More Than Conqueror (Musaicum Romance Classics). Grace Livingston Hill
up every needle and pin he could find in the place and drove them into the cake of soap they gave him to play with—the idea! Soap! For a baby! And scarce as soap is now in wartimes!"
"Well, but soap ought not to make needles blunt," said Mrs. Felton.
"Oh, he didn't stop at the soap," said Mrs. Noyes, with a sniff. "He had a toy hammer with him, and when he got his cake of soap all full he started in on the table and the floor and tried a few on the wheel of the sewing machine. I declare, I got so nervous I thought I should fly. I was so glad when she decided she had to take her child home for his lunch. I don't know why he needed any lunch, though. He had bread and butter and sticky cake and chocolate candy and a banana along, and he just ate continually, and kept coming around and leaning over my sewing and smearing it with grease and chocolate. I had to take that little nightgown I was working on home and wash it out before I could hand it in. I don't think we ought to allow women to bring their children along. They're an awful hindrance."
"But some women couldn't come without them. They have no one to leave them with at home," said another good woman.
"Let them take their children to the nursery then," said Mrs. Noyes, with a pin in her mouth. "Mrs. Harper thinks her child is too good to go to a nursery with the other children!"
"What I want to know is, what are we going to do about those needles?" said Anne Houghton. "Here I am ready to sew, and no needles!"
"I think I'll call up Blythe Bonniwell and ask what she did with them," said Mrs. Felton. "I've looked simply everywhere, and I can't find them. She must have taken them home with her."
And without further ado Mrs. Felton went to the telephone, while all the room full of ladies sat silent, listening to see what would happen.
"What did you do with the new needles last night, Blythe?" asked Mrs. Felton severely, getting so close to the phone that her voice was sharp and rasping. "I've looked simply everywhere for them. And you know we can't work without needles. You must have taken them home with you."
"The needles? Why, no, Mrs. Felton, I didn't take them home. They are right there on the shelf where you had them before," said Blythe pleasantly.
"The shelf?" said Mrs. Felton more sharply. "What shelf?"
"Why, the shelf right over where you were sitting yesterday, Mrs. Felton."
"Well, you're mistaken, Miss Bonniwell. There isn't a needle in sight, and I'm looking right at the shelf."
"Oh, Mrs. Felton. But I'm sure I put them right there in plain sight. Someone must have moved them."
"No," said Mrs. Felton coldly. "No one could have moved them, for there hasn't been anyone here to move them, and we have looked just everywhere. I wish you would come right over and find them. You know we have simply got to have those needles, for there is not another one to be had in this town, and we haven't any of us time to go into the city after them. You know needles are scarce these days. I wish you'd look in your handbag and see if you didn't take them home with you."
"No, I didn't bring them home," said Blythe decidedly. "I know I didn't."
"Very well then, come over here at once and find those needles! I shall hold you personally responsible for them."
"All right," said Blythe indignantly. "I'll be right over!"
So Blythe caught up her hat and coat, snatched her handbag from the bureau where she had put it last night when she came in, and hurried away, calling to Susan that she was going to her Red Cross work.
When she walked into the Red Cross room, the ladies were all sitting there in various stages of obvious impatience. They had purposely so arranged themselves for a rebuke as soon as Anne Houghton announced, "There she comes at last! My word! It is high time!"
But Blythe was anything but rebuked as she entered with that delightful radiance on her happy face, for she had been thinking about her new joy all the way down, and her thoughts had lent wings to her feet.
So, as she entered, the ladies sat in a row and blinked, for perhaps the brightness of her face dazzled them for an instant.
"Well, so you've come at last!" said Mrs. Bruce disagreeably. "Now, get to work, and find those needles if you can. We've looked everywhere."
Blythe's glance went swiftly to the shelf over Mrs. Bruce's head.
"But—why, there they are! Just where I told you they were!" she said triumphantly.
"What do you mean?" snapped Mrs. Felton. "I don't see any needles."
"Why, in that blue box. Don't you remember, we took the whole box because we were afraid we wouldn't be able to get more later when we needed them."
"That blue box?" said Mrs. Felton, jumping up and going over to seize the box from the shelf. "Why I supposed those were safety pins. I don't understand."
She took down the box and opened it, and her face took on a look of utter amazement.
"My word!" she said slowly. "I certainly don't understand. I supposed, of course, these were safety pins that Mrs. Huyler brought. Well, then, where are they?"
"She took them home again when she found this wasn't a nursery," said Mrs. Bruce grimly. "She said she would take them to a place she knew needed them."
"Well, upon my word!" said Mrs. Felton again. "I guess you're right, and I was the one to blame. I certainly ask your pardon, Blythe."
"Oh, that's all right," laughed Blythe, swinging off her coat and hat and taking the first empty chair that presented itself. "Now, where do I begin? Do you need more buttonholes made, or shall I run a machine?"
"Make buttonholes," snapped Anne, handing over the baby's nightgown she had been set to finish. "I just hate them, and anyway, I always make them crooked. I don't see why poor babies have to have buttonholes anyway. Why can't they use safety pins? I'd rather buy a gross of them and donate them than have to make a single buttonhole."
"Oh, I don't mind buttonholes," said Blythe pleasantly. "That was one thing I learned to do when I was a little girl. We had a seamstress who made beautiful ones, and she taught me."
"Well, I'm sure you're welcome to do them all for me," said Anne disagreeably.
And it was just then that the telephone rang, and Anne, being on her feet, answered it. She always liked to answer the phone. It gave her a line to other people's business, and that was usually interesting.
"Yes?" she drawled as she took down the receiver. "Red Cross Sewing Class. "Who? Who did you say? Miss Bonniwell? Yes, she's here. Who shall I say wants her?"
But Blythe, with cheeks like lovely roses, was on her feet beside the telephone.
"I'll take it," she said smiling, as she gathered the receiver into her hand.
"Well, you needn't snatch it so," said Anne, turning angrily away just as she was trying to identify the voice as Dan Seaver's.
"Oh, I'm sorry," said Blythe, her cheeks flaming crimson. "I didn't mean to snatch."
But Anne turned away with her head held high and went over to select a needle for her own use.
So the room held its breath to listen to the telephone conversation.
"Yes?" said Blythe quietly into the instrument, though she couldn't keep the lilt out of her voice, for she hoped she knew just who was calling her, though, of course, it might be her mother or Susan from home.
"Is that you, Blythe?" The voice on the wire was cautious, tentative.
"It certainly is," said Blythe, with a light ripple of a laugh.
"Are you alone?" Again the voice was very guarded, low. Even the most attentive listener could not have understood what came from the other end of the wire, for Blythe was cupping her hand about the receiver, which was most annoying to Mrs. Bruce. She severely shook her head at Mrs. Felton, who ventured to interrupt the performance by asking a question about which buttons were to go on the little nightgowns they were