"But, Emmeline Camp, what are you going to do with her all that time?"
The second voice was a little shrill.

"Sh! I'm goin' to doctor her up, just as if she was the little girl the
Lord never gave me. I've always known what I'd do if my little girl
broke anything--There! you'll have to excuse me, Mrs. Williams, while
I take this cup o'tea in."

It is odd how many little confidences can be exchanged in the time of
cooling and drinking a cup of tea. The caller had gone away, and the old
woman and the girl were left alone. Little by little the story of the
B-Hive and the quest for an Eldorado came out. Emmeline Camp sat and
nodded, and clandestinely wiped her eyes.

"I see--I see, deary! Now, don't you talk any more and get faint again.
I'll talk. You no need to worry about anything in the world--not yet!
When it's time to commence, I'll tell you. How does your foot feel now?
Dear, dear! When I was fussing over it, it seemed just as if it was my
little Amelia's foot! I've always known what I'd do if she sprained
hers, and so I did it to yours, deary!"

"Is Amelia your daughter?"

The old face wavered between a smile and tears. "Yes," she nodded, "but
she warn't ever born. It's a kind of a secret between me and the Lord.
He knows I've made believe Amelia. I've always been kind of lonesome,
an' she's been a sight of company to me. She's been a good daughter,
Amelia has!" Now it was a smile. "We've set an' sewed patchwork
together, ever since she grew up. When she was little--there, deary,
hear me run on! But you remind me so much of Amelia. You can laugh just