them. She had learned from the girls of her own set in school that when a newcomer took particular care to advise them how rich she was, her mates usually dubbed her a snob. So she only told of her great loss in the death of her father, how Dick, her older brother, had injured his knee in an accident and was an invalid, and how she liked her new home.

In the companionship of this new girl she scarcely realized how quickly the time had passed until she saw her mother’s anxious face bending over her, and heard a masculine voice say, “Well, is this the young lady who reached too high?”

Nathalie looked quickly up and immediately her heart went out to this big, bluff man with iron-gray hair and kindly blue eyes who picked her up as if she had been a manikin, carried her into the hall, and laid her on the couch. She recognized the face of the doctor who lived on the opposite corner whom she had often envied as he went chugging down the street in his automobile.

After the doctor had pressed her foot here and there with a touch as soft as silk from the gentleness of trained fingers, he brought forth some surgical plaster from a black case, and strapped the injured member, remarking as he did so on the surgeon-like way in which Miss Dame had bandaged it.

After the “exam,” as Dick called it, was over, the doctor explained the case as a few strained ligaments, and said that with care his patient would be able to walk in about a week.

“A week?” sprang from the young girl involuntarily. Dismay shone in her eyes, but the doctor, with a fatherly pat, assured her that she had great cause for gratitude, as it might have been much worse.

“The next time you go to gather dogwood blossoms, young lady,” he advised jovially, “wear rubber heels, and then you won’t slip on stones.”

As the doctor bade her good afternoon, promising to come again in a few days to see how the foot was progressing, Nathalie thought of her rescuers, and raising her head peered anxiously around.

“The girls have gone, but they left a good-by for you,” her mother answered to her look of inquiry, “and Miss Dame says she will be in to-morrow to see how you are.”

By to-morrow Nathalie had begun to think it was not at all unpleasant to be a short-time invalid, and she jokingly requested her mother to see that her head was not screwed around from sheer conceit at being the recipient of so much attention.

Mrs. Morrow, the doctor’s young wife, had sent her a beautiful bunch of yellow daffodils from the very garden that Nathalie had been admiring all the week, while the little, silver-haired old lady next door—Nathalie could have hugged her, she looked so grand-motherly—had sent her a snow-frosted nut-cake. Lucille—an unheard-of thing—had condescended to alight from her pedestal of self and had played and sung Nathalie’s favorite selections all the morning. Even Dorothy, whose engagement book was always brimming over, had darned stockings for her. Of course, Nathalie knew that she would have to rip out every stitch, but that was the child’s way of showing that she, too, wanted to be sympathetic and kind.

The success of the day, however, was when Helen Dame’s dark eyes smiled at her from the adjoining porch, and she asked if Nathalie felt like chatting for a while.

“Indeed I do,” answered Nathalie animatedly, “I have been just dying to talk with you ever since you were so kind.”

“Oh, how sweet you look!” exclaimed Helen a few moments later as she shook hands with the patient, “with your pink ribbons—just the color of your cheeks.” For the girl’s color had deepened as her visitor laid a bunch of violets on her lap. “These are from the girls, the Girl Pioneers—that is our Pioneer song,” she added laughingly.

“I just love violets!” Nathalie sniffed at the purple petals. “And the girls, do you mean the ones who so kindly came to my aid the other day? Oh, Miss Dame, I hardly know how to express my appreciation of your kindness,” her voice trembled slightly, “in hurrying home to tell Mother.”

“Oh, that was nothing,” replied Helen with assumed indifference, although her eyes darkened in appreciation of Nathalie’s gratefulness, “that was only courtesy; you know we are Girl Pioneers, and kindness is one of the laws of the organization.”

“Do you know,” Nathalie broke in impulsively, “Mother thinks the girls very clever in making that stretcher; do tell me about the Girl Pioneers!” She hesitated for a moment. “Perhaps I am very ignorant, but I never heard of them until your mother told mine that you were a Girl Pioneer.”

Helen laughed with a gratified gleam in her eyes. “Oh, Mother!—she thinks it just the dandiest thing going. Mrs. Morrow, our Director, introduced the movement here. The founder is a friend of hers, so she is steeped to her finger-tips with it.

“She started me going—enthusiasm is contagious, you know—and I organized the first group. A group means six or eight girls; several groups form what is called a band.”

“Do you mean Mrs. Morrow, the doctor’s wife?” inquired her companion. “She must be lovely, for she looks so pretty flitting about the garden,” turning wistful eyes toward the corner house with its flower beds and green lawn. “I often watch her from my window.”

“Yes, she is a dear,” assented Helen, “and we girls adore her. Have you seen the twins?”

“The kiddies who go about in khaki uniforms and carry little poles.”

“Yes, baby Boy Scouts. You should hear them call themselves ‘the twims’; they both lisp. But there, I must tell you about the Pioneers—but I don’t want to tire you,” she paused abruptly, “for Mother says there is no end to me when I get talking on that subject.”

“But I want to hear about them!” pleaded Nathalie.

“Well, after I organized the group, the girls elected me leader, and Grace Tyson—that’s the girl who walked beside you coming home—my assistant. You see every group has to have a leader and an assistant from the group, and then when a band is formed there is a Director. Any one over twenty-one years of age can be a Director. After we formed our group, we had to get busy and qualify.”

“Qualify?” repeated her hostess, “that sounds big.”

“Yes, every Girl Pioneer has to qualify, that is to pass several tests to prove that she is competent to do the work. It is no end of fun training a girl to qualify, for you know she has to recite the Girl Pioneer pledge, and the Pioneer laws; she must give the names of the President and Vice-President of the United States, the name of the Governor of the State in which she lives, and then tell all about our country’s flag. She must know how to sew a button on properly,” Helen made a grimace, “to tie a square knot and to do several other things. After a girl has passed these tests, she becomes a third-class Pioneer; then after a month she can qualify for a second-class Pioneer, and finally for a first-class Pioneer. We can win merit badges, too, for proficiency in certain lines. Yes, you are right, it is a big thing to be a Girl Pioneer, for every true Pioneer’s aim is to be courageous, resourceful, and upright, under all circumstances and in all emergencies.

“You know, we have to pledge ourselves to speak the truth at all times, to be honest in all things, and to obey the Pioneer law.” Helen’s face grew serious. “Yes, and our laws mean something, too, for they stand for the doing of things that are worth while, the things that develop nobility of character, for, as Mrs. Morrow tells us, it is character that makes the