ra leaned
forward, speaking earnestly. "When we really accept this idea of
service, then 'self is forgotten.' We give as freely as we have
received." Olga shook her head with a gesture that put all that aside.

"You said Saturday that you wanted my help----" she began.

"Yes, I do want your help. I'll tell you how presently. Sadie Page is
doing very well in the craft work, isn't she?"

"Yes. She can copy anything--designing is her weak point--but she is
doing very well."

"She is improving in other ways."

"There's room for improvement still," Olga retorted in her grimmest
voice. Then her conscience forced her to add, "But she is more
endurable. She treats Elizabeth some better than she did."

"Yes, Elizabeth seems so happy now."

Laura went on thoughtfully, "You are a Fire Maker. Olga, I want you for
a Torch Bearer."

Olga stared in blank amazement, then her face darkened. "But I don't
want to be a Torch Bearer," she cried. "A Torch Bearer is a leader. I
don't want to be a leader."

"But I need your help, and some of the girls need you. You can be a
splendid leader, if you will. Have you any right to refuse?"

"I don't see why not."

"If in our Camp Fire there are girls whom you might hold back from what
will harm them, or whom you could help to higher and happier living,
don't you owe it to them to do this?"

"Why? They do nothing for me. I don't ask them to do anything for me."

"But that is pure selfishness. That attitude is unworthy of you, Olga."

The girl stirred restlessly. "I don't want to be responsible for other
girls," she impatiently cried out.

"Have you any choice--you or I? We have promised to keep the law."

"What law?"

"The law of love and service--have you forgotten?" Miss Laura repeated
softly, "'I purpose to bring my strength, my ambition, my heart's
desire, my joy, and my sorrow, to the fire of humankind. The fire that
is called the love of man for man--the love of man for God.'"

Then for many minutes in the room there was silence broken only by the
crackling of the fire, and the voices of the storm without. Olga sat
motionless, the old sombre shadow brooding in her eyes. At last she
stirred impatiently, and spoke.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Have you noticed Lizette Stone lately?" Miss Laura asked.

"No. I never notice her."

"Poor girl, I'm afraid most of you feel that way about her," Laura said,
with infinite pity in her voice. "She never looks happy, but lately