Each day after that Elizabeth insisted on venturing a little more. Olga could guess what it cost her--her blue lips and the terror in her eyes told that--but day after day she fought her battle over and would not be worsted. She learned to float, to tread water, and then, very, very slowly, she learned to swim a little. Laura, looking on, rejoiced over both the girls. Everybody was interested in this marvellous achievement of the Poor Thing--they spoke of her less often by that name now--but only Laura realised how much it meant to Olga too. The day that Elizabeth succeeded in swimming a few yards, Olga for the first time took her out on the water at sunset; she had never been willing to go before. Even now she stepped into the boat shrinkingly, the colour coming and going in her cheeks, but when she was seated, and the boat floating gently on the rose-tinted water, the tense lines faded slowly from her face, and at last she even smiled a little. "Well," said Olga, "are you still scared?" "A little--but not much. If I wasn't any afraid it would be lovely--like rocking in a big, big beautiful cradle," she ended dreamily. A swift glance assured Olga that they had drifted away from the other boats--there was no one within hearing. She leaned forward and looked straight into the eyes of the other girl. "Now I want to know what made you get over your fear of the water," she said. "Maybe I've not got over it--quite," Elizabeth parried. "What made you? Tell me!" Olga's tone was peremptory. "You," said Elizabeth. "I? But I didn't--I couldn't. I'd done my best, but I couldn't drag you into water above your knees--you know I couldn't. Somebody else did it," Olga declared, a spark flickering in her eyes. "Miss Laura talked to me that day you were off so long in the boat," Elizabeth admitted. "She told me I could get over being afraid. I didn't think I _could_ before--truly, Olga. I honestly thought I'd die if ever the water came up to my neck. I don't know how she did it--Miss Laura--but she made me see that I could get over being so awfully afraid--and I did." "You said _I_ did it," there was reproach as well as jealousy now in Olga's voice, "and it was Miss Laura." "O no, it was you really," Elizabeth cried hastily, "because I did it for you. I never could have--never in this world!--only Miss Laura said it would please you. I did it for you, Olga." "Hm," was Olga's only response, but now there was in her eyes something that the Poor Thing had never seen there before--a warm human friendliness that made Elizabeth radiantly happy. "There comes the war canoe," Olga cried a moment later. "How fast it comes--and how pretty the singing sounds!" Elizabeth returned. They watched the big canoe as it flashed by, the many paddles rising and falling as one, while a dozen young voices sang gaily,