The table and a chair were carried to the birches still green, growing in one corner of the grass-plat, and here Zan wove the banding, her nimble fingers flying in and out, back and forth, as the bead trimming began to take on unique and pretty pictures of camp-life.
Now and then some of the other girls would join Zan and work on the looms, and at these visits tongues would talk of the many plans for Tribe activities that Winter.
“Do you see any improvement in Eleanor?” asked Jane, one day.
“Funny that you should ask me that. I asked Miss Miller the same thing this morning,” replied Zan.
“What did she say?” from Jane.
“She thought the change wrought for the better was more mental and spiritual than in material expression, but the results were bound to be apparent to everyone in time.”
“Guess it will be a long time, then!” retorted Jane.
“Miss Miller says we mustn’t feel that way about it. That we are killing the frail child of a weak but higher aspiration. If we train our thoughts to consider the motives and yearnings for a more harmonious life that the girl must have, we will not condemn and criticise her acts. It is the human judgment of things that makes obstacles in the road of one’s advancement, she told me.”
“Dear me, I wish I was as good and wise as Miss Miller,” sighed Jane, gazing skyward.
“Say, you’re not the only one holding a mortgage on that wish! Every blessed girl of Wako Tribe tries to copy the model Guide,” said Zan, smilingly, as she remembered Fiji’s words: “If you knew as much as your Guide, what a wonderful sister you would be.”