“Yes, we must prove that we have the true spirit of liberty, the spirit of humanity,” Nathalie spoke very earnestly, “and that is why I have asked Marie Katzkamof to belong to the club. She is the little lame girl, you know who she is; she sits at the news-stand on the corner of Main and West streets, and sells the papers when her father is at business. She is always knitting—sweaters for the soldiers, she says. It makes me feel ashamed when I realize how hard she works to do her ‘little bit.’”

“You are right, Nathalie,” replied Helen thoughtfully, “for you have struck something big in your idea that we are all Americans, and that the club should be free to all. But hurry over, and see what Mrs. Morrow has to say. I believe she’ll think the whole scheme is fine.”

But Nathalie was already at the door, her brown eyes sparkling with suppressed excitement, and her cheeks flushed with the soft pink that all the girls admired, and some envied. And then she was making her way across the road to the white house on the corner, still softly humming,

The Tuesday that Nathalie had designated in her notes to the invited girls had arrived, and the girl, somewhat pale from nervousness, was standing before a small table in the living-room of her home. Facing her were a dozen or more girls, all more or less in an attitude of expectant interest as they sat, some on chairs, others on the couch in the hall, while the Pioneers, as was their wont when chairs were limited, were seated in a circle on the floor.

“Now, girls,” cried Nathalie, determined to plunge ahead and get the thing started before her enthusiasm and nerves collapsed to a frazzle, as she told Helen afterward, “I have asked you all here to-day, to form a club in the interest of liberty. The Girl Pioneers know just how big a thing liberty is, for they had the pleasure of hearing Mrs. Morrow, our Pioneer director, in her little talk on liberty. Oh, Lillie Bell, would you mind repeating what you remember of Mrs. Morrow’s speech?” Nathalie broke off abruptly, turning towards that young lady, one of the most popular of the Pioneer girls. “I know you have a good memory, Lillie,” Nathalie pleaded, “and are such a good elocutionist that you can do it better than any one else I know.”

This calling upon Lillie Bell was a stroke of finesse on the part of Nathalie. For Lillie, when she had learned that the club was to be so democratic that the daughter of her newsdealer, a Russian Jew, had been invited, had loftily declared that although she was a good American, and wanted to do all she could for liberty, well, she didn’t know that she cared to chum with all the Jews in the town.

Nathalie had been keenly alive to the desirability of having Lillie a member, because she was not only bright and efficient, but because she was such a good entertainer. This declaration of Lillie’s, however, had caused her spirits to fall below zero, and she began to fear that the whole thing would prove a fizzle. But when so many girls had responded to her invitation, all keyed to expectant curiosity—Lillie among them—her spirits had taken a leap into the nineties. Immediately her alert mind had begun to plan in what way, and how, she could interest Lillie in the club, so that she would take an active part in its doings. And here was her chance.

Lillie Bell, with her usual timely poise, gracefully and smilingly rose to the occasion. In her most luring manner she not only repeated Mrs. Morrow’s speech, but interpreted it with such a stirring American spirit, that not only was Nathalie electrified, but the whole audience were inspired to such a pitch of enthusiasm that they broke into hearty applause.

As soon as the clamor subsided, Nathalie cried earnestly, “Now that we all know what liberty means, and the possibilities that lie before us, I propose that we form ourselves into a club to be known as ‘The Liberty Girls.’”

Another outburst of approval brought the speaker to a halt, but only for a moment, and then she went on smilingly, “Well, I am glad that you like the name, for it means something.” Then she briefly told of the seventeen young girls, who, over a hundred and fifty years ago, had formed a club called “The Daughters of Liberty.”

“They did their bit,” smiled the girl, “by sewing all day on homespun garments to prove that the colonies could be independent of the mother-country, and swore that they would drink no tea until the tax had been removed. They also declared that they would have nothing to do with any of their young gentlemen friends who dared to drink the detested beverage.

“But, girls,” said Nathalie rather hurriedly, as she stepped from behind the little table, “if we are to form ourselves into a club, we shall have to have a chairman, for although the idea originated with me, that does not mean that you have got to have me for a leader,” she ended modestly.

“But we don’t want any one but you,” called out some one enthusiastically, which cry was so emphatically echoed by others, that Nathalie stood hopelessly bewildered, a wave of color dyeing her face a rose-pink. But in this crucial moment Helen came to her rescue, and jumping on her feet cried,—even Lillie, Grace, and Edith bobbed up too,—“Girls, I make the motion that we form ourselves into a club to be known as ‘The Liberty Girls,’ and that we elect for president, Miss Nathalie Page. All in favor of this motion stand up!”

There was a quick, simultaneous movement of many feet, and then, as Helen sensed that Nathalie had been duly elected leader by her mates, she called out, “Well, Nathalie, you will have to be president, for every one wants you.”

“Yes, and we won’t have any one else,” added Edith quickly, with a sudden clap of her hands. This was the signal for the girls to start up a loud clapping in approval of the newly elected president, whose rose-pink cheeks had deepened to scarlet as she stood bowing, somewhat confusedly, to them.

Whereupon Lillie Bell gracefully came to the fore, and dramatically seizing the hand of the young girl while leading her back to her seat, in an impressive manner cried, “Allow me, Miss Nathalie Page, to lead you to the seat of honor, as the president of the club, ‘The Liberty Girls.’”

Nathalie bowed and laughed with embarrassment, but she determined to carry off the honors bestowed upon her with a good grace, and as soon as the somewhat noisy demonstrations of pleasure from the girls had ended, she said modestly, “Girls, I thank you for wanting me to be your leader, and only hope I will make a good one.”

There was more plaudits, and then Nathalie, with grave seriousness, said: “Girls, now that we have pledged ourselves not only as a club, but as individuals, to further the cause of liberty, I would suggest that our watchword be, ‘Liberty and humanity—our best.’ Humanity means to be helpful and kind to our neighbors, our best means to work with a strenuous will to do everything we can to that end. Our neighbors at the present moment loom very large and big as the needy and suffering ones overseas, as the sick, the wounded, the dying, the prisoners, the refugees, and all those who are fighting on land and sea: yes, and those in the air, and all those who are helping to care for the ones I have mentioned, as the doctors and nurses, for they, too, all need help. If we can’t fight, we have got to help those who are fighting in our stead. Yes,” she added solemnly, “and we must be prepared even to have the desire to do what we can for our enemies, for as liberty makes no discrimination as to who shall enjoy it, so in the doing of humane acts we should remember all.”

As Nathalie, highly elated by the enthusiasm shown by her audience, stood waiting for quietness, suddenly her eyes rested on little lame Marie Katzkamof, whose big black eyes shone like two stars from her pale, sallow face. Nathalie had another inspiration.

She bent forward and in a low, earnest voice cried, “Do you think, little Marie, that you would enjoy being a member of this club? Wouldn’t you like to do something—yes, your best—to help the poor refugees in France and Belgium, and the brave soldier boys who are fighting, so that the whole world can enjoy liberty?”

“Yiss, ma’am; I have a glad on liberty,” the girl giggled nervously, “but it’s like this mit me, I likes I shure I don’t make you no trouble.”

“But it won’t be any trouble to us, Marie,” answered Nathalie with a smile. “We will all help you; humanity means to help others.”

“But, Missis Page,” the girl’s face was scarlet, her big eyes mournful. “It’s like this mit me, I ain’t stylish like these young ladies; I make nottings mit them, for I ain’t shmardt, hein? Und this leg it ain’t yet so healthy. Und, Missis Page, I’m lovin’ mit liberty, but I ain’t lovin’ much mit Krisht, for I’m a Jewess.”

Nathalie faltered a moment, for she had seen a smile creep into the eyes of the girls, which she knew would become a laugh if she did not say the right thing. “Yes, you may not love Christ, as we Christians,” she answered quickly, “but if you love the liberty, perhaps you may learn to know what it means to love Him. And then, Marie, that will make no difference, for as long as you want to help the suffering ones, and show humanity, that makes you an American, no matter who, or what you are.”

“Thank you, Missis Page,” the girl’s face had lighted with repressed joy, “sure I’m an American. I can’t do nottings mit the fight, like the soldiers, but you bet yer life I can knit for them, hein?” And the little daughter of Israel held up a strip of wool with its two shiny needles. “Shure und my hands are straight,” she continued pathetically, “even if my legs ain’t healthy.”

Nathalie’s eyes blurred, but she answered smilingly, “Why, that will be lovely, Marie.” Then, turning towards the girls, she cried, “Every one in favor of appointing Marie Katzkamof captain of the Knitting Squad, please hold up her hand.” And every hand went up. “And we’ll call you Captain Molly,” went on Nathalie, “in memory of that brave young woman, Molly Pitcher, who, when her husband fell dead at the battle of Monmouth, during the Revolution, took his place,—she was carrying water to the soldiers,—seized the rammer of his gun, and fired it. And she kept on firing it,” cried Nathalie with glowing eyes, “with the shot and shell flying all about her, until the battle was over. And with that name and the bravery of that Molly—for I know you are brave, Marie—I know you will do your best for liberty, and for the soldiers who are on the firing-line, doing their best, as the Sons of Liberty, for the right of every man in the world.”

After Lillie Bell had been duly elected vice-president of the club, and several other club matters had been disposed of, Nathalie proposed, as an inspiration to the girls, that they form a circle in the center of the room, and stand with clasped hands, to show the interdependence of one upon the other. “Then in turn,” she explained, “let each girl tell of some woman, or girl, who, by her bravery in doing what she could for some one else, or for the world, has given of her best to mankind, and shown that she was a true lover of humanity, and a daughter of liberty.”

The girls, quickly grasping Nathalie’s idea, were soon standing in a circle, hurriedly trying to concentrate their minds on some one woman who had given of her greatness to mankind.

“Can we tell about the Pioneer women?” asked a Girl Pioneer timidly.

“Yes, indeed,” answered the young president, “and we ought to hear about them first, too, for they were the ones who really taught us what it means to love liberty. Although they were not the first women who did great things for their fellow-beings, they were the ones who made clear to us that real liberty means humanity, justice, and democracy for all.” Helen now started the liberty chain by clasping the hand of her neighbor on each side of her and telling of the women of the Mayflower, who, by their acts of sacrifice, and stern determination to worship God as they thought right, gave us religious freedom.

Nita told of the coming of the ship, the Arbella, to Gloucester with John Winthrop, the governor of Massachusetts Bay Colony, and the two noted Puritan brides, the Lady Arbella and Anne Bradstreet, the latter our first American poetess. And gave testimony of their devotion to Puritanism, and their desire to benefit mankind.

One Pioneer told of America’s first club-woman, Anne Hutchinson, portraying her trial and banishment from Boston, in her efforts to benefit mankind by teaching them freedom of thought. Another told of Mary Dyer, the noted Quakeress, and how she was hanged from an old elm on Boston Common because she believed in freedom of religion.

Margaret, the wife of John Winthrop, the governor, and Susannah, the mother of John Wesley, both beloved for their sweet piety and charity, were cited as examples of having given of their best in being the ideal wife and mother. Lillie Bell told of Florence Nightingale, the young English woman who gave up a life of luxury to help the soldiers during the Crimean War in 1854. She became known as “The Lady of the Lamp,” from a statue of her as she stands with a nurse’s lamp in her hand, erected in a church in London.

A Girl Scout told of Dorothy Dix, that wonderful woman who made it her life-work to visit prisons and insane asylums, in order to institute reforms for the care and comfort of the inmates. She also did much for the relief of wounded soldiers during the American Civil War.

Jenny Lind, the great Swedish singer, was cited as having given to humanity when she gave her time and voice to raise thousands of dollars for the benefit of broken-down musicians and writers. Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe gave of her best, Edith declared, when she wrote her book, “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” and showed the world the evils of slavery; as also Mrs. Julia Ward Howe when she wrote that wonderful patriotic song, “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”

The two noted women astronomers, Caroline Herschel and Maria Mitchell, when they studied the heavens in the interest of science, gave of their best. Also Charlotte Cushman, the great actress, who raised large sums of money by her acting, and gave it to the Sanitary Fund, during the Civil War, was quoted as a lover of humanity.

The Baroness Burdett-Coutts and Miss Helen Gould, two of the world’s noted philanthropists, as well as Miss Louisa Alcott, in her writings for the youth of America, and other women writers were added to the growing list of Liberty Daughters. Dolly Madison, the beautiful First Lady of the Land, showed herself a true American during the War of 1812. When the British burned Washington she refused to leave the White House until the portrait of Washington was carried to a place of safety, while she herself took the Declaration of Independence, with its autographs of the signers, away with her, so that it would not be lost to America.

Even Marie, alias Captain Molly, caught the inspiration of the Liberty Chain, and told of a young Russian girl, who, rather than betray the secrets of a great man, from a paper that had fallen into her hands, allowed herself to be exiled to Siberia. Then came the war stories, as that of the noted Quakeress, Lydia Darrach, who, during the Revolution, on learning the secrets of the British officers who were quartered at her house, endured untold hardship in traveling many miles in the dead of winter to reveal them to the American patrol, so as to save the Continental Army from disaster.

Hannah Weston, who filled a pillow-case with pewter-ware when she heard that a certain town was in need of ammunition, and carried it many miles through the woods at night, was cited for her bravery and her sacrifice, in her effort to help others. The story of Betty Zane and how she ran from the palisade of a Western fort to her brother’s hut for a keg of powder in the fire of a tribe of Indians, although a familiar one, was listened to with glowing interest.

Ruth Wyllis, who hid the charter of Connecticut in an oak tree, and Katy Brownell, the color-bearer at the battle of Bull Run, who stood by the flag in the face of the advancing foe, and who would have been shot to death if a soldier had not pulled her away, were but two recitals of brave deeds for the sake of humanity.

But at last the liberty chain came to an end by Nathalie telling of Saint Margaret, a plain, uneducated Irish woman, who, after losing her husband and child, devoted her life and every penny she made to the cause of orphan children. A statue, she said, had been erected in New Orleans to this noble woman, who gave of her best to humanity when she devoted her life to these little waifs.

After the girls had returned to their seats, Nathalie appointed seven squads. She had made it seven, she said, not only because it was a lucky number, but because there were just seven letters in the name, Liberty. Helen was made the captain of the Florence Nightingale Squad, since she had gained many honors, as a Girl Pioneer, as an expert maker of bandages.

Nita, with a Girl Scout as a running mate, was made captain of the Scrap-Book Squad, which meant the making of scrap-books for the convalescing soldiers in the hospitals. Lillie Bell and a Camp Fire Girl were placed at the head of the Garments Squad for the cutting and sewing of garments for the refugee children of France and Belgium. Two Girl Scouts were made captains of the Flower Squad, with the purpose of raising and selling flowers for the Liberty Loan fund.

Jessie Ford had charge of the comfort-kits for the soldier-boys, while Barbara Worth, who was an expert knitter, was appointed to work with Captain Molly, the Russian Jewess. Nathalie was unanimously chosen as the captain of the Liberty Garden, with Edith Whiton and several other Girl Pioneers. They were not only to raise vegetables and fruits in their garden-to-be, but they were to do canning as well.

After some discussion it was decided that the club members wear a uniform consisting of a white shirtwaist, with the letters L. G. in red on the arm, on the corners of their white sailor-collars, and on the hatbands of their white sailor-hats, and to wear white or khaki skirts.

Nathalie had just appointed a committee to scour the town for a parcel of ground to use as a flower and Liberty garden, when a sudden noise was heard. The girl looked quickly up, to see Mrs. Morrow standing in the doorway leading from the dining-room, with her arms filled with flowers. In her hand was a large bell, which she was jingling softly, while her blue eyes smiled down upon the girls with radiant good-will.