y dresses and things
you're talkin' about?" demanded Lena Barton abruptly.

There was an instant of silence. Then Mary threw back a counter
question. "How much did you spend for moving pictures and candy last
week, Lena Barton?"

"I d'know--mebbe a quarter, mebbe two. What of it?" Lena retorted, her
red head lifted defiantly.

"Well now--couldn't you give up two picture shows a week, for the Camp
Fire baby?" Mary demanded. "If sixteen of us give ten cents a week we
shall have a dollar sixty. That would be more than six dollars a month."

"Gracious! Money talks!" put in Louise. "Think of this crowd dropping
over six dollars a month for picture shows and such. No wonder they're
two in a block on the avenue."

"You see," Laura said, "we could easily provide for some little child,
at least in part. Girls, I'd like to tell you about one I saw at the
Children's Hospital yesterday. Would you care to hear about him?"

"Yes, yes, do tell us," the girls begged.

"He is no blue-eyed baby, but a very plain ordinary-looking little chap,
nine years old, whose mother died a few weeks ago, leaving him entirely
alone in the world. Think of it, girls, a nine-year-old boy without any
one to care for him! He's lame too--but he is the bravest little soul!
The nurse told me that they thought it was because he was so
homesick--or rather I suppose mother-sick--that he is not getting on as
well as he should."

"O, the poor little fellow!" Frances Chapin said softly, thinking of her
nine-year-old brother.

"Tell us more about him, Miss Laura," Rose Anderson begged. "Did you
talk with him?"

"Yes, I stayed with him for half an hour, and I promised to see him
again to-morrow. He wanted a book--about soldiers. I wonder if any of
you would care to go with me. You might possibly find your blue-eyed
baby there; and anyhow, the children there love to have
visitors--especially young ones."

Two of the High School girls spoke together. "I'd like to go."

"And I too," added Alice Reynolds, the third.

"I guess I'd like to, maybe--if there isn't anything catching there." It
was pretty little Annie Pearson who said that.

"I'd love to go, but I can't," Elizabeth whispered to Olga, who frowned
at her and demanded,

"What do you want to go for?"

"I'd so love to do something for that little fellow," Elizabeth
answered. "I've been lonesome too--always--till now."

"Humph!" grunted Olga, the hardness melting out of her black eyes as she
l