The Outdoor Girls at the Hostess House | Page 7

had whispered to Grace as they brought up
the rear. "Did you ever see anybody of her age so full of life and
independence?"
And it was that same sturdy independence and humor that endeared her
to the girls in the days that followed and made them willing to do
anything in their power to help her.
There was some discussion at first as to where they could put their
unexpected guest, for all the rooms were full and a couple of unused
emergency cots seemed to be all the extra accommodations they could
find.
"I have it," cried Betty at last, with one of her inspirations. "Grace and I
will give up our room and bunk in with Amy and Mollie. That's where
the two extra cots will come in good."
The idea was applauded enthusiastically, and it took only a short time
of scurrying about to put it into action.
"But one thing we must remember," Betty cautioned the others, as they
surveyed their work with satisfaction. "We mustn't let our old lady
guess a word of what we've been doing."
"Oh, no, we mustn't," agreed Amy in alarm. "She'd be just as apt as
anything to put on her hat and leave us without a word."
"You know, it is going to be rather close quarters," sighed Grace, as
they turned to leave the room. "We won't be able to move without
falling over somebody's feet."

"You needn't look at mine," Mollie retorted with spirit. "Why is it that
whenever you make a disparaging remark you never fail to look at
me?"
"That's easy," Grace returned with a twinkle. "All you have to do is to
look in your mirror--"
"Oh dear, and I suggested it," mourned Betty, as they descended the
stairs arm in arm. "We'll have to give them the cots, Amy; it would be
murderous to let those two sleep together."
"Ah, 'tis a deep, dark plot," cried Mollie, staggering dramatically and
almost falling downstairs. "I see it all--they get the bed while we, poor
wretches that we are, toss our uneasy bones upon the cot--"
Amy screamed and Grace covered her ears.
"Goodness, what do you think this is--a ghost's retreat?" demanded the
latter, while Betty chuckled joyfully. "'Toss our uneasy bones,' indeed!"
"Does sound kind of grizzly, doesn't it?" Mollie admitted. "Just the
same, I wager that's what Betty intended."
"Mollie, you wrong me!" cried Betty in dismay. "I was simply trying to
avoid a tragedy. But, if you're going to toss bones, anyway, you might
as well do it in comfort; so--"
"Oh, you goose," cried Mollie affectionately, and in this manner they
entered the den where Mrs. Watson was entertaining, or being
entertained by, the little old woman.
The girls immediately took possession of the latter and joyfully
escorted her to the upper floor to look over her new quarters.
"My, isn't this fine!" exclaimed the guest, her face lighting up happily.
"A beautiful big bed and three fine windows to see the soldier boys
from. Are you sure," she added, glancing from one to the other of the
four eager faces suspiciously, "that I'm not putting you out? Because, if

I am--"
"Why of course you're not," Betty fibbed stoutly, adding, with a swift
change of subject: "But I'm sure now that you would like to rest. Look,"
she added, with quick solicitude, as she saw how white the old lady had
become, "your hands are trembling--"
"No, no, no," disclaimed the little old woman impatiently, as she gazed
with set face out of the window that faced upon the parade. "I'm a little
cold. And--that boy--" She pointed with quivering finger at a sturdy,
khaki-clad figure, swinging happily over the parade in the direction of
the mess-hall, "He--he reminded me--"
"Yes," they cried, crowding about her solicitously, while Betty pushed
a chair toward the window and gently forced her into it.
"He--he was--just like--" The slight form was shaking and the words
forced themselves from between her chattering teeth, "what my Willie
boy would have been now--if he hadn't--run away. My little son! My
baby!"
CHAPTER IV
MRS. SANDERSON'S STORY
Tears were not only in her eyes now, but running down her wrinkled
old face, and the girls, with the tears of real pity in their own eyes,
crowded closer about her.
"Would it help," Betty suggested gently, "if you told us about it?"
The old lady drew her gaze from the window and let it rest on the sweet,
sympathetic young face, and she nodded slowly.
"I guess maybe it would," she agreed, taking a handkerchief from the
pocket in her dress and wiping her eyes. "You see, I never have told
anybody for years and years, and if it hadn't been for this war I suppose
I should