“Nobody wants to drive him away,” retorted Louise, lifting him by his long ears, “unless maybe Rose,” she added, with a teasing glance over her shoulder. “You know Rose doesn’t care for big furry things.”
“Well, I guess,” protested Rose, “if he had flopped into your face all dripping wet, in the dark, as he did into mine last night, you wouldn’t have stopped to measure him before you yelled, any more than I did. He felt as big as—a wildcat, so there!” and Rose turned away with flushed cheeks, followed by shouts of teasing laughter.
“It’s—too bad. I’d have been scared too,” said a low voice, and Rose, turning, stared in amazement at the Poor Thing—the Poor Thing—for almost the first time since she came to camp, volunteering a remark.
“Why—why, you Po—Elizabeth!” Rose stammered, and then suddenly she slipped her arm around Elizabeth’s waist and drew her off to the hammock behind the pines. “Come,” she said, “I want to tell you about it. The girls are all laughing at me—especially Louise Johnson—but it wasn’t any laughing matter to me last night. I was scared stiff—truly I was!” She poured the story of her experiences into the other girl’s ears. The fact that Elizabeth said nothing made no difference to Rose. She felt the silent sympathy and was comforted. When she had talked herself out, Elizabeth slipped away and sought Olga, but Olga was nowhere to be found—not in the camp nor on the beach, but one of the boats was missing, and at last a girl told Elizabeth that she had seen Olga go off alone in it. That meant an age of anxious watching and waiting for the Poor Thing. She never could get over her horror of the treacherous blue water. To her it was a great restless monster forever reaching out after some living thing to clutch and drag down into its cruel bosom. It was agony to her to see Olga swim and dive; hardly less agony to see her go off in a boat or canoe. Always Elizabeth was sure that this time she would not come back.
| We pull long, we pull strong, | A dip now--a foaming prow | |||
| We pull keen and true; | Through waters so blue | |||
| We sing to the king of the great black rocks | ||||
| Through waters we glide like a long-tailed fox | ||||
She had put on her bathing suit, for Olga still made her wade every morning, and she wandered forlornly along the beach, and finally ventured a little way into the water. It was horrible to do even that alone, but she had promised, and she must do it even if Olga was not there to know. A troop of girls in bathing suits came racing down to the beach, Anne and Laura following them.
“What—who is that standing out in the water all alone?” demanded Anne Wentworth, who was a little near-sighted.
Annie Pearson broke into a peal of laughter. “It’s that Poor Thing,” she cried. “Did you ever see such a forlorn figure!”