“But I shall never love it as I did that one,” and tears were in the voice.  “Besides, think of all the lovely time we had at the presentation!”

“Now come,” softly ordered the tall girl.  “No use prowling around here, we can’t see anything with matches.  I promise you, Margaret, you shall have another badge in time for the rally if we do not find this,” and reluctantly the party of searchers turned again in the direction of the village.

Watching their opportunity, the two mill girls came out from the shadows of the high fence they had been trusting to shield them from the view of the scouts.  With quickened step they now turned again towards the station.

“Dear me!” exclaimed Tessie.  “Haven’t we had awful luck for a start?  Hope it won’t follow us along.”

“Well, the more we delay the more I want to go back home,” Dagmar replied rather timidly.  “Tessie, I am afraid I will not be able to look at things your way.  I seem to have different ideas.”

“Now, Daggie.  Don’t go getting scary.  I don’t care whether you think my way or not.  I won’t fight about it.  Let’s hurry,” and with renewed protestations of real companionship, the older girl grasped the arm of the younger, as if fearful of losing her hold on the other’s confidence.

“Oh, please don’t call me Daggie,” objected Dagmar, freeing herself from the rather too securely pressed arm grasp.  “You know how I hate that.  Always makes me feel like a daggar.  Call me Marrie.  That’s American, and I am an American, you know.”

“All right, little Liberty.  I’ll call you Georgianna Washington if you say so, Marrie.  That’s like putting on airs for Marie.  But just as you say,” evidently willing to make any concession to have the younger girl accept her own terms.

“Wait!  My foot struck something,” exclaimed Dagmar, just reaching the spot where burnt matches left the trail of the girl scout searchers.  “There, I found the badge.”

“Oh, let’s look!  Is it gold?” They stopped under the street lamp to examine the trinket.

“No, it isn’t gold, I think, but isn’t it pretty?”

“Kinda,” urging Dagmar along.  “Say, kid, what is this anyway?  A stopover we’ve Struck?  Are we going tonight or some other night?”

“I’ll have to give this badge back.”

“Why will you?  Didn’t you find it?  Isn’t it yours?”

“Of course not.  It belongs to the girl who lost it.”

“Oh, I see.  That’s why I should call you Georgianna Washington,” with a note of scorn in her voice.  “Well, if you want to go back, and get some one to go out ringing the town bell with you, you may find the nice little girl scout who lost her baby badge.  As for me—­I’m going.”

Sheer contempt now sounded unmistakably in the voice of the girl called Tessie.  She shook herself free from Dagmar, and darted ahead with determination long delayed, and consequently more forceful.