It was the usual custom for Ruth and Arthur to play together for an hour after dinner, and they had just got fairly under way one evening when Arthur stopped in the middle of a measure and began to count the fire alarm. In a small town every one listens when an alarm is struck, and many go to the fire.

"Sixty-five," said Arthur, as the sound died away on the air.
"That's in the factory settlement, isn't it, father?"

"Yes," answered his father, counting again as a second alarm sounded.
"Get on a warm coat, Ruth. and we'll see what's burning."

"Why don't you let John take you in the sleigh," suggested Mrs. Hamilton, "and then Arthur can go with you." She had been quick to notice the regret in Arthur's face, for now that he was beginning to get out again he longed to do everything the others did.

"Oh, mother, they can't wait for John to harness," he said quickly, as his father hesitated before replying. "If they did the fire would be out."

"That's right, son. Very likely it's not much of a fire anyway, but a little run in this frosty air won't hurt Ruth and me. Are you warmly dressed, little girl; overshoes on and mittens?" added Mr. Hamilton, as Ruth came down-stairs.

"Very warmly dressed, Uncle Henry. I've got so much on that probably
I shan't be able to run at all."

Once out in the cold, starlit night none of the warm garments seemed superfluous, and Ruth ran and walked by turns in order to keep up with Mr. Hamilton's long strides. As they reached Mr. Marshall's house Dorothy and her father and Frank joined them, and just ahead they could see the Ellsworth boys with Betty and Charlotte.

"Some one says it's that old brown house that was almost ready to fall to pieces anyway," said Jack coming up behind them with Phil.

"Was any one living there?" asked Mr. Marshall.

"I saw some children playing out in the yard when I drove by the other day," answered Frank. "Come on, boys, let's run for it," he added, as a turn in the road enabled them to see the fire.

"Isn't it dreadful?" shuddered Ruth as, with fascinated gaze, she watched the flames fasten hungrily upon one part after another of the doomed house, and sweep into the air as though exulting in their triumph. "Do you suppose these other houses will have to go too?"

"I hardly think so," answered Mr. Hamilton. "They are beginning to get the fire under, and they are keeping the other roofs wet."

"Stay here with the girls and Mr. Hamilton, Dolly," said Mr. Marshall suddenly. "I want to go over and talk to some of these people."

A little crowd had collected around the door of one of the cottages, and as Mr. Marshall walked toward them the girls looked after him with eyes that were frankly curious.

"I remember coming up here with Aunt Mary the day before Christmas," said Ruth. "And she left a Christmas basket at this very same brown house, if I'm not mistaken. Yes, I'm sure of it, and there were five or six children in the family. Oh, I hope they all got out safely."

"Lucky that it was early in the evening," observed Charlotte, stamping her feet to get some warmth into them. "I can't stay much longer, girls; I'm so cold that—"

"Here comes Mr. Marshall," interrupted Betty eagerly. "Wait a minute, Char, and we'll all go."

Mr. Marshall, who had been inside one of the houses, came toward them with something clasped in his arms, and as he drew near they could see that it was apparently a baby rolled in a heavy shawl. The child had put both arms around his neck and was hiding her eyes on his shoulder when he reached the little group. He looked very grave, and the girlish faces grew sober in sympathy even before he spoke.

"Oh, father, is the baby hurt?" asked Dorothy anxiously.

"Not injured, dear, but left very much alone. She is a little German girl, and she and her mother had only been here a few days. The mother wanted to get work in the factory, and had taken a room for herself and the baby with the German family which lived in the brown house. Every one got out safely, but the excitement was too much for the poor young mother. She must have had a weak heart, I'm afraid, for she had to go away and leave her baby."

Ruth's eyes filled with tears as she realized what he meant, and she stretched out her arms impulsively toward the baby.

"Poor little soul," she said with a choke in her voice; "is she old enough to know what happened?"

As she spoke the baby raised her head and stared in startled wonder at the pitying faces about her. The shawl fell back a little from her head, and, in the brilliant light from the fire, the girls could see golden rings of hair clustering around a face delicately pink and white. The big brown eyes gazed at them for a moment, then with a little sob she buried her head on Mr. Marshall's shoulder again.

"I must look like some one she has known," he said softly, as he wrapped the shawl closely around her, "for the minute she saw me she held out her arms to me, and no one could get her away. These poor people around here have enough to look out for over night, so I'll take this baby home. Do you think you can help take care of her for a while, daughter?"

"Oh, yes, I'd love to," assented Dolly eagerly. "I wish she'd let me take her," but for the present, at least, the sorrowful baby refused to leave her safe resting-place, and only clung more tightly to Mr. Marshall when the girls tried to beguile her.

Mr. Hamilton and Betty's older brothers stayed to make some arrangements for the poor family that had been turned out-of-doors, and, as by this time the fire was well under control, the spectators dispersed in various directions. The girls and boys escorted Mr. Marshall and the baby home, and then left Ruth at her own door.

By the time she had finished telling Mrs. Hamilton and Arthur about the fire and the forlorn baby, Mr. Hamilton appeared and was at once besieged with questions.

"I wish you had been there, Mary," he said to his wife; "you always seem to know how to make every one comfortable. It is wonderful to me to see how good those people are to each other. They were only too anxious to shelter that poor Schmidt family, in which there are six children, and I didn't know whether we should ever get them peaceably divided up. I tried to get more information about the baby's mother; but no one seems to know anything except that she was called Mrs. Winter, and had lost her husband quite recently."

"Was she a young woman?" asked Mrs. Hamilton.

"She looked hardly more than a girl as she lay there, and her face was so refined and sweet that I couldn't help fancying that the early part of her life had been spent under very different conditions from these."

"Didn't the woman they lived with know anything more about them?" asked Ruth, much disappointed.

"Poor Mrs. Schmidt was so excited, and so anxious to see that her own brood was safe and to be well cared for, that she didn't know much about anything else. The poor little mother had only been with her a few days, and beyond the fact that she seemed very sad and had cried a great deal, and that the little one's name was Elsa, she could tell me nothing. Oh, she did say that the mother and baby looked very much alike, the same large, brown eyes, and the same fair complexion and fair hair."

"The baby is a perfect little beauty," said Ruth, "and I quite envy Dolly the fun of having her in the house. I'm going over the first thing in the morning to see her."

Fortunately the next day was Saturday, and one by one the girls dropped into Dorothy's house to see the pretty baby. Alice and Katharine, who hadn't seen the fire the night before, had to hear the whole story from the other girls, and all were much impressed when Ruth happened to mention that Mr. Hamilton had thought the poor young mother looked better than her surroundings.

"I shouldn't wonder a bit," said Dorothy impressively. "Everything about this baby was just as clean and sweet as could be. Her mother must have taken her right out of bed, for she had nothing on but her little nightie when father brought her home. Mother found some baby clothes of mine, and I had such fun dressing her this morning."

"How old do you suppose she is?" asked Betty.

"Oh, I know. Mrs. Schmidt told father last night that she was two years old," answered Dorothy.

While the girls were talking about her the baby had sat quietly on Dorothy's lap looking from one to another with her solemn, brown eyes. Ruth and Betty had made several attempts to get her to sit with them, but she only turned her head away and nestled closer to Dorothy, much to that young lady's delight.

"I wish mother would let me keep her always," said Dolly with a little sigh. "I should just love to take care of her."

"For how long?" laughed Charlotte.

"Now, Charlotte, don't be horrid. Just because you get tired of children is no reason I should," answered Dorothy, putting on the superior air which Charlotte couldn't stand.

"Oh, fudge, you wouldn't like it any better than I do if you really couldn't get out of it," snapped Charlotte.

"I'm the only one who really needs her, because I haven't any sister or brother," said Ruth, holding out her arms once more to the baby. "And, of course, I can't have her."

To her surprise this time the little Elsa half smiled at her, and, as though wanting to make up to her for the sister she couldn't have, put out her own chubby hands. Ruth took her quickly before she should have time to repent and sat down with her.

"She saw your watch," said Dorothy as the baby put up a timid finger to touch it.

"I'm glad there's something about me she likes," retorted Ruth quickly. "Perhaps in time, Dolly, she'll love me for myself alone, as she does you."

Dorothy colored, and it seemed as if the baby were likely to be the innocent cause of trouble, but Betty, who was a born peacemaker, stepped into the breach with eager unconsciousness. She had been thinking deeply for some minutes and her smooth forehead was puckered perplexedly as she spoke.

"You're always laughing at me for my queer ideas, girls, but this time I've really thought of something," she said with repressed excitement."

"Does it hurt, Betsy?" inquired Charlotte with pretended anxiety.

"Why can't the Social Six," went on Betty, ignoring her flippant friend, "adopt the baby and bring her up?"

"For goodness' sake, Betty, what do you think we are, millionaires?" protested Charlotte.

"No, of course not. But I know that I could earn a little money every week if I wanted to work for it, and I can't bear to think of this darling baby going into an orphan asylum."

Betty leaned over and kissed the dimpled hand as she spoke, looking so tender and motherly that the girls forgot to laugh at her. The baby, who had been sitting contentedly on Ruth's lap, received the kiss with favor, and then looking at the girls hovering around her smiled sweetly as if taking them all into her affection at once.

"Isn't she a perfect dear?" cried Dorothy, going down on her knees before her. "I'm with you, Betty; she shall have most of my allowance every week, and I know that we can get lots of help if we are only in earnest about it."

"I'd just love to have the club do it," said Ruth with her usual enthusiasm. "And wherever I am I shall be a member of the club just the same, and always be ready to help out with little Elsa. I know father and Uncle Jerry will be interested in her, too."

"We can all sew for her," suggested Alice, a proposition which caused
Dorothy and Charlotte to look at each other in disgusted silence.

"But where is she going to live?" inquired Katharine, who frequently put a damper on the enthusiasm of her friends by some exceedingly practical question. "We can't plant her out in the square at an equal distance from all of us."

"Oh, dear!" sighed Betty. "I hate to be brought down so suddenly. I'd forgotten that she'd have to have a home. I was just thinking of clothes and education, and I had it all planned that she should be a great singer or a writer, and take care of us in our old age."

Betty's flight of fancy was so absurd that the girls shouted with laughter, and seeing them so merry little Elsa laughed too, and showed her white teeth.

"She's ail right, girls; she can see a joke," said Charlotte, who in spite of herself began to feel the baby's charm.

"Poor little kiddie! I'm sure she's very brave to laugh at the idea of having to support us all," giggled Ruth.

"Let's ask mother about it," suggested Dorothy, as Mrs. Marshall came into the room, and the busy woman, who was never too much occupied to listen to her daughter's plans, or to lend a helping hand, sat down as calmly as though she had nothing else to do. She had already begun to consider the problem of Elsa's future, and she decided immediately that Betty's idea was a good one, and as helpful for the girls as for the baby.

"You might board her at Mrs. Hall's," she suggested, after listening to a rather disjointed narrative from the entire club.

"Of course. The very thing," murmured Betty. "Why didn't we think of it ourselves?"

"And you must organize your work in a businesslike way," continued Mrs. Marshall. "You might start an Elsa fund with what you can collect among yourselves, no matter how small. Then you can see who will be willing to promise regular subscriptions. You will need a treasurer to take charge of the fund, and a secretary to manage your correspondence."

The girls looked very thoughtful; they had hardly realized that their plan would assume so much importance.

"You must understand, girls, before you go into this, that you are undertaking a serious thing and one you cannot give up lightly," continued their adviser. "For my own part I can't think of any better use to which you can put your energy and your club funds than to the care of this dear, motherless baby. Of course, you know that we shall do all we can to find out if she has any relatives, but there seems small chance of success, as we haven't the slightest clue to follow."

The girls were silent as Mrs. Marshall went out of the room. Then Betty, taking the baby in her arms said, "Come here, littlest club girl; we can't initiate you yet, but you've got six new mothers, and you'll be taken care of to within an inch of your life."

Then began a busy time for the members of the Social Six. Dorothy was made secretary and Charlotte treasurer of the Elsa Fund, which started out with the imposing sum of three dollars, taken bodily from the club treasury.

In order to help the cause along, Mrs. Marshall invited the ladies of the Fortnightly Club to meet at her house, and Betty was persuaded to tell them what the girls hoped to do for the baby. It was rather a halting little speech, but she ended it most effectively by stepping to the door and bringing in little Elsa, who had been waiting in the hall for this very moment. As Betty stood there before them all smiling at the rosy baby in her arms, the sound of Ruth's violin broke the silence. It was the simplest lullaby she was playing, but she made it so tender and appealing that the hearts of the mothers went out to the dear baby who had no mother, and all were eager to help.

By the time Mrs. Hall came in to take Elsa home, a substantial sum was promised for the fund, and duly noted by Charlotte, who comforted herself for her own lack of money by keeping the accounts in the most businesslike manner. It was no small task, for promises of contributions came in so readily that the treasurer was obliged to take most of her spare time out of school to keep her books in order.

To her surprise Melina came to her with an air of great mystery and, first making sure that no one was within sight or hearing, held out to her a five dollar bill.

"I want to git that five dollars off my mind and start it movin'," she said grimly when Charlotte looked at her in wonder. "No, there ain't no use of your refusing. That baby needs it as much as any one I know just now, and that was the idea, you know, that I should pass it on."

Charlotte realized that she couldn't refuse without hurting Melina's feelings. "All right," she said, "I'll take it for her, and when she gets old enough to understand it I'll explain that she must start it on again."

For a while it seemed almost as though little Elsa might be hurt by too much care. The six young mothers made all sorts of errands into Mrs. Hall's that they might have a chance to play with the baby, who seemed to love them all with great impartiality. Ruth and Dorothy almost quarreled one afternoon because each claimed the privilege of taking her out and neither one was willing to give up. Just as it threatened to become serious, Betty, who had come in a few minutes later, slipped off with the baby while the other two were arguing. She did it so cleverly that when they discovered her treachery they made common cause against her, and went amiably home together vowing vengeance upon Miss Betty for her slyness.

By the end of three weeks the novelty had worn off a little and the girls no longer struggled to be first in the baby's affections, but were frequently willing to omit going to see her for a day or two. And just then, when the mothers were beginning to smile and shake their heads over the situation, something happened which again made little Miss Elsa the centre of interest.

Mrs. Schmidt, prowling around the blackened ruins of her former home, came upon a metal box, locked and little harmed by the flames, which she remembered as belonging to the baby's mother. In great excitement she took it to Mrs. Hamilton and that evening the girls were called in solemn conclave to see the box opened.

First, Mr. Hamilton took out four photographs which were passed from one to another. One pictured a gray-haired man in military clothes, very erect, very stern and fine-looking. Another was of a plump, placid, elderly lady who looked the very picture of motherliness.

"I know that's the baby's grandmother and grandfather," said Dorothy positively, and no one had any other opinion to offer.

Mr. Hamilton uttered an exclamation of surprise as he took the third picture from the paper which enfolded it. "That's the poor little mother," he said softly, and the girls crowded around eagerly to gaze at the pretty, girlish creature looking out at them with hopeful eyes which foreshadowed no hint of her sad fate.

The girls were very sober, and no one broke the silence as Mr. Harnilton unwrapped the remaining picture. It was a young man with a thim, delicate face and large eyes rather sad in their expression. On the back was written in German, "Karl von Winterbach, to his beloved wife."

"He looks like the picture of some German poet," murmured Charlotte thoughtfully.

"The poor little soul had evidently dropped part of her name," said
Mr. Hamilton, "for the people in the settlement knew her only as
Mrs. Winter."

There was not much else in the box; a few ornaments, a little faded needlebook which looked as though it had been kept for memory's sake, and two letters. One of the letters was unsealed, and Mr. Hamilton took out a slip of paper which said with pathetic brevity, "If I am dead please send this letter to my dear father. He will care for my baby. Emilie von Winterbach."

The girls scrutinized the address on the other letter with the most excited interest.

To the Herr Baron von Grunwald, 10 Sommerstrasse, Dresden, Germany, read Ruth slowly over Mr. Hamilton's shoulder. "Why, girls, he's a baron; Elsa's grandfather is a baron."

"I knew she looked aristocratic," remarked Betty in a satisfied tone. "I shall go the first thing in the morning to offer her my humble services."

"Well, young ladies, it looks very much as if the Social Six would be deprived of their youngest member," said Mr. Hamilton as he put pictures and letters back into the box. "I shall send that letter to-morrow morning, and another with it telling all we know about little Elsa's mother, and I am sure we shall hear something as soon as possible from the Herr Baron von Grunwald."

The prospect of losing the club baby made her all the more precious in the eyes of her six adopted mothers, and during the weeks while they waited for news from across the ocean, they were lavish in care and affection. They planned to make an elaborate traveling wardrobe for her, and worked courageously at it every minute they could spare. Even Charlotte and Dorothy took a hand. Time was lacking, however, and their ideas of what their baby really needed grew less expansive as the days went on. The Candle Club boys felt that they were offering a neat and appropriate tribute when they presented the small lady with six pairs of shoes, two black, two white, and a pair each of red and blue.

"Those are good enough for a baron's granddaughter, don't you think?" asked Jack, who had been deputed to present them at a meeting of the Social Six. "I think they're rather neat, myself," he added with modest pride, as he stood off and gazed admiringly at them.

"They are lovely," said Ruth warmly. "Have some fudge. And here, take some back to the boys to show that we appreciate their kindness."

"I just know they waited to give them. until they felt sure we were making fudge," grumbled Dolly as Jack departed. "I know their tricks."

"I don't care," laughed Ruth. "We've had plenty anyway, and it was nice of them to spend their money on shoes."

The girls were in Ruth's room, and the rest of the house was very still, for Mrs. Hamilton had gone to Boston and Arthur was out with the boys. Tongues were flying fast, and no one heard the bell ring. Presently Katie appeared in the doorway with the card-tray saying:

"Miss Ruth, there is a gentleman down-stairs who wants to see Mrs.
Hamilton, and I can't make him understand where she is."

Ruth looked at the card curiously and then fell back on the sofa with a startled face.

"Girls, it's the Baron von Grunwald," she gasped, "and he's come without any warning. Oh, why did Aunt Mary go into town to-day!"

"It's much more likely to be one of the boys playing a joke on us," said Dolly who hadn't had a chance to see the exceedingly correct-looking card which Ruth was crushing in her agitation. "I don't believe there has been time yet for Elsa's relatives to get here."

"Pretty nearly four weeks ago that Uncle Henry sent the letters," replied Ruth. "You can't make me believe the boys could get up anything like this," she added, displaying the card.

"You'll have to go down right off," said Dorothy, quite convinced.
"You mustn't keep him waiting."

"Oh, why not one of you?" groaned Ruth. "He won't know the difference, and you've lived in Glenloch longer."

"Goosey. As if that made any difference," laughed Charlotte.

"You know more German than any one of us," said Katharine comfortingly.

"Horrors! Shall I have to talk to him in German?" asked poor Ruth in despair.

"Of course," said Betty. "Didn't Katie say that she couldn't make him understand?"

Ruth would have liked to run and hide, but instead she went slowly down-stairs and walked straight into the parlor without giving herself time to think.

The tall, gray-haired man who rose to meet her was so like the picture in the box that Ruth felt almost as if she knew him, and she would have known just what to say if the dreaded German hadn't embarrassed her. She shook hands with him in silence, and then for a moment struggled to find a conversational opening which shouldn't plunge her into deeper distress.

The kind old man evidently understood her difficulty, for his sad face grew gentle as he said with slow distinctness:

"I can understand English, Fraulein."

He smiled at the extreme relief expressed in Ruth's face and went on speaking.

"I have come so quick as I can from Germany, Fraulein, my little grandchild to see, and I find that I am arrived before my letter gets here. I have seen in Boston Mr. Hamilton, and he has told me how to find his home and that he will come also so soon as he can."

Ruth drew a breath of relief. "If you will excuse me I will send for the baby this very minute," she said, and went quickly from the room.

"Girls, go get Elsa and bring her here as fast as you can," she exclaimed, popping her head into her own room. "He's perfectly elegant," and then she was gone again.

Betty and Dorothy running down the stairs soon after heard the steady hum of conversation in the parlor, and smiled to think how soon Ruth's terror had vanished. For Ruth the next twenty minutes seemed very long, and she spent it trying to make the Herr Baron feel at home, and hoping against hope that Mrs. Hamilton would arrive by the next train.

To her joy it happened as she had wished, for Mrs. Hamilton and the baby arrived at the house almost in the same moment. Little Elsa had grown so used to petting and attention that she was friendliness itself and went to her grandfather with a gurgle of delight. He, poor man, almost lost his self-control at sight of her, for she was wonderfully like his own lost daughter. Ruth slipped out of the room, because she couldn't bear to see his grief, and went back to the girls, who were waiting for her with eager curiosity.

A little later Mrs. Hamilton came to them.

"Uncle Henry has come and has taken the Baron off to talk with Mrs. Schmidt and Mrs. Hall," she said in answer to their questions. "The poor man says his only daughter married against his wishes, but that he should have willingly forgiven her and her husband if they had only given him the chance. He is delighted with little Elsa, and so grateful to you girls for befriending her. He hopes to get Mrs. Hall to go with him and the baby to Dresden, and then he will send her back here. He is very anxious to meet the club girls and thank them for what they have done, and he's invited us all to visit him if we go to Germany."

"When will he start for home?" asked Ruth.

"As soon as he can get away," answered Mrs. Hamilton. "And that reminds me that I must see if I can do anything for Mrs. Hall to help matters along. I can sympathize with the poor grandfather's desire to get the baby to her grandmother as soon as possible."

Left to themselves the girls looked at each other blankly.

"So that's the end of the club baby," sighed Betty.

"Why, no, she can be our German member," said Ruth decidedly.