"I--I can't find anything to say--I want to say so much," Elizabeth
cried, her lips quivering.
Olga leaned over and kissed her. "I just enjoyed making it--for you,"
she said.
She was almost startled at the radiance in Elizabeth's eyes then. "It
has been the loveliest day of all my life!" she whispered. "I----"
They were in Elizabeth's little room, and now hurried footsteps sounded
on the stairs, and Sadie pushed open the door.
"That yours?" she demanded, her sharp eyes on the pin.
Elizabeth held it towards her with a happy smile. "Olga made it for me.
Isn't it lovely?"
Sadie did not answer, but plumped herself down on the narrow cot. When
Olga had gone, Sadie still sat there, her black eyes cold and
unfriendly. "Don't see why you lugged Olga up here," she began.
"She asked me to."
"Humph!" Sadie grunted.
"Sadie," Elizabeth said, gently, "what is the matter? Have I done
anything you don't like?"
"I didn't say so."
"No, but you've been different to me lately, and I don't know why. You
were so nice a few weeks ago--you don't know how glad it made me. I
hoped we were going to be real sisters, but now," she drew a long
sorrowful breath, "it is as it used to be."
Sadie, swinging one foot, gnawed at a fingernail. Finally, "I helped you
start the cake-making," she reminded.
"I know--I never forget it," Elizabeth said warmly.
"You've made a lot of money----"
"It seems a lot to me--forty-seven dollars--just think of it! I haven't
spent any except for materials."
"And you'll make more."
"Yes, but Mr. Burchell says cakes don't sell after it gets hot. He won't
want any after May."
"That's four or five weeks longer. You'll have enough to get you heaps
of fine clothes," Sadie flung out enviously, with one of her
needle-sharp glances.
"O--clothes!" returned Elizabeth slightingly. "I suppose I must have a
few--shoes, and a plain hat and a blue serge skirt, and some
blouses--they won't cost much."
"Then what _are_ you going to do with all that money?" Sadie blurted
out the question impatiently.
Elizabeth smiled into the frowning face--a beautiful happy smile--as she
answered gently, "I'll tell you, Sadie. I've been longing to tell you
only--only you've held me off so lately. I'm going to send two girls to
Camp Nepahwin for three weeks in August. I'm one of the girls and--you
are the other."
For once in her life Sadie Page was genuinely astonished and genuinely
ashamed. For a long moment she sat quite still, the colour slowly
mounting in her face until it flamed. Then, all the sharpness gone from
her voice, she stammered, "I--I--Elizabeth, I never _thought_ of such a
thing as you paying for me. I--think you're real good!" and she was
gone.
Elizabeth looked after her with a smile, all the shadows gone from her
blue eyes.
One hot evening a week later, Elizabeth and Sadie met Lizette at Olga's
door. She silently led the way to her own room.
"Olga's sick," she said, dropping wearily down on the bed.
"What's the matter?" Sadie demanded before Elizabeth could speak.
"It's a fever. The doctor can't tell yet whether it's typhoid or
malarial, but she's very sick. The doctor has sent a nurse to take care
of her."
"I wish I could help take care of her," Elizabeth said earnestly.
"Well, you can't!" Sadie snapped out. "And, anyhow, she doesn't need you
if she has a nurse."
"But the nurse must sleep sometimes--I could help then. O Lizette, ask
Olga to let me," Elizabeth pleaded.
"She won't." Lizette shook her head. "Much as ever she'll let me do
anything. I get the meals for the nurse--Olga takes only milk. The nurse
says she can do with only four hours' sleep, and I can see to Olga that
little time."
"No," Elizabeth said decidedly, "no, Lizette, you have your work at the
shop and the cooking. You mustn't do more than that. I can come after
supper--at eight o'clock--and stay till twelve----"
"You couldn't go home all alone at midnight--you know you couldn't,"
Sadie interrupted.
"I needn't to. I could sleep in a chair till morning."
"As to that, you could sleep on the nurse's cot, I guess," Lizette
admitted. "Well, if Olga will let you--I'll ask her."
But as she started up Elizabeth gently pushed her back. "No, don't ask
her. I'll just come to-morrow night, anyway."
"Let it go so, then," Lizette answered. "Maybe it will be best, for I'm
pretty well tired out myself with the heat, and worrying over Olga, and
all. I knew she was overworking but I couldn't help it."
On the way home Elizabeth was silent until Sadie broke out gloomily, "I
s'pose if she don't get better you won't go to the camp, 'Lizabeth."
"O, _no_, I couldn't go away and leave her sick--of course, I couldn't."
"Huh!" growled Sadie. "You don't think about _me_, only just about Olga,
and she isn't your sister."
At another time Elizabeth would have smiled at this belated claim of
relationship, but now she said only, "Olga has been so good to me,
Sadie--I never can forget it--and now when I have a chance to do a
little for her, I'm so _glad_ to do it! I couldn't enjoy the camp if I
left her here sick, but it won't make any difference to you. You can go
just the same."
Sadie's face cleared at that. "We-ell," she agreed, "I might just as
well go. I couldn't do anything much for Olga if I stayed; and maybe,
anyhow, she'll get well before the tenth. I'm most sure she will."
"O, I hope so," Elizabeth sighed, but she was not thinking of the camp.
Anxious weeks followed, for Olga was very sick. Day after day the fever
held her in restless misery, and when at last it yielded to the
treatment, it left her weak and worn--the shadow of her former self.
Then one morning Miss Laura came, and carried her and the nurse off to
the yacht, and there followed quiet, restful, beautiful days for
Olga--such days as she had never dreamed of. Judge Haven and Jim, and Jo
Barton were on the yacht, but she saw little of any one except Miss
Laura and the nurse, and day by day strength came back to her body as
the joy of life flooded her soul.
One night sitting on deck in the moonlight, she said suddenly, "Miss
Laura, I'm glad of this sickness."
"Why?"
"Because I've learned a big lesson. I've learned why Camp Fire Girls
must 'Hold on to health.' I didn't know before, else I would not have
been so careless--so wicked. I see now that it was all my own fault. I
should not have been sick if I had taken care of myself--if I had held
on to my health as you tried so hard to make me do."
"Yes, dear, you had to have a hard lesson because you had always had
such splendid health that you didn't know what it would mean to lose
it."
"Yes," Olga agreed, "I didn't believe that I could get sick--I was so
strong. And down in my heart I really half believed that people need not
be sick--that it was mostly imagination. I shall not be so uncharitable
after this."
"Girls need not be sick many times when they are," Laura said, "if they
would be more careful and reasonable."
"I know. I won't go with wet feet any more," Olga promised, "and I won't
work fourteen hours a day and go without eating, as I've been doing this
summer. You see, Miss Laura, when I got the order for all that silver
work, I knew that if I could fill it satisfactorily, it would mean many
other orders. And I did--I finished the last piece the day I was taken
sick. But now the money I got for it will go to the doctor and the
nurse, and I've lost all this time and other work. And that isn't all.
My sickness made it harder for Lizette and Elizabeth. I can't forgive
myself for that. They were so good to me, and so were all the Camp Fire
Girls! Every single one of them came to see me, some of them many times,
and they brought so many things, and all wanted to stay and help--O,
they are the dearest girls!"
Laura's eyes searched the eyes of the other in the moonlight.
"Olga, are you happy?" she asked softly.
Olga caught her breath and for a moment was silent. When she spoke there
was wonder and a great joy in her voice. "O, I am--I am!" she said.
"And--and I believe I have been for a long time, but I never realised
it till this minute. I didn't _want_ to be happy--I didn't mean to
be--after mother died. I shut my heart tight and wouldn't see anything
pleasant or happy in all my world. It was so when I went to the camp
last year. I went just to please Miss Grandis because she had gotten me
into the Arts and Crafts work, and though I wanted to refuse, I
couldn't, when she asked me to go. But I'm so glad now that I went--so
_glad_! Just think if I had not gone, and had never known you and
Elizabeth, and Lizette, and the others! Miss Laura, I can't ever be half
glad enough for all that the Camp Fire has done for me."
"You will pay it all back--to others, Olga," Laura said gently, her eyes
shining. "When I made you my Torch Bearer, you did not realise the
importance of holding on to health, nor the duty as well as privilege of
being happy. Now you do."
"O, I do--I _do_!" the girl cried earnestly.
"So now my Torch Bearer is ready to lead others."
"I'll be glad to do it now. I want to 'pass on' all that you and the
girls have done for me. It will take a lifetime to do it, though.
And--I'm not half good enough for a Torch Bearer, Miss Laura."
"If you thought you were good enough I shouldn't want you to be one,"
Laura answered.