“That’s the kind of thing Dagmar likes,” she told herself.  “Pity some movie man couldn’t get that picture.  It would go fine at a Sunday School mixup.”

This last was another thrust at organized authority, but the thought of Dagmar recalled the scout badge.

“Humph!” she scoffed.  “Guess I could fool them if I wanted to.  I’ll bet none of them has this grand marshall headlight!”

Her hand was on the little bag wherein lay that badge.  Its pin was entangled in threads of torn handkerchiefs, and its pretty clover leaf was enameled with caked face powder and candy dust.

For a few moments she considered slipping her hand in the bag and quickly pinning the badge on her pretty rose-colored sweater.  Then she could walk over to the drilling troop, and introduce herself as a visiting scout, sure to be made welcome in Elmhurst.

“But they might catch me on their sign language,” she decided.  “Guess I better wait until I get on to some of their deaf and dumb stuff.”

So for the moment she was saved, but the temptation was too alluring to be easily vanquished.  It was certain to return, and that in an hour when seeming necessity offered a more urgent excuse for its fulfillment.  The scout badge in hands unconsecrated was like a holy thing surrounded by evil—­it would maintain its own pure character unsullied, but evil mocked it—­and the good, like a frightened little fairy, hid itself deep in girl-scout idealism, waiting for rescue.

Tessie was restive and unhappy.  She had failed to gain by all her risks and daring adventure.  Not only had she lost her place, but she had likewise lost her companions, and while unwilling to admit it the girl felt keenly the separation from Dagmar.

“All the same,” she declared, taking a last look at the girls in their brown uniforms on the green square, “I’ll be one of them some day.  They don’t have to be too particular about girls they are supposed to help.  I’ll give them a good chance to help little old Tessie,” and with that prophetic statement, more important to her than the unhappy girl had any way of guessing, Tessie tried for one more “place” to earn a little more money, that she might eventually make her way toward a big city.

CHAPTER XIII

BROKEN FAITH

Following the directions given in her little printed slip cut from the “Help Wanted” column in the Leader, Tessie had no trouble in finding the place offered in such glowing terms.  Every sort of inducement was held out in the printed lines, for obtaining help was a problem affording the most original methods of advertising, and each month wages seemed to climb another round in the ladder of higher salaries.  The term “wages” went by the boards when the fifty-dollar-a-month notch was knocked in prosperity’s payroll.

The position, it was not the old time “situation,” demanded little of the applicant in the way of reference, and Tessie, already wise in her new craft-knew well a telephone call from Mrs. Elmwood to Mrs. Appleton would be sufficient guarantee of her honesty.  She had been strictly honest even to the point of picking up a few scattered dimes, ostensibly dropped accidently, but really set down as “bait” to test her honesty.  She was also very wise for so inexperienced a girl.