Barbara Lewis was very much puzzled. All the girls in her camp fire were
winning the right to embroider their symbol on the dress of their guardian
and she wanted to do the same. But how could she? She had chosen for her
name, "Chante--I _serve_," and she wanted to really win the right to have
the name, but how could she? She was not allowed to go into the kitchen to
help there at home, for the cook would leave if she were disturbed, so she
couldn't do as some of her friends were doing and learn to cook. She
couldn't serve mother, for mother was always away at the club or doing
work about the country for the suffrage cause. There were maids to do the
mending and the sewing, so how could she serve there?
Some of the girls could serve at their church, but her teacher had never
asked her to do one thing, though she was always ready. Her teacher had
not formed a club of her girls, so of course she knew them only on
Sundays. There was no chance to serve the church. If she only knew the
minister, perhaps he would suggest a way, but he was very tall and very
dignified, so she just couldn't ask him. Whatever could she do?
It had been weeks since their guardian had told them that when they had
earned the right to their names, they could embroider the symbol on her
dress, and every day since then she had wished she knew what to do. Mary
had chosen the name "Aka--I _can_," and when she had proved that she could
break herself of using slang by using none for a whole month, she put a
tiny little white flower on the dress, for she was using pure speech.
"Frilohe" was the name Grace had chosen and it meant, "_A friend who loves
to help_." Grace's mother had been in the hospital and Grace had taken
care of the brothers and sisters all the time, so, of course, they all
agreed that she had earned the right.
And now Barbara felt that she just must think of a way. She would go to
the library and ask her friend there if she knew what she could do to
serve.
Now it chanced that from that library there were going out almost every
day girls to tell stories to groups of children about the city. Sometimes
they went to the orphan homes, sometimes to the hospitals, sometimes to
the crowded streets. Into many needy places they were sent, and already
the children were beginning to look for the gypsy-girls who were
story-tellers. As Barbara entered the library, one of the girls was just
leaving, so she stopped for a moment and told about her new work and how
much she loved it.
"Aha," said Barbara, "I believe I could do that. I have read such lots and
lots of stories, I am sure I could do that. I should love to try. But they
haven't asked me. I couldn't volunteer, for mother would think me very
bold. Oh dear, I am sure I could serve in that way."
All the way home she thought the matter over and then a plan came to her.
Just back of the house there was an alley and the little children there
were always looking through the fence at the flowers in her beautiful
garden. She would tell stories to these little children and see what she
could do. So she went into the house to find the stories she would use.
All the afternoon she looked in her old books. Then she was sure she was
ready.
For a long time she hesitated the next morning as she dressed. She must
look her very best if she was to win the children. Finally she chose a
little blue gingham dress that she liked much--perhaps they would like it
too. It was only ten o'clock when she went into the garden to wait. Dear
me! Weren't they coming this morning? One hour passed and then another
half.
Just then Tommy, the boy who threw stones, and chased the cats, and did
all sorts of things that were naughty, pushed his dirty face against the
fence. Oh my, she could never tell stories to him! But Tommy saw her there
in the garden and said:
"Wisht you would give me a posy. Mom's sick and she hain't got none."
Then the gate of the garden was opened and Barbara said:
"Of course I will give you some flowers for your mother. Choose what you
would like and I will cut it with these shears."
"Um! Um!" said Tommy. "Um! I'd like some of them blue flowers. Say, I like
blue flowers, and blue sky, and I like that blue dress. I wish Mary had a
blue dress."
"And who is Mary?" said Barbara.
"Oh, she is one of my sisters," said Tommy. "You see, there is six of us
and Mary is the pretty one. She has blue eyes and curls. Um! Um! I wish
you could see her."
"I'd like to see her," said Barbara. "If you will go and bring her here I
will tell you both a story. Would you like that?"
"Sure," said Tommy. "Sure I would. Kin I bring them all?" and off he ran
with his precious flowers.
In five minutes he was back, followed by Mary and Katie and Jimmie and
Mike and Susan--all dirty, all barefoot, and all in a hurry to see the
flowers and hear the story. About this time Barbara began to feel queer
inside. How could she ever keep them still? Suppose they should begin to
run over her father's flowers! She almost wished she had not asked them to
come. But she remembered for what she was working, and she said to
herself, "Chante, _I serve_; Chante--_I serve_," over and over till her
courage came back.
Then she seated them all on the steps and began. Susie wanted "Red Riding
Hood," and Katie wanted "Goldilocks," so these were first. Then Mary
wanted "Cinderella," but Tommy was not to be forgotten.
"I want a boy's story. Tell me the one you promised me or I'll push the
rest all home," he said.
What could she do? She never remembered having read a boy's story. Oh
dear, maybe she couldn't win Tommy.
Over and over in her mind went the stories she had gotten ready. Then she
remembered one that she had loved years ago. It was about Cedric, the
Knight. This was just the one for Tommy. So she told it to him while his
eyes grew bigger and bigger. When the story was done, Barbara and Tommy
were friends and Tommy had a new hero.
When the dinner bell rang, she was still telling stories to the dirty
little group but she had forgotten why she was doing it, for she was
living the stories with the children.
The days went by and every morning found Barbara out in the garden, if
only for one story, but now the Lowinskys were not the only ones. They had
brought their neighbors and friends till the group sometimes numbered
forty. The steps had grown too small, so they had moved to the wall. Then
that had not been satisfactory, so they had moved out under the trees away
down by the little brook. Here the birds sang, the little brook whispered,
and everything was just right for the little story-teller. Over and over
she had told the stories with a new one now and then, but Cedric, the
Knight, was the favorite one. Tommy always stood near Barbara and saw to
it that all the boys were listening, so he had a fine chance to whisper,
"Now my story. Please tell mine."
And she was telling it again one morning when she realized that some one
stood near who was not a child. It was Miss Rose, her guardian, who
listened for a moment and then drew back where the children could not see
her. When the story hour was over, she was nowhere to be seen. But later
in the evening a package was left at the door for Barbara. It contained
that precious dress for which she had longed.
Pinned to the dress was a card which said, "Inasmuch as ye have done it
unto one of these, my little ones, ye have done it unto me." And below was
written, "I shall be glad to have you put your symbol on my dress before
Friday night so that we may tell the girls at the Ceremonial about your
story-group."
Later when Barbara had finished the embroidery, it showed a tiny figure of
a primitive woman surrounded by little children. And the little lady was
telling them a story. She had found her way to serve.