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.”