lizabeth in the making of a
headband of beadwork, but though she evidently liked to handle the
bright-coloured beads, she would not try to do the work herself.

"I can't. I can't do things like that," she said with gentle
indifference, her eyes wandering off in search of Olga.

The next day, however, Laura came to Anne Wentworth, her eyes shining.
"O Anne, what _do_ you think?" she cried. "Olga had Elizabeth in wading
this morning. Isn't that fine?"

"Fine indeed--for a beginning. It shows what Olga might do with her if
she would."

"Yes, for she was so cross with her! I wondered that Elizabeth did not
go away and leave her. No other girl in camp would let Olga speak to her
as she speaks to that Poor Thing."

"No, the others are not Poor Things, you see--that makes all the
difference. But that Olga should take the trouble to make Elizabeth do
anything is a big step in advance--for Olga."

"There is splendid material in Olga, Anne--I am sure of it," Laura
returned.

There was splendid persistence in her, anyhow. She had undertaken to
overcome Elizabeth's fear of the water, but it was a harder task than
she had imagined. She did make the Poor Thing wade--clinging tightly to
Olga's fingers all the time--but further than that she could not lead
her. Day after day Elizabeth would stand shivering and trembling in
water up to her knees, her cheeks so white and her lips so blue that
Olga dared not compel her to go further. Yet day after day Olga made her
wade in that far at least; not once would she allow her to omit it.

One day she sat for a long time looking gravely at the Poor Thing, who
flushed and paled nervously under that steady silent scrutiny. At last
Olga said abruptly, "What do you like best, Elizabeth?"

"Like--best----" Elizabeth faltered uncertainly.

Olga frowned and repeated her question.

Elizabeth shook her head slowly. "I--I like Molly. And the other
children--a little."

"You mean your brothers and sisters?"

Elizabeth nodded.

"Which is Molly?"

"The littlest one. She's four, and she's real pretty," Elizabeth
declared proudly. "She's prettier than Annie Pearson."

"Yes, but what do you yourself like?" Olga persisted. "What would you
like to have--pretty dresses, ribbons--what?"

"I--I never thought," was the vague reply.

Again Olga's brows met in a frown that made the Poor Thing shrink and
tremble. She brought out her necklace and tossed it into the other
girl's lap.

"Think that