Nathalie’s color flamed again as she heard that “little girl,” and she drew herself up in momentary indignation. Oh, this was evidently the Dr. Homer whom she had heard the girls talk so much about, and who had been giving them lessons in First Aid to the Injured. But who could have told him she was a little girl?

This affront to her dignity was forgotten, however, as she quickly remembered the need of getting little Rosy home. “Mrs. Morrow is in the woods—oh, there she is now!” she cried hastily, as she pointed to the Director, who, with the Pioneers and their burden, had halted on the edge of the woods and stood waiting for her. As Mrs. Morrow perceived her brother she quickly beckoned to him.

A few steps, and Dr. Homer was at his sister’s side, listening to her hurried recital of the preceding events and her anxiously expressed wish that Rosy could be seen to as soon as possible.

“Why, if it isn’t little Rosebud!” said the doctor jovially as he turned from his sister and looked down at the helpless mite of humanity, lying so patient and still in the stretcher.

The child smiled shyly, and Nathalie, perceiving that he knew her, gave a sigh of relief, for she felt that now everything would soon be all right.

It did not take the doctor long to lift Rosy tenderly into the car and to make her comfortable with her little black head on Mrs. Morrow’s lap. As he was about to jump in himself an “I want my Story Lady! I want my Story Lady!” came in a loud wail from the little patient, for Rosy’s face had knotted up again as she pushed away Mrs. Morrow’s detaining hand and tried to lift her head in search of Nathalie.

Nathalie hastened to the side of the car crying, “Oh, Rosy, it’s all right. I’m going home to your mamma. I will be there almost as soon as you—”

“Why, Nathalie, get in with us,” exclaimed Mrs. Morrow, “there is room on the front seat with the doctor. Oh, I beg your pardon, Nathalie, perhaps you have not met my brother. Jack, this is Miss Page, our new Pioneer, and oh, Jack; if it had not been for her I don’t know when poor little Rosy would have been found!”

“I am most pleased to meet you, Miss Page,” smiled the doctor with undue emphasis on the Miss. Then, as he noted Nathalie’s stiff little bow, he continued apologetically, with a humorous twinkle in his eye, “I have heard so much about Blue Robin, that somehow I thought she was a little girl.”

Nathalie smiled pleasantly, instantly recognizing that this frank-eyed young man was doing his best to atone for his mistake of a few minutes ago. But she must not keep him waiting, and a moment later she sprang into the car. Although it was but a short ride to Felia’s house, there was time enough for the doctor to chat pleasantly with the young girl, so by the time they had reached their destination Nathalie understood why Dr. Homer was such a favorite with the Pioneers.

Fortunately, Edith had caught Dr. Morrow just as he was about to set out to call on a patient, so he soon arrived. In a short time he and Dr. Homer had set the broken limb and made the child comfortable, who, with a smile of content, received a bowl of bread and milk from Mammy, whose black face was wreathed in smiles again as she saw that the little one was not lying down at the bottom of the pond.

A half-hour later a group of girls straggled wearily along the main street of the village, animatedly discussing first one and then another detail of the morning’s hunt. As they were all tired, it was unanimously decided to postpone the bird hike to another day.

When this decision was reached, Nathalie’s bright face clouded as she exclaimed contritely, “Oh, girls, I’m awfully sorry I broke up the hike, but I was so anxious to find Rosy.”

“Well, I for one am glad we gave it up,” asserted Kitty Corwin, “for girls, it paid for the disappointment to see that poor mother’s joy when she saw her child.”

“And the old black mammy—huh—she is a regular plantation coon,” chimed in Edith; “did you hear her shout ‘Praise de Lord! Hallelujah!’? Oh, but how her eyes did shine!”

“She was a black sunbeam, all right,” observed Helen, “and it’s all owing to Nathalie!” putting her arm about her friend and giving her an enthusiastic squeeze; “she ought to have a white star.”

“A white star,” ejaculated Nathalie, “what does that mean?”

“Why, it means that you should receive a badge of merit, but as a Pioneer can’t receive a badge until she is a first-class member, Mrs. Morrow gives white stars instead to the girls who deserve badges but are not yet old enough to receive them,” explained Helen. “We keep our stars and then sew them on a big United States flag we are making for our new Pioneer room.”

“Oh, I should be pleased to have one!” cried Nathalie, “but it gives me more pleasure to know that you do not think I spoiled your fun, and have been so nice about it. I should just hate to have you think me officious!”

“But we didn’t think that, Nathalie,” assured Lillie quickly. “In fact, I guess we just didn’t think at all, we were so intent on having our own selfish ways. We are all friends of yours, and as Pioneers and personally,” she spoke warmly, “we are glad you won the victory over our naughty, wicked selves.”

Several days later, Nathalie, who was still the maid of all work, stood washing the breakfast dishes. Somehow, helping Mother seemed to have lost its charm. She felt as if she and Miss I Can were not as good friends as they were at the beginning of her kitchen campaign. O dear, she did wish Rosy would get better so Felia could come back. She sighed heavily, and then hastily wiped away a stray tear that was meandering down her cheek—she had heard a step on the back stoop.

“Hello, Blue Robin!” was Helen’s cheery greeting as she entered,—she usually came in by the back door in the morning—then she stopped, for Nathalie’s usually smiling face wore such a look of woe that she exclaimed anxiously, “Oh, Nathalie, what is the matter?”

But her only answer was a stifled sob as the girl flung herself into a chair by the kitchen table, and dropping her head on her elbow gave way to the pent up flood that had been gathering for the last few days. Helen stood a moment, uncertain what to say or do, dreading that some great calamity had overtaken the family. Then she stepped to her friend’s side and lifting her head encircled her with her arm caressingly. “Now,” she cried, softly patting the brown head, “tell friend Helen all about it.”

Nathalie’s tears flowed unrestrainedly for a moment and then, feeling somewhat better for the overflow, and a little ashamed of useless tears as she always called them, she withdrew from the friendly shelter and sat up. “Oh, it’s just nothing at all, Helen,” she cried in a choked voice, “only that I’m a great baby—and then—I’m tired”—her voice quavered. “I’m tired of washing dishes and sweeping—” a sniffle—“all the time.”

“Of course you are tired, who wouldn’t be, Nat, with all the wonderful things you’ve done this last week?” sympathized Helen; “considering, too, that it’s all new to you. Why, Mother says you are going to make a splendid Pioneer.”

“Oh, did she?” asked Nathalie, her eyes brightening. “It makes one feel good to be praised, I have felt so discouraged,” with an intake of her breath, “for I’ve tried so hard to do everything I could, and then Mother, why she hasn’t said one word of praise since the first day. Everybody just takes it all—all the work I do—just as if it was nothing, and things drag so. Of course I don’t expect to be praised all the time,” she hastened to add, “but oh, I don’t seem to feel as happy about working as I did at first.”

“Oh, well, you’re tired,” replied Helen condolingly. “I know just how you feel, for I used to feel the same way when I first began to help Mother around the house. You see the enthusiasm and the glory have all gone out of it.”

“The enthusiasm and the glory?” repeated Nathalie in puzzled inquiry.

“Yes, the novelty of doing something new is the enthusiasm that put you on the job; and the praise you got for doing it—which made you feel as if you were awfully good—that’s the glory. But when things get stale and people stop saying how smart you are and so on, why then it will be just plain duty all through. You know, the frosting always comes first before we get to the cake.”

“Oh, I suppose that has something to do with it,” responded Nathalie alertly, “when one comes to think of it. So from now on it will be just plain duty, won’t it?” with a quiver of her chin, for somehow the prospect was not an enjoyable one at that moment.

“Yes, that’s about the size of it,” was the practical answer. “But if you keep right on doing what you ought to, you’ll get something better than the sugary stuff. Just keep Miss I Can for your friend, and then after a time you will find that you like to do the very things that at first seemed so hard. Experience, Mother says, brings knowledge, and knowledge puts you in the end where you want to be.”

“I wish it would,” exclaimed Nathalie, her eyes flashing with sudden hope, “for oh, Helen, I do so want to know things, that is the useful arts, for I am so eager to learn how to make money the way you are doing! You know I have told you all about Dick, Helen,” she lowered her voice, “I think it is just that, seeing the poor fellow striving to earn a little money so he can be made well again, that makes me so down-hearted, for I feel that I am not doing a thing to help him.”

“But you are helping him, and your mother, too, Nathalie,” said Helen. “By the very work you are doing you are helping your mother to save money, that ought to be something to comfort you.”

“Oh, but it’s mean kind of work,” emphasized Nathalie, “and then, too, it’s only saving a mite; and it will take so much money for Dick’s operation.”

“Now, see here, Nathalie,” exclaimed her friend, “let’s figure this thing out.” Taking a pencil and pad that always hung by the table with Nathalie’s list of edibles to be served at each meal, she drew a chair up to the table and began to figure just how much Nathalie was saving her mother by doing the work herself.

Nathalie bent over her shoulder and watched eagerly as she saw the line of figures jotted down by Helen. Then she, too, put on her thinking-cap and in a few minutes the two girls had figured out quite a sum that Nathalie was actually saving in dollars and cents each week she did the work.

As Nathalie realized this fact, demonstrated so clearly by her friend, her eyes sparkled, and clapping her hands she cried, “Oh, Helen, I’m going to get Mother to let me do the work all the time—of course, as you say, the washing will have to be done out—but oh, I shall feel—”

“Now, Nathalie, don’t go off at a tangent; stop and consider before you make this suggestion to your mother. You must think just what it will cost you, that is, count what it will mean to suffer aches in your back and feet, to have fire-scorched cheeks,—they say cooking ruins the complexion,—red, sloppy hands, and all the rest of the penalties imposed on one for doing housework. If you put your hand to the plow, you know, once started you can’t look back.”

“Oh, yes, I know, Helen, it will be terrible to have to do these things, but if it will help me to earn money, even the teeniest bit, now that I know that it is to be done without the glory perhaps it won’t be so hard. Oh, I know Miss I Can will help me!” Nathalie smiled through the mist that would blur her eyes, “for I must help Dick.”

“Yes,” returned her friend, “if you feel that way, determined to help Dick, go ahead; for that will serve as the glory, that is, the incentive will help you through lots of hard things.”

Nathalie looked up at her friend’s grave face with wonder-lit eyes. “Oh, Helen,” she said solemnly, “do you know you are going to be a great woman? You are awfully wise for a girl of your age!”

Helen interrupted her with a merry laugh. “Oh, no, I’m not going to be a great woman at all. I should love to be—that is my ambition,—but one’s ambitions are not apt to materialize the way one expects them to, you know. But I’ll tell you, Nathalie,” her face sobered, “I have a very wise mother—she tells me these things. And then as I go about I find from experience that what she has said comes true.”

“Yes, Helen, you will be great,” nodded Nathalie sagely. “Perhaps you will not go about blowing a trumpet to let people know you are one of the world’s great ones, but you will be all the same, even if you never do a thing but live in this sleepy town and become a stenographer.”

“Well, it looks that way,” laughed Helen, “from the pile of typing that awaits me. Yes, I am, as you say, in a fair way to become a stenographer, but Ye Stars! if I do not become an expert one, I’ll—well I’ll go hang myself, as the boys say, for I must succeed!”

“Oh, are you really going, friend comforter?” laughed Nathalie, as Helen rose to go. “Yes, you are that, for you have given me lots of comfort this morning; you put new life in me when the cause was almost lost. On the strength of your calculations I’m going to lay my plans before Mother, and then I’m going to get some books and trinkets and go to see Rosy.”

“Oh, yes, how is she?” inquired Helen interestedly. “I was thinking about her the other day.”

“She is getting along nicely, but it is awfully hard for the little thing to lie there most of the time alone. I was down to see her yesterday and told her some stories, and I promised to come again to-day.”

“I wish I could help you! But see here, Nathalie, speak to Grace and Lillie about the story-telling; perhaps they will help you at that. Grace is a lady with plenty of leisure to waste, and Lillie Bell dotes on yarns.”

“I did ask Lillie, but she said she was no good telling stories to children, and Grace—why, she said she was busy getting her clothes ready for the summer.”

“There’s Kitty. Ah, I expect to see her this afternoon. I’ll ask her to lend you a hand, but I must go, so good-by and good luck to you, Story Lady!”

“Oh, Mother, you are just a dear!” cried Nathalie a little later, as she was about to set forth to see Rosy. Her mother had come down from the attic with a couple of old picture-books, and handed them to her to give to the little invalid.

“Gloriana! won’t they make her eyes shine!” exclaimed Nathalie as she tucked them under her arm, picked up the basket of goodies she had prepared, and hurried down the walk. As she knocked at the door of the gray shanty she heard Rosy whimpering softly. “Poor kiddie,” she thought, with a wave of pity. Receiving no answer she pushed open the door, which was partly ajar, and entered. On the bed lay the little form with its head buried in a pillow, emitting a series of feeble whines.

“Good morning!” said the smiling visitor as she touched the half-buried shoulder.

At the sound of her voice the child’s woolly head rolled over, and a smile of welcome radiated her tear-stained face.

“How is it that you are all alone?” asked Nathalie, taking out an orange from the basket; “where are Mother and Mammy?”

“Mamma went to de town, and Mammy—she’s doin’ de wash,” and then her eyes expanded with joy as she spied the orange.

The orange was soon demolished, and then, as Nathalie started to show her the two picture-books, she realized that Miss I Can confronted her again, for a sticky mouth and hands revealed the fact that she had an unpleasant task to perform. For a moment she hesitated, but quickly overcoming her disinclination, she plunged in, got a basin of water, and finding no wash-cloth, dipped her own dainty handkerchief in it, and amid sundry squeals and protests gave the little face and hands a good scrubbing.

This performed, the picture-books were brought forth and she was soon busy explaining the pictures to the pleased little girl. But this diversion she soon tired of and then came the cry, “Oh, Story Lady, won’t yo’ please tell me er story?”

“Why, I don’t think I know any now—” Nathalie had meant to look up a fairy book so as to be prepared, but the pleading look in the black eyes upturned to hers won its way and she said, “All right, I’ll see what I know? How would ‘The Babes in the Woods’ do?”

As this title was mentioned, a cry of protest came from the child, “No, I don’t want to hear about de woods. I’se afraid of de woods.”

“Of course you don’t, you poor little chickie,” answered Nathalie contritely, and then her face lightened up as a streak of sunshine at that moment glancing in the window proved an inspiration. So she began to tell about Sunshine Polly, who had been told that if she could get some sunshine in her heart she would always be happy, and how she forthwith set out for this golden country, and after many adventures found it. Indeed it proved to be a most beautiful place, with a king, very round and bright, and a lot of sunshine fairies flying all about throwing some of their sunny treasure into the eyes of every one they saw.

By the bright eyes watching her, Nathalie knew that she had made a good selection this time, and the story progressed. She told how Polly got the sunbeams, with a breathing spell every now and then to think up some more, and the cries, “Oh, dat’s a lubly story! Oh, I likes dat story!” But at last Polly returned from the land of sunshine with a crown of sunbeams on her head and a big bundle of it in her heart.

Nathalie smiled as she finished, for it seemed as if she too, had been to the sunshine land and had put some of it into Rosy’s little heart. “Ah, now I will get a chance to slip away,” she thought, picking up her basket as a prelude to her departure.

But Rosy, surmising by her movement that she contemplated leaving, began to wail plaintively, begging her so hard to tell just one more “lubly story.” As Nathalie stood, trying her best to think of another story, she heard a slight noise, and looked up to see three little black faces with big shiny eyes staring at her from over the ledge of the window.

The girl broke into a merry laugh, for really it was funny to see those three round faces—like a row of flower-pot saucers on a shelf. “Why, how did you get there?” she cried and then again burst into laughter. The laughter proved contagious, for the three little pickaninnies immediately joined in her merriment, and then, evidently thinking this was an invitation to come in, one after the other slid over the sill and trotted up to the bed, to the great delight of Rosy. Here they climbed up, sitting on the edge with their naked black feet hanging down, looking for all the world like monkeys’ claws as they swung them to and fro, anxiously waiting for the story to begin.

“Oh, what shall I tell them?” worried Nathalie, but in a flash she remembered, and was soon in the mysteries of that beloved of all fairy tales, “Jack and the Bean Stalk.” The interested glow in four pairs of eyes was inspiring, and amply repaid her for the time that she had so reluctantly given the little hearers.

The tale was soon ended, and again Nathalie sprang to her feet, feeling that now she must go, for there was that dessert she had to make for dinner. She gathered up her basket and had just turned to say good-by to her audience of four, when she saw Dr. Morrow, who was standing by the door, smiling down at her with his kindly eyes.

“Oh, were you there all the time?” she asked in dismay. The doctor nodded as he said, “Yes, Blue Robin, I have enjoyed your story very much. You had such an appreciative audience,” smiling at the little black faces, “that I was reluctant to disturb their bliss. Our little friend Rosy has well named you, ‘The Story Lady.’”

He turned towards his patient, and then with a kindly word for each of her little friends, he began to inquire as to how Rosy was. As Felia at this moment entered the room, Nathalie waved a good-by to Rosy, and surrounded by the three pickaninnies, each one eager to carry her basket, hurried out of the room and into the sunshine she had been telling about. The many comments made by her body-guard of three, showed how eager they were for the joys of story-land—a rare treat to them. Realizing how much can be taught a child through story-telling, as she had found when she was a child, Nathalie fell to thinking. By the time she reached home she had planned a story club—oh, it would be just the thing—if the Pioneers would agree to it. They could take turns, only an hour once or twice a week, in telling stories to these new friends of hers, and who knows, if the class grew they might eventually do a great deal of good? Still somewhat timid of taking the initiative, she planned to lay it before Helen and let the suggestion come from her.

Nathalie was trilling softly to herself little snatches of song, for somehow on that bright June day she felt very happy. She had started, as she told Helen, on a new career. Of course her mother had objected at first to her taking Felia’s place, but when she found that Nathalie was determined, she had consented, feeling that perhaps it would not harm her for a while. And then, too, she would learn many things she needed to know, and this was her opportunity to learn them. So Nathalie had won her consent, and with the help of Dorothy, who had been pressed into service, and the few things she allowed her mother to do, she had found her work slip along more easily than she had anticipated, and the thought that she was earning a mite towards a great object, as Helen said, had proved the glory.

And so she sang away, doing the week’s stint of darning, as the stocking drill at the Pilgrim Rally had helped her wonderfully, and now she was quite assured that her mother did not have to do her work over.

As she glanced up from her work to watch a tiny humming bird that was flitting among the leaves of the honeysuckle trellis, she heard the throb of an engine, and looked up to see Dr. Morrow’s car coming up the road. To her surprise, instead of running his car in through his gate to the garage, he brought it to a standstill in front of their house, alighted, and a moment later was coming briskly up the path.

His cheery greeting broke in upon her surprise as he cried, “Well, Blue Robin, so you are at home!” O dear! every one seemed to be calling her that nowadays, the girl thought a little ruefully.

“Good morning,” she cried; then her face paled apprehensively. “Oh, have you come about Dick—do you think his knee is worse?” she faltered, suddenly remembering that her brother had complained quite a little the last three days with the pain in his knee.

“No, I have not come about Dick,” was the reassuring answer. “I have come to see you on important business. Dick is doing as well as can be until he is operated on.”

Nathalie sighed, and then said, “Oh, Doctor, I do wish you would explain to me about Dick’s operation! Mother told me a little, but you see I don’t know much about these things.”

The doctor raised his eyebrows in pretended surprise and then he said in a serious tone, “I should say not. Such things as operations are not for little Blue Robins. They are supposed to trill little tru-al-lee songs, or tell fairy tales to children, as I hear some of them have been doing lately.”

The girl’s eyes grew bright. “Oh, we are all doing it. Has Mrs. Morrow told you about the Pioneer Story Club we have formed? Helen suggested it, in a way.” Nathalie was modest, for the suggestion had really come from herself, and also the planning with the aid of Helen’s wise head. “We go down to the colored settlement,” she continued, “every Saturday morning and take turns in telling stories to the little children. Don’t you think it a fine idea?” She spoke animatedly.

“Indeed I do, but now for the business.”

“Oh—but please tell me about the operation first!” Nathalie was afraid the doctor intended to put her off. “Tell me, will Dick really be good and strong again after he has the operation?”

The doctor gazed at her a moment with serious eyes and then said slowly, “Yes, Miss Nathalie, I believe that if your brother could have that operation he would be just as well as if this unfortunate accident had not happened.”

“But what makes the operation necessary, and what would you do to him?” she insistently demanded.

“Well, I am not going to tell you exactly what we would do to him. We shall not make hash of him—”

“Oh, Doctor!” exclaimed Nathalie with a shiver.

“But we will remove an unhealthy bone in his leg and replace it with a new one. I saw an infected finger joint removed the other day and replaced with a joint taken from one of the patient’s toes.”

“Oh, Doctor Morrow,” cried the distressed girl, “you are kidding, as the boys say.”

The doctor shook his head. “No, some years ago I might have been indulging in a yarn, but surgery has made great strides these last few decades, and cripples nowadays may be restored to health and strength by transplanting entire bones with their joint surfaces. This discovery was announced a short time ago by an eminent surgeon before the Philadelphia Academy of Surgery. Tests were made on dogs first, and the results were so satisfactory that the same methods have since been applied to the human body with like results.

“Hitherto bone transplantation had been attended with great stiffness and lack of power in the members treated, but now an infected hip joint may be removed in the same way, and replaced by healthy bones, and the functions work properly. But, young lady, I came here not to deliver a lecture on the transplantation of bones, but to ask you to do something for me.”