herself, and in spirit she always embraced and kissed Elška for her friendship, though in reality she timidly refrained from expressing, as she longed to do, her fervent feeling.
When they were running about on the meadow and Elška’s braid became loosened Bára pleaded: “Elška, let me braid it. You have hair as fine as flax. I love to braid it.” At her willing consent, Bára delighted to play with the soft strands of hair and admire its beauty. After plaiting it, she pulled down her own braid and, placing it beside Elška’s, said, “What a difference.” True enough, Elška’s hair beside Bára’s resembled gold beside hardened steel. But yet Elška was not satisfied with it and wished she might have hair that was black like Bára’s.
Sometimes when Elška came over to Bára’s and they were certain that no one saw them they went in bathing. Elška, however, was timid, and no matter how much Bára assured her that nothing would happen and that she’d hold her and teach her to swim, still she would never go into water deeper than to her knees. After their bath Bára liked to wipe Elška’s feet with her coarse apron and, clasping the tiny white feet in her strong palms, she kissed them and said with laughter: “Lord, but your feet are tender and small! What would happen if you had to walk barefoot. Look!” she added, comparing her own sun-browned, bruised feet full of callouses with Elška’s dainty white ones.
“Doesn’t it hurt you?” asked Elška, rubbing her
