Sadie Page burst tumultuously into Olga's room one afternoon and hardly
waited to get inside the door before she cried out, "I've thought of
something Elizabeth can do--something splendid."
"Well," said Olga drily, "if it is something splendid for Elizabeth,
I'll excuse you for coming in without knocking."
"All right, please excuse me, I forgot," Sadie responded with unusual
good nature, "I was in such a hurry to tell you. It's a way Elizabeth
can earn money at home----Now, Olga Priest, I think you're real mean to
look so!" she ended with a scowl.
"Look how?" Olga laughed.
"You know. As if--as if I was just thinking of keeping Elizabeth at
home."
"But weren't you?"
"No, I _wasn't_!" Sadie retorted. "At any rate--I was thinking of
Elizabeth too. I was, honest, Olga."
"Well, tell me," said Olga.
"Why, you know those Christmas cakes she made?"
"Yes."
"Well, she can make them and other kinds to sell in one of the big
groceries. I saw some homemade cakes in Council's to-day that didn't
look half as nice as Elizabeth's and they charged a lot for them."
Olga nodded thoughtfully. "I shouldn't wonder if you'd hit upon a good
plan, Sadie. But if she does that, you'll have to help her with the work
at home, for she has all she can do now."
Sadie scowled. She hated housework. "Guess I have plenty to do myself,"
she grumbled, "with school and my silver work and all."
"But your silver work is just for yourself," Olga reminded her, "and
Elizabeth has no time to do anything for herself."
"Well, anyhow, if she makes lots of cakes she'll have money for
herself."
"And she's got to have money for herself," Olga said decidedly. "I've
been thinking about that." Sadie wriggled uneasily. She had been
thinking about it too, and that Elizabeth would be eighteen soon, and
free to go out and earn her own living, if she chose.
"Well, I must go and tell her," she said and left abruptly.
Elizabeth listened in silence to Sadie's eager plans, but the colour
came and went in her face and her blue eyes were full of longing.
"O, if I could only do it--if I only _could_!" she breathed. "But I--I
couldn't go around to the stores and ask them to sell for me. I never
could do that!"
"Well, you don't have to. I'd do that for you. I wouldn't mind it,"
Sadie declared. "You just make up some of those spicy Christmas cakes
and some others, a few, you know, just for samples, and I'll take 'em
out for you. I know they'll sell."
"I--I'm not so sure," Elizabeth faltered.
Sadie's brows met in a black frown. "You're a regular 'fraid-cat,
'Lizabeth Page!" she exclaimed, stamping her foot. "How do you ever
expect to do _any_thing if you're scared to try! To-morrow's Sat'-day.
Can't you get up early an' make some?"
It was settled that she should. There was little sleep for Elizabeth
that night, so eager and excited was she, and very early in the morning
she crept down to the kitchen and set to work. Before her usual rising
time, Sadie ran downstairs, buttoning her dress as she went.
"Have you made 'em?" she demanded, her black eyes snapping.
"Yes," Elizabeth glanced at the clock, "I'm just going to take them
out." She opened the oven door, then she gasped and her face whitened as
she drew out the pans.
"My _goodness_!" cried Sadie. "Elizabeth Page--what ails 'em?"
"O--_O_!" wailed Elizabeth, "I must have left out the baking powder--and
I never did before in all my life!"
"_Well!_" Sadie exploded. "If this is the way you're going to----" Then
the misery in Elizabeth's face was too much for her. She stopped short,
biting her tongue to keep back the bitter words.
Elizabeth crouched beside the oven, her tears dropping on the cakes.
"O, come now--no need to cry all over 'em--they're flat enough without
any extra wetting," Sadie exclaimed after a moment's silence. "You just
fling them out an' make some more after breakfast. I bet you'll never
leave out the baking powder again."
"I never, never _could_ again," sobbed Elizabeth.
"O, forget it, an' come on in to breakfast," Sadie said with more
sympathy in her heart than in her words.
"I don't want any--I couldn't eat a mouthful. You take in the coffee,
Sadie--everything else is on the table."
"Well, you just make more cakes then. They'll be all right--the next
ones--I know they will," and coffee-pot in hand, Sadie whisked into the
dining-room.
And the next cakes were all right. Sadie gloated over them as Elizabeth
spread the icing, and added the fancy touches with pink sugar and
citron.
When she had gone away with the cakes Elizabeth cooked and cleaned,
washed dishes, and swept, but all the time her thoughts followed Sadie.
She dared not let herself hope, and yet the time seemed endless. But at
last the front door slammed, there were flying feet in the hall, and
Sadie burst into the kitchen, flushed and triumphant.
"O--O Sadie--did you--will they----?" Elizabeth stumbled over the words,
her breath catching in her throat.
Sadie tossed her basket on the table and bounced into the nearest chair.
"Did I, and will they?" she taunted gaily. "Well, I guess I _did_ and
they _will_, Elizabeth Page!"
"O, do tell me, Sadie--quick!" Elizabeth begged, and she listened with
absorbed attention to the story of Sadie's experiences, and could hardly
believe that Mr. Burchell had really agreed to sell for her.
"I bet Miss Laura had been talking to him," Sadie ended, "for he asked
me if I knew her and then said right away he'd take your cakes every
Wednesday and Saturday. _Now_ what you got to say?"
"N-n-nothing," cried Elizabeth, "only--if I can really, _really_ sell
them, I'll be most too happy to live!"
All that day Elizabeth went around with a song in her heart. The first
consignment of cakes sold promptly, and then orders began to come in. It
meant extra work for her, but if only she could keep on selling she
would not mind that. And as the weeks slipped away, every Saturday she
added to the little store of bills in her bureau drawer. Even when she
had paid for her materials and Mr. Burchell's commission, and for a girl
who helped her with the Saturday work, there was so much left that she
counted it and recounted it with almost incredulous joy. All this her
very own--she who never before had had even one dollar of her own! O, it
was a lovely world after all, Elizabeth told herself joyfully.
But after a while she noticed a change in Sadie. She was still
interested in the cake-making, but now it seemed a cold critical
interest, lacking the warm sympathy and delight in it which she had
shown at first. Elizabeth longed to ask what was wrong but she had not
the courage, so she only questioned with her eyes. Maybe by-and-by Sadie
would tell her. If not--with a long sigh Elizabeth would leave it there,
wistfully hoping. So April came and Elizabeth was eighteen years old,
though still she looked two years younger. She did not suppose that any
one but herself would remember her birthday--no one ever had through all
the years. Sadie's glance seemed sharper and colder than usual that
morning, and Elizabeth sorrowfully wondered why. The postman came just
as Sadie was starting for school. He handed her an envelope addressed to
Elizabeth, and she carried it to the kitchen.
"For _me?_" Elizabeth cried, hastily taking her hands from the
dish-water. She drew from the envelope a birthday card in water-colour
with Laura's initials in one corner.
"O, isn't it lovely!" she cried. "I never had a
birthday--anything--before. Isn't it beautiful, Sadie?"
"Uh-huh," was all Sadie's response, but her lack of enthusiasm could not
spoil Elizabeth's pleasure in the gift. Somebody remembered--Miss Laura
remembered and made that just for her, and joy sang in her heart all
day. And in the evening Olga came bringing a little silver pin.
Elizabeth looked at it with incredulous delight.
"For _me_!" she said again. "O Olga, did you really make this for me?"