Renée says that in Paris they are like girl soldiers. And Sheila says we'll love the girls in the troop; there's Keineth Randolph and Peggy Lee and True Scott and a lot of others----"

"I know Mrs. Lee, and if Peggy is like her mother she is a fine girl," added Aunt Pen.

"Keineth is John Randolph's girl," put in Pat's father.

"Then we may?" Pat asked anxiously.

"You may," laughingly answered Mr. Everett and Aunt Pen in one voice, covering their ears that they might not be deafened by Pat's boisterous "hurrah!"

Upstairs Pat chattered on, although Renée's eyes were almost shut with sleep. They opened their beds and each laid out her nightgown and slippers.

"You know I'm glad Maggie's downstairs now--we ought to take care of things ourselves; we'll have to, if we make good scouts! Oh, good gracious!" Pat whirled a stocking in midair. "We'll have to try exams and I'm always scared to death. But you'll help me, won't you, Renée?"

And little Renée, her heart overflowing with gratitude, glad to do the smallest service within her power, answered heartily, though sleepily, "'Deed I will!"

CHAPTER VI

EAGLES AND GOLDEN EAGLETS

"A bun fell on my kitten,

She died where she was sittin'----"

sang Sheila, holding up for inspection the blouse she had just finished ironing.

The front doorbell rang, its rusty tone resounding through the house.

"Goodness gracious," exclaimed Mrs. Quinn, smoothing out her apron. Few came to the sombre front door of the old house; somehow instinct seemed always to lead visitors along the flagged walk to the door leading into the cheery kitchen.

Sheila, flying to the door, had guessed in an instant who the callers were! She led Pat and Renée back through the long hall and the injured dog, comfortably established in a basket near the stove, set up a vigorous barking by way of welcome.

"He's all right, or will be as soon as the break mends, mother says! This is my mother, Pat," and Patricia turned from the dog to Mrs. Quinn, who greeted the girls with her cheery smile.

"The children would have him here and I guess the poor dog is glad enough to find a home," she explained, nodding toward the basket which the younger Quinns, with scraps of old carpeting, had made most comfortable.

"Mother says he's an Irish terrier, so let's call him Paddy!" And Paddy, as though he liked and accepted the name, barked and wagged his stump of a tail and tried to jump out of his basket.

With little effort to conceal their curiosity Patricia and Renée were staring about them. Patricia had never seen a kitchen like this before! She could not tell just what made it so different--it might be the neat rows of pretty china dishes on the shelves of the open cupboard, or the shiny tins and pots and pans in the stove corner, or the bright rag rugs on the spotless floor, or the gay patterned cloth across the table at the window, or the blooming plants on the sills framed by crisply ruffled muslin curtains! And Mrs. Quinn, a pink bow at her neck brightening her faded dress and heightening the color of her thin cheeks, looked as though she belonged there with the geraniums and the bright rugs and the spotless dishes! Patricia was thinking that it was just the sort of a room one felt like staying in--and anyone could feel sure that--if there was any sunshine anywhere--it would be slanting across that floor.

Renée was standing with her hands quaintly clasped.

"It is like home," she cried. She caught sight of a little wooden stool and exclaimed: "Oh--like Susette's!"

Sheila had told Mrs. Quinn that Renée had come way from France. The motherly woman now drew the child to her and let her tell of Susette and the cheery kitchen at St. Cloud so that the tiny shadow of homesickness might pass from her heart.

Patricia was joyously announcing that her Daddy and Aunt Pen had said they might join Troop-Six!

"And I saw Captain Ricky and she told me to bring you girls to-day! Scout meeting is at three o'clock at Lincoln School," Sheila added.

"Renée--do you hear that? Goodness, I'm scared! What do we have to do first?"

"Form in patrols for inspection. I hope you can come into the Eagle Patrol with Keineth Randolph and Peggy Lee and myself!"

Patricia had innumerable questions to ask. She and Renée sat upon the floor, one on each side of Paddy's basket which had been drawn out into the middle of the room. Sheila resumed her ironing, explaining that it must be done before she could do anything else. Mrs. Quinn commenced a vigorous beating and stirring that promised goodies of some kind, joining now and then in the merry chatter. This was the beginning of many such pleasant hours in the kitchen of the old brick house!

As the girls were going home Patricia said suddenly to Renée, speaking out of a moment of deep thought: "What was it made it so jolly--there? I believe it was the piano! Who'd ever think of having a piano in the kitchen?"

"No!" declared Renée. "It was the rocking chair and the piece-work cushions and the stool!"

At the scout meeting Renée, unused to large groups of children, felt a wave of shyness grip her. She was grateful for Pat's vivacity--no one would notice how quiet she was! At first there seemed to be a great many girls and as though they were all talking at once, but soon she made out through Sheila's rather offhand introductions that the girl with the nice eyes and jolly smile was Peggy Lee, that the smaller one with the golden hair was Keineth Randolph and that these two with the three girls standing near Pat made up the Eagle patrol.

Capt. Ricky, who was really Miss Fredericka Grimball, only no one ever called her anything but Capt. Ricky, greeted warmly the new recruits. She was a tall young woman, her fine face made beautiful by beauty of character rather than feature and with a personality that won her girls' liking and at the same time their respect.

She whispered to Sheila that she would place Pat and Renée in the Eagle Patrol! A shout went up in answer which was quieted by Capt. Ricky's whistle and her command to "fall in!"

Pat felt delightfully like a soldier as she drew up her slender five feet of body between Renée and True Scott. But she was an absurdly awkward soldier as she obeyed the commands and her pride met a sad fall when upon inspection she had to hold out ink-stained fingers!

After a brief drill the Captain gave the command to the Color Guard to form. From the ranks three girls stepped forward and with military precision brought from its place at one end of the room the Troop flag. Every scout's hand went instantly to the forehead in salute! Together they repeated:

"I pledge allegiance to my flag and to the country

for which it stands;

One nation indivisible, with liberty and justice

for all!"

Renée could not follow their words, but in a clear, sweet voice she sang with them the "Star Spangled Banner," and as the words rang out, "Then conquer we must when our cause it is just," there was an added brightness in her eyes, for she had come closer than the others to "war's desolation."

In Sheila's kitchen the girls had studied the scout laws; they repeated them now, carefully. To Pat, whose life so far had had few "laws" or "rules" of any kind, they seemed to mean more, now, as she repeated them in chorus, and she wondered deep within her heart if she could really keep them all! But just at that moment she caught a glance and a smile from Capt. Ricky that put courage in her heart where the faintness had been! It would be well worth trying!

A business meeting followed. The business on hand to be discussed ranged in character from reports on "war savings," "thrift kitchen work," "city beautiful plans," a "back-to-school" campaign, knitting and sewing, to a noisy argument over a coming hike. The girls all tried to talk at once, and but for Capt. Ricky's whistle might have succeeded; nevertheless, out of the jumble of words Pat and Renée caught the impression that these merry girls were really doing a great deal of earnest work as well as play! In these khaki clad youngsters strong characters were in the building, "that anyone could depend upon" as Sheila had put it!

"Sheila, I know something un-us-u-al is going to happen!" whispered Peggy Lee, leaning across Pat and Renée. The Eagle patrol had grouped together, sitting cross-legged on the floor. "When Capt. Ricky looks like that she's got some grand surprise----"

"Maybe it's an overnight hike! We take our ponchos and blankets and dog-tents and sleep outdoors!"

"It's too cold for that now, Ken! Perhaps it's a real party like the one we had last spring!"

But none of them had guessed right! Capt. Ricky had a surprise for them but it was even better than the overnight hike or the "real party!"

When the business of the meeting was over she stepped before them, her hands clasped behind her back in a most mysterious manner. She began:

"Scouts, I have been given a great privilege--and you shall all share it with me! An honor has come to Troop Six!" She had to wait, then, for a moment; loud cheers interrupted her! She did not seem in the least disturbed. "But like all the honors that have come to Troop Six this has been won through merit, earnest effort and hard work. We may well be proud of her who has brought us this honor; we can all follow her example and seek the standard she has attained! We can hail her as a leader among us! Sheila Quinn, please step forward!"

A ripple of "oh-h-h" ran through the girls! Sheila's face turned crimson. Peggy and Keineth excitedly pushed her forward.

Capt. Ricky's left hand clasped Sheila's and with her right she held up a glittering badge.

"Sheila, it is my happy privilege, upon the recommendation of the National Commissioner, to award to you the Golden Eaglet, the highest honor that can be won by a Girl Scout!"

A din of cheering drowned out anything more that Capt. Ricky might have wanted to say. Peggy and True Scott were capering about like jumping-jacks. There were shouts of "What's the matter with Sheila! She's all right," "Three cheers for Troop Six," "Now a tiger for the Eagle Patrol," and through it all Capt. Ricky stood smiling, clasping Sheila's hand, and Sheila, the color of a red poppy, looked wildly about as though seeking some corner that might swallow her up.

Someone called "speech"; Peggy took it up, then it came from every corner! Capt. Ricky nodded to Sheila. Sheila swallowed hard to clear her voice of the tight band that seemed to choke it.

"I'm awfully glad I won--just for the sake of the Troop! It was hard work at first but afterwards one thing helped another. I hope you'll all be Golden Eaglets and I'll help anyone that wants to work for it and--Oh, I can't say another word!" and poor Sheila made a dash for the corner where the Eagle patrol awaited her with eager arms.