“So you want me to come to your show, do you?” said Mr. Harriman.
Girl Scouts Series, Volume 2
THE GIRL SCOUTS RALLY
or
ROSANNA WINS
BY
Katherine Keene Galt
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
CHICAGO—AKRON, OHIO—NEW YORK
MADE IN U. S. A.
Copyright, 1921, by
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
| THE GIRL SCOUTS SERIES |
| 1 THE GIRL SCOUTS AT HOME |
| 2 THE GIRL SCOUTS RALLY |
| 3 THE GIRL SCOUT’S TRIUMPH |
THE GIRL SCOUTS RALLY
Three little girls sat in a row on the top step ofa beautiful home in Louisville. At the right wasa dark-haired, fairylike child on whose docked haira velvet berét, or French officer’s cap, sat jauntily.Her dark eyes were round and thoughtful as shegazed into space. There was a little wrinkle betweenher curved black brows.
Beside her, busily knitting on a long red scarf,sat a sparkling little girl whose hazel eyes dancedunder a fringe of blond curls. Her dainty motionsand her pretty way of tossing back her beautifulhair caused people to stop and look at her as theypassed, but Elise was all unconscious of their admiration.Indeed, she was almost too shy, and fewknew how full of fun and laughter she could be.
The third girl wore a businesslike beaver hat overher blond docked hair, and her great eyes, blue andsteady, were levelled across Elise, who knitted onin silence, to the dark girl in the velvet cap.
Helen Culver spoke at last. “Well, Rosanna,2what are you thinking? Have you any plan atall?”
The dark child spoke. “No, Helen, I can’t thinkof a thing. It makes me so provoked!”
“Tell me, will you not?” asked Elise in herpretty broken English. She was trying so hard tospeak like Rosanna and Helen that she couldscarcely be prevailed upon to say anything inFrench.
Many months had passed since Elise, in the careof the kind ladies of the American Red Cross, hadcome over from France to her adopted guardian,young Mr. Horton. She had grown to be quiteAmerican during that time, and was very proudof her attainments. The dark and dreadful pastwas indeed far behind, and while she sometimeswept for her dear grandmother, who had died inMr. Horton’s tender arms in the old château athome, she loved her foster mother, Mrs. Hargrave,with all her heart. And with Elise laughing anddancing through it, the great old Hargrave housewas changed indeed. While Elise was crossing theocean, Mrs. Hargrave had fitted up three roomsfor her. There was a sitting-room, that was likethe sunny outdoors, with its dainty floweredchintzes, its ivory wicker furniture, its plants andcanaries singing in wi