"This weaving process makes the spokes stand out like wheel spokes""This weaving process makes the spokes stand out like wheel spokes"
"That binds down the beginning end of the raffia," cried Helen.
"Exactly. That's why you do it. Go under the bottom arm and over the right hand arm behind the top arm."
"Back at the station the train started from," announced Margaret.
"So far you've used your weaver—"
"What's that? The raffia?"
"Yes. So far you've used it merely to fasten thecentre firmly. Now you really begin to weave under and over the spokes, round and round."
"I could shoot beans through mine," announced James.
"You haven't pulled your weaver tight as you wove. Push it down hard toward the centre. That's it. See how firm that is? You could hardly get water through that—much less beans or hound puppies, as they say in some parts of North Carolina."
"This weaving process makes the spokes stand out like wheel spokes, doesn't it?"
"That's why they're called spokes. By the time you've been round three times they ought all to be standing apart evenly."
"Please, ma'am, my raffia is giving out," grumbled Tom.
"It's time to use a rattan weaver, then. You used raffia at first because the spokes were so near together. Now you use a fine rattan, finer than your spokes. Wet it first. Then catch it behind a spoke and hold on to it carefully until you come to the second time round or it will slip away from you. You're all right as soon as the second row holds the first row in place."
"My rattan weaver is giving out," said Ethel Brown.
"Take another one and lap it over the end of the one that is on the point of death, then go right ahead. If they're too fat at the ends shave them down a bit where they lap."
"This superb creation of mine is three inches across the middle," announced James.
"It's time to turn up the spokes then. Make upyour mind how sharply you want the basket to flare and watch it as you weave, or you'll have it uneven."
"Mine seems to have reached a good height for a small work basket," decided Helen, her head on one side.
"Mine isn't quite so high, but I can seem to see a few choice candies of Ethel Brown's concoction resting happily within its walls," said Tom.
"Let's all make the border. Measure the spokes and cut them just three inches beyond the top of the weaving. You'll have to sharpen their tips a little or else you'll have trouble pushing them down among the weavers."
"I get the idea! You bend them into scallops!"
"Wet them first or there'll be broken fence pickets. When you've soaked them until they're pliable enough bend each spoke over to make a scallop and thrust it down right beside its neighbor spoke between the weavers."
"Mine is more than ever a work basket," said Helen when she had completed the edge. "I shall line it with brown and fit it up with a thimble and threads and needles and a tiny pair of scissors."
"Mine, too," was Ethel Brown's decision.
"My sides turn up too sharply," James thought. "I shall call mine a cover for a small flower pot. Then I shan't have to line it!"
"Here are some of the most easily made mats and baskets in the world," announced Della. "They're made just like the braided rugs you find in farm houses in New England. Mother got some in New Hampshire once before we started going to Chautauqua for the summers."
"I've seen them," said Margaret. "There areyards and yards of rags cut all the same width and sewed together and then they are braided and then the braid is sewed round and round."
"You make raffia mats or baskets in just the same way, only you sew them with raffia," explained Della. "You braid the raffia first and that gives you an opportunity to make pretty color combinations."
"A strand of raffia doesn't last forever. How do you splice it?"
"Splice a thick end alongside of a thin end and go ahead. Try to pick out strands of different lengths for your plaiting or they'll all run out at once and have to be spliced at once and it may make them bunchy if you aren't awfully careful."
The braid for easily made rugs and basketsThe braid for easily made rugs and baskets
"I saw a beauty basket once made of corn husks braided in the same way. The inside husks are a delicate color you know, and they were split into narrow widths and plaited into a long rope."
"Where the long leaf pine grows," said Dorothy, "they use pine needles in the same way, only they wrap them around with thread—"
"Cotton thread?"
"Cotton thread—of about the same color."
"You can work sweet grass just so, except that you can wrap that with a piece of itself."
"When you have enough material," went on Della, "you begin the sewing. If you're going to make a round or an oblong mat you decide which right at the beginning and coil the centre accordingly. Then all you have to do is to go ahead. Don't let the stitches show and sew on until the mat is big enough."
"And for a basket I suppose you pile the braids upon each other when you've made the bottom the size you want it."
"Exactly. And you can make the sides flare sharply or slightly just as we made them do with the rattan."
"What's the matter with making baskets of braided crêpe paper?" asked James. "My whole being has been wrapped in paper for a week so it may influence my inventive powers unduly, but I really don't see why it shouldn't work."
"I'm sorry to take you off your perch," remarked Ethel Brown, "but I've seen one."
"O—oh!" wailed James in disappointment. "They were pretty though, weren't they?"
"They were beauties. There was a lovely color combination in the one I saw."
"You could make patriotic ones for Fourth of July—red, white, and blue."
"Or green and red ones for Christmas."
"Or all white for Easter."
"Or pinky ones for May Day."
Just at this moment there came a rush of small feet and Dicky burst into the room.
"Hullo," he exclaimed briefly.
"Hullo," cried a chorus in return.
"I've seen her," said Dicky.
"Who is 'her'?" asked Roger.
"Fräulein."
"Fräulein! Dicky, what have you been doing?"
Helen seized him by the arm and drew him to the side of her chair, while all the other members of the Club laid down their work and listened.
Dicky was somewhat embarrassed at being the object of such undivided attention. He climbed up into Helen's lap.
"I heard you talking at breakfatht about Fräulein and how thomebody perhapth wath dead and perhapth wathn't dead, tho I went and athked her if he wath dead."
"Oh, Dicky!"
Helen buried her face in his bobbed hair, and the rest of the Mortons looked at each other aghast.
"We were wondering if it would be an intrusion to send Fräulein some flowers," explained Helen,—"and—"
"—and here Dicky butts right in!" finished Roger.
"I went to the houthe and I rang the bell," continued Dicky, "and an old lady came to the door."
"Mrs. Hindenburg."
"I thaid 'Ith Mith Fräulein at home?' The old lady thaid 'Yeth.' I walked in and there wath Mith Fräulein in front of the fire. I thaid, 'Ith he dead?'"
"You asked her?"
"Great Scott!"
"Fräulein thaid, 'I don't know, Dicky.' And I thaid, 'Here ith a chethnut I found. You can haveit.' And Fräulein thaid, 'Thank you, Dicky,' and I that on her lap and the talked to me a long time about the man that perhapth ith dead, and thometimeth the thaid queer wordth—"
"German," interpreted Margaret under her breath.
"And onthe the cried a little, and—"
"Dicky, Dicky, what have you done!"
"I ain't done anything bad, 'coth when I thaid, 'Now I mutht go,' the old lady thaid, 'Thank you for coming.'"
"She did?"
"Perhaps it did Fräulein good to cry. Poor Fräulein!"
"I'm going again."
"Did she ask you?"
"Of courth the athked me. And I thaid I'd go if the'd wear a white dreth. I don't like a black dreth."
Silence reigned about the table.
"I wish I knew whether he's done harm or good," sighed Helen.
"Good, I should say, or Fräulein's mother wouldn't have asked him to come again," said Ethel Blue.
"At this uncertain moment I think we'd better have some refreshments," said Dorothy.
"I'm certainly in need of something sustaining," groaned Roger.
"Then try these sugar cookies of Ethel Brown's."
"Let me write down right now how she makes them," exclaimed Della, borrowing a pencil from Tom. "This is the kind you're going to make for the orphans, isn't it?"
"Yes, they'll keep a long time, especially if they're wrapped in paraffin paper and put into a tin."
"Recite the rule to me."
"I never can remember rules. Dorothy's got it copied into her cook book. Ask her for it."
"Here you are," said Dorothy who had overheard the conversation, "here on page twenty. And I know you're going to ask for the fudge receipt as soon as you taste Ethel Blue's fudge so you might as well copy that at the same time. It's on the next page."
So Della copied diligently while Dorothy brought in the cookies and fudge in question and Helen and Roger discussed Dicky's performance under their breath.
Here is what Della wrote:
"Sugar Cookies or Sand Tarts
"1 cup butter2 cups sugar2 eggs3½ cups flour4 teaspoons baking powderExtra whites of 2 eggs1½ cups blanched almonds, chopped.2 tablespoons sugar—extra½ teaspoon cinnamon
"Blanch the almonds by putting them in boiling water, let them stand on the table five minutes, remove a few at a time from the water, rub off the skin and dry them in a towel; then chop them.
"Cream the butter, add the sugar gradually, then the beaten eggs. Sift flour and baking powder together,add to the butter mixture gradually, using a knife to cut it in. Add the nuts. If stiff and dry add a few tablespoons milk to moisten slightly, and mould into a dough with the hands. Roll out portions quite thin, on a floured board, cut out with a cutter, brush with the extra whites, slightly beaten. Mix the cinnamon and the two extra tablespoons sugar together, sprinkle over the cookies. Place on a greased tin, bake about five minutes in a moderately hot oven."
"Fudge
"3 cups brown or white sugar1 cup milk or water1 tablespoon butter3 squares (inch) chocolate (about ¼ cup grated)½ teaspoon vanilla
"Mix sugar, milk, butter and chocolate in a saucepan; let it melt slowly; bring to a boil and boil about ten minutes, or until a little forms a soft ball when dropped in a cup of cold water. Add the vanilla, stir a few minutes until slightly thick, turn at once into greasedtinplates. Cool and cut into blocks. If it crumbles and is sugary, add half a cup or more hot water, melt, boil again, and try as before. If it should not be hard enough it may be boiled a second time."
THE CLUB WEAVES, STENCILS AND MODELS CLAY
WHETHER Dicky had done something entirely inexcusable or something wise no one was able to decide, but everybody agreed that at any rate it was pleasanter to think that he had brought poor Fräulein some comfort, and that her mother's thanking him for coming seemed to mean that. They all felt somewhat shocked and queer.
"I move, Madam President," said Tom, "that we don't talk about it any more this afternoon. We don't know and probably we never shall know, and so we might as well get to work again. Did you people realize that time is growing short? The Santa Claus Ship is booked to sail the first week in November."
"We did and do realize it," said Helen. "I'd like to know next about these raffia sofa pillows that Ethel Blue and Della have been making."
"The ones we made are sofa pillows for the orphans' dolls," explained Ethel Blue, "or they can be used for pincushions."
"They make thothe at kindergarten," announced Dicky. "I can make thothe. Mine are paper."
"They're made in just about the same way," said Della. "We made a small cushion with double raffia and wove it under and over on a pasteboard loom."
"How do you make that?"
"Just a piece of heavy pasteboard or a light board or you can take the frame of a smashed slate. You fasten the ends of the threads with pins or tacks or tie them around the bars. First you lay all the threads you want in one direction. That's the warp."
"Warp—I remember. I always have to look it up in the dictionary to see which is warp and which is woof."
"Warp is the thread that goes on first. In a rug or a piece of tapestry it's the plain, ugly thread that holds the beautifully colored threads in place. It's the up and down threads. In raffia you have to be careful to alternate the big ends and small ends so that the weaving will be even."
"What do you do when the warp is ready?"
"Before you begin to weave you must make a solid line across the end so that when you run your first bit of woof across it won't just push right up to the bar of the loom and then ravel out when you cut your product off the loom."
"I get the reason for its existence. I should think you'd make it by tying a string right across the loom knotting it into each strand of warp as you pass by."
"That's exactly what you do; and the ends you can leave flying to join in with the fringe."
"Can we weave now?"
"Go ahead. When you've made the cushion square, if you want it square, go around the three remaining sides and tie a break-water, so to speak, so that the weaving won't ravel out. Trim your fringe even and there's one side of your pillow."
"One side would be enough for a pincushion."
"If you want to make a big sofa cushion—a grown up one—you'll have to make a wide plait of raffia—a four strand or six strand braid—or else you'd never get it done."
"The unbraided would be too delicate. I hate to make things that wear out before you can get used to them about the house."
"You'd have to have a bigger loom for something that size."
"It's no trouble to make. Roger nailed mine together," said Ethel Blue.
"Any one want the dimensions?" asked Roger. "Take two pieces of narrow wood twenty-three inches long, and nail two other pieces of lighter stuff each twenty-five inches long on to their tops at the ends. These bits are raised from the table by the thickness of the first piece of lumber. See?"
Tom and James, who were examining Ethel Blue's loom, nodded.
"Then nail slender uprights, ten inches tall, at each of the four corners and connect them by two other thin sticks twenty-five inches long, running just above your first pair of twenty-fives. Do you get it?"
Again the boys nodded.
"That's all there is to it, and you really don't need to make that for a plain, smooth plank will do at a pinch."
"How do you carry your woof across?" asked Margaret. "Your hand would be in its own way, I should think."
"You thread the raffia into a wooden bodkin about twenty-six inches long."
"I can see that you must draw the cross threadsdown tight the way we did in weaving the baskets," said James.
"Indeed you must or you'll turn out a sleazy piece of weaving," answered Della.
"There must be oceans of articles you can make out of woven raffia."
"Just about everything that you can make out of a piece of cloth of the same size."
"Of cotton cloth? Ha!"
"Or silk."
"Handkerchief cases and collar cases."
"Coverings for boxes of all kinds. Another material for James to glue on to pasteboard."
"I see lots of chances for it," he answered seriously.
"I believe old James is really taking kindly to pasting," laughed Tom.
"Certainly I am. It's a bully occupation," defended James.
"There are a thousand things that can be made of raffia—you can make lace of it like twine lace, and make articles out of the lace; and you can make baskets of a combination of rattan and raffia, using the raffia for wrapping and for sewing. But we have such a short time left that I think those of us who are going to do any raffia work had better learn how to weave evenly and make pretty little duds out of the woven stuff."
"Wise kid," pronounced Roger. "Now what's little Margaret going to teach us this afternoon?"
"Little Margaret" made a puckered face at this appellation, but she came promptly to the front.
"Ethel Brown and Dorothy have been teaching me to stencil. They could teach the rest of you agreat deal better than I can, but they've done their share this afternoon so I'll try."
"Go on," urged Ethel Brown. "We'll help you if you forget."
"If you'll excuse me I'll go to the attic and get my clay," said Dorothy. "I found a new idea for a candlestick in a book this morning and I want to make one before I forget it."
Margaret was in the full swing of explanation when Dorothy returned.
"Why this frown, fair Coz?" demanded Roger in a Shakesperean tone.
"It's the queerest thing—I thought I had enough clay for two pairs of candlesticks and it seems to have shrunk or something so there'll only be one and that mighty small."
"'Mighty small,'" mimicked Roger. "How large is'mightysmall'?"
"Don't bother me, Roger. I'll start this while Margaret talks."
"When a drawing fit seizes Ethel Blue again we'll get her to make us some original stencils," said Helen. "These that we bought at the Chautauqua art store will do well enough for us to learn with."
"They are very pretty," defended Dorothy.
"Mine won't be any better, only they will be original," said Ethel Blue.
"I hate to mention it," said Tom in a whisper, "but I'm not perfectly sure that I know what a stencil is."
There was a shout from around the table.
"Never mind, Thomas," soothed Roger, patting his friend on the shoulder. "Confession is good for the soul. A stencil, my son, is a thin sheet of something—pasteboard,the girls use—with a pattern cut out of it. You lay the stencil down on a piece of cloth or canvas or board or whatever you want to decorate, and you scrub color on all the part of the material that shows through."
"Methinks I see a great light," replied Tom, slapping his forehead. "When you lift the stencil there is your pattern done in color."
Roger and James leaned forward together and patted Tom's brow.
"Such it is to have real intellect!" they murmured in admiring accents.
Tom bowed meekly.
"Enlighten me further—also these smarties. What kind of paint do you use?"
"Tapestry dyes or oil paints. It depends somewhat on your material. If you want to launder it, use the dye."
"Fast color, eh?"
"When you wash it, set the color by soaking your article in cold water salted. Then wash it gently in the suds of white soap. Suds, mind you; don't touch the cake of soap to it."
"I promise you solemnly I'll never touch a cake of soap to any stenciling I do."
"You're ridiculous, Roger. No, I believe you won't!"
"Here's a piece of cloth Ethel Brown is going to make into a doll's skirt. See, she's hemmed it already and I'll put this simple star stencil on the hem. Where's a board, Dorothy?"
Dorothy brought a sewing board and the others watched Margaret pin her material down hard upon it and fasten the stencil over that.
"Good girl! You've got them so tight they won't dare to shiver," declared Tom.
"Do you notice that this stencil has been shellacked so the edges won't roughen when I scrub? Stiff bristle brushes are what I'm using." Margaret called their attention to her utensils. "And I have a different brush for each color. Also I have an old rag to dabble the extra color off on to."
"Are you ready? Go!" commanded Roger.
"I'll put this simple star stencil on the hem""I'll put this simple star stencil on the hem"
Margaret scrubbed hard and succeeded in getting a variety of shading through the amount of paint that she allowed to soak entirely through or partway through the material. When she had done as many stars as there were openings on the pattern she took out the pins and moved the stencil along so that the holes came over a fresh piece of material, making sure that the space between the first new star and the last old one was the same as that between the stars on the stencil.
"How can we boys apply that?" asked James.
"You can stencil on anything that you would decorate with painting," said Ethel Brown.
"Your jig-saw disks, Tom. Stencil a small conventional pattern on each one—a star or a triangle."
"Here's a stencil of a vine that would be a beauty on one of your large plain pasteboard boxes, James."
"Dorothy has been turning white cheesecloth doll clothes into organdie muslins by stenciling on them these tiny sprays of roses and cornflowers and jasmine."
"I'm going to do roosters and cats and dogs on a lot of bibs for the babies."
"You'd better save a few in case Mademoiselle really sends us that Belgian baby."
"I'll make some more if it does turn up."
"Aunt Marion gave me some cotton flannel—"
"Cot—ton!"
"Cotton flannel, yes, sir; and I've made it into some little blankets for tiny babies. I bound the raw edges, and on some of them I did a cross stitch pattern and on others I stenciled a pattern."
"It saves time, I should say."
"Lots. When you have ever so many articles gathered, just have a stenciling bee and you can turn out the decoration much faster than by doing even a wee bit of embroidery."
"If the Belgian baby really comes, let's make it a play-house. The boys can do the carpentry and we can all make the furniture and I'm wild to stencil some cunning curtains for the windows."
"I'll draw you a fascinating pattern for it."
"There's my candlestick half done," said Dorothy mournfully, "and I can't finish it. I don't understand about that clay."
"Perhaps it dried up and blew away."
"It did dry, but I moistened it and kneaded it and cut it in halves with a wire and put the inside edges outside and generally patticaked it but I'm sure it'snot more than a quarter the size it was when I left it in the attic yesterday afternoon."
"You seem to have made a great mess on the floor over there by the window; didn't you slice off some and put it in that cup?"
"That's my 'slip.' It only took a scrap to make that. It's about as thick as cream and you use it to smooth rough places and fill up cracks with. No, that wouldn't account for much of any of the clay."
"How did you make this thing, anyway?" asked James turning it about.
"Careful. I took a saucer and put a wet rag in it and then I made a clay snake and coiled it about the way you make those coiled baskets, only I smoothed the clay so you can't see the coils. I hollowed it on the inside like a saucer. Then I put another wet rag inside my clay saucer and a china saucer inside that and turned them all upside down on my work board, and took off the original china saucer and smoothed down the coils on the underside of the clay saucer."
Tom drew a long breath.
"Take one yourself," he suggested. "You'll need it, you talk so fast."
"It stiffened while Margaret was doing her stenciling. When it was firm enough to handle I turned it over again and took out the small china saucer and smoothed off any marks it had left."
"It's about time to build up the candle holder, isn't it?"
Dorothy's CandlestickDorothy's Candlestick
"Did you see me bring in a short candle? I wrapped it in a wet rag and stood it exactly in the middle of the clay saucer. Then I roughened the clay around it and wet the rough part with slip andpressed a fresh little snake round the foot of the candle. The slip makes it stick to the roughening, so you have to roughen the top of every coil and moisten it with slip."
"You finished off the top of that part very smoothly," complimented Helen.
"When it's stiff enough you take out the candle and smooth the inside. Here's where I'm stumped. I haven't got enough clay for a handle."
"How do you make the handle?"
"Pat out another snake and make a hoop attached to the holder and another one rolling up on to the lip of the saucer."
"As if the serpent were trying to put his tail into his mouth."
"I shall have to just smooth this over with a soft brush and wrap it up in a wet cloth until I get some more clay. If I let it get hard I can't finish it."
"What's that drip, Dorothy?" asked Helen, as a drop of water fell on the table before her.
They all looked at the ceiling where drops of water were assembling and beginning to fall with a soft splash. There was a scramble to get their work out of the way. Dorothy brought a salad bowl and placed it where it would catch the water and then ran to investigate the cause of the trouble.
At a cry from upstairs Helen and the Ethels ran to her help. Roger went to the foot of the stairs and called up to inquire if they wanted his assistance. Evidently they did, for he, too, disappeared. In a few minutes he re-appeared bearing Dicky in his arms—a Dicky sopping wet and much subdued.
"What in the world?" everybody questioned.
"Dorothy's found her clay," said Roger. "Comeon, old man. Wrap Aunt Louise's tweed coat around you—so—andrunso you won't catch cold," and the two boys disappeared out of the front door, Dicky stumbling and struggling with the voluminous folds of his aunt's garment.
Dorothy and the other girls came down stairs in a few minutes.
"Do telephone to Aunt Marion's and see if Mother is there and ask her to come home," Dorothy begged Helen, while she gathered cloths and pans and went upstairs again, taking the maid with her.
"What did Dicky do?" asked the others again.
Both Ethels burst into laughter.
"He must have gone up in the attic and found Dorothy's clay, for he had filled up the waste pipe of the bath tub—"
"—and turned on the water, I'll bet!" exclaimed Tom.
"That's just what he did. It looks as if he'd been trying to float about everything he could find in any of the bedrooms."
"Probably he had a glorious time until the tub ran over and he didn't know how to stop it."
"Dicky's a great old man! I judge he didn't float himself!"
"Now Dorothy can finish her candlestick handle!"
ETHEL BLUE AWAITS A CABLE
MRS. SMITH begged that the meeting should not adjourn, and under her direction the trouble caused by Dicky's entrance into the navy was soon remedied, although it was evident that the ceiling of the dining-room would need the attention of a professional.
Roger soon returned with the news that the honorary member of the Club had taken no cold, and every one settled down to work again, even Dorothy, who rescued enough clay from Dicky's earthworks to complete the handle of her candlestick.
"I'd like to bring a matter before this meeting," said Tom seriously when they were all assembled and working once more.
"Bring it on," urged the president.
"It isn't a matter belonging to this Club, but if there isn't any one else to do it it seemed to me—and to Father when I spoke to him about it—that we might do some good."
"It sounds mysterious. Let's have it," said James.
"It seemed to me as I thought over those movies the other night that there was a very good chance that that man Schuler—your singing teacher, you know, Fräulein's betrothed—wasn't dead after all."
"It certainly looked like it—the way he fell back against the orderly—he didn't look alive."
"He didn't—that's a fact. At the same time the film made one of those sudden changes right at that instant."
"Father and I thought that was so a death scene shouldn't be shown," said James.
"That's possible, but it's also possible that they thought that was a good dramatic spot to leave that group of people and go off to another group."
"What's your idea? I don't suppose we could find out from the film people."
"Probably not. It would be too roundabout to try to get at their operator in Belgium and very likely he wouldn't remember if they did get in touch with him."
"He must be seeing sights like that all the time."
"Brother Edward suggested when he heard us talking about it that we should send a cable to Mademoiselle and ask her. She must have known Mr. Schuler here in the school at Rosemont."
"Certainly she did."
"Then she would have been interested enough in him to recall what happened when she came across him in the hospital."
"How could we get a message to her? We don't know where that hospital was. They don't tell the names of places even in newspaper messages, you know. They are headed 'From a town near the front.'"
"Here's where Edward had a great idea—that is, Father thought it was workable. See what you think of it."
The Club was growing excited. The Ethelsstopped working to listen, Helen's face flushed with interest, and the boys leaned across the table to hear the plan to which Rev. Herbert Watkins had given his approval. They knew that Tom's father, in his work among the poor foreigners in New York, often had to try to hunt up their relatives in Europe so that this would not be a matter of guesswork with him.
"It's pretty much guesswork in this war time," admitted Tom when some one suggested it. "You can merely send a cable and trust to luck that it will land somewhere. Here's Edward's idea. He says that the day we went to see Mademoiselle sail she told him that she was related to Monsieur Millerand, the French Minister of War. It was through her relationship with him that she expected to be sent where she wanted to go—that is, to Belgium."
"She was sent there, so her expectation seems to have had a good foundation."
"That's what makes Edward think that perhaps we can get in touch with her through the same means."
"Through Monsieur Millerand?"
"He suggests that we send a cable addressed to Mademoiselle—"
"Justine—"
"—Millerand in the care of Monsieur Millerand, Minister of War. We could say 'Is Schuler dead?' and sign it with some name she'd know in Rosemont. She'd understand at once that in some way news of his being in Belgium had reached here."
"It seems awfully uncertain."
"It is uncertain. Even if she got the cable she might not be able to send a reply. Everything is uncertain about it. At the same time if wecouldget an answer it would be a comfort to Fräulein even if the message said he had died."
"I believe that's so. It's not knowing that's hardest to bear."
"Don't you think Mademoiselle would have sent word to Fräulein if he had died?"
"I don't believe she knew they were engaged. No one knew until after the war had been going on for several weeks. If ever she wrote to any one in Rosemont she might mention having seen him, but I don't believe it would occur to her to send any special word to Fräulein."
"She might be put under suspicion if she addressed a letter to any one with a German name even if she lived in the United States."
"No one but Ethel Blue has had a letter from Mademoiselle since, she left," said Helen. "We should have heard of it, I'm sure."
"Well, what do you say to the plan? Can't we send a cable signed by the 'Secretary of the United Service Club'?"
"I think it would be a good use to put the Club money to," approved James, the treasurer.
"If you say so I'll send it when I get back to New York this afternoon. How shall we word it?"
"Mademoiselle Justine Millerand, Care Monsieur Millerand, Minister of War, Bordeaux, France," said Roger, slowly.
"Cut out 'Mademoiselle' and 'Monsieur,'" suggested Margaret. "We must remember that our remarks cost about a quarter a word in times of peace and war prices may be higher."
"Cut out 'of War,'" said Ethel Brown.
"There's only one 'Bordeaux,'" added Margaret.
"A dollar and a quarter saved already," said James thoughtfully. "Now let's have the message."
"What's the matter with Tom's original suggestion—'Is Schuler dead'?" asked Ethel Blue. "I suppose we must leave out the 'Mr.' if we are going to be economical."
"Sign it 'Morton, Secretary United Service Club, Rosemont.' I'll file Ethel Blue's address—at the cable office so the answer will be sent to her if one comes."
Ethel Blue looked somewhat agitated at the prospect of receiving a cable almost from the battlefield, but she said nothing.
"The United Service Club was the last group of people she saw in America, you see," Tom went on, "so Edward thinks she'll know at once whom the message comes from and she'll guess that the high school scholars want to know about their former teacher."
"I have a feeling in my bones that she'll get the message and that she'll answer," said Ethel Blue.
"If she doesn't get it we shan't have done any harm," mused Ethel Brown, "and if she does get it and answers then we shall have done a lot of good by getting the information for Fräulein."
"We needn't tell anybody about it outside of our families and then there won't be any expectations to be disappointed."
"It certainly would be best not to tell Fräulein."
"That's settled, then," said Tom, "and I'll send the message the moment I reach town this afternoon."
"It's the most thrilling thing I ever had anything to do with," Ethel Blue whispered.
LEATHER AND BRASS
THE following week was filled with expectation of a reply from Mademoiselle, but none came though every ring at the Mortons' doorbell was answered with the utmost promptness by one or another of the children who made a point of rushing to the door before Mary could reach it.
"I suppose we could hardly expect to have a reply," sighed Ethel Blue, "but it would have beensosplendiferous if it did come!"
Thanks to Dicky's escapade the last Saturday afternoon had been so broken in upon that the Club decided that they must have an all-day session on the next Saturday. Roger had promised to teach the others how to do the leather and brass work in which he had become quite expert, and he was talking to himself about it as he was dressing after doing his morning work.
"This business of working in leather for orphan children makes a noise like toil to me," he soliloquized. "But think of the joy of the kids when they receive a leather penwiper, though they aren't yet old enough to write, or a purse when they haven't any shekels to put into it!"
"Ro—ger," came a voice from a long way off.
"Let's go over to Dorothy's now," Roger called back as if it had been Ethel Brown who was late.
"I should say so! The Watkinses and Hancockssaid they'd be there at ten and it must be that now. I'll call Ethel Blue and Helen," and Ethel Brown's voice came from a greater distance than before.
The other girls were not to be discovered, however, and when Roger and Ethel arrived at Dorothy's they found all the rest waiting for them.