Elizabeth stared, her mouth half open, her eyes widened in incredulous wonder. “But—but,” she faltered, “I guess there’s some mistake. Just housework and things like that ain’t anything to get beads for—are they?”
“They are that! I tell you Mrs. Royall will give you twelve honours and twelve yellow beads at the next Council Fire, and if you half try you can win some blue and brown and red ones too before that, and you’ve just got to do it. Do you understand?”
The other nodded, her eyes full of dumb misery. Then she began to whimper, “I—I—can’t ever do things like you and the rest do,” she moaned.
“Why not? You can walk, can’t you?”
“W—walk?”
“Yes—walk! Didn’t hurt you to walk to the village yesterday, did it?”
“No—but I couldn’t go—alone.”
“Who said anything about going alone? You’ll walk to Slabtown and back with me to-morrow.”
“O, I’d like that—with you,” said the Poor Thing, brightening.
Olga gave an impatient sniff. Sometimes she almost hated Elizabeth—almost but not quite.