ok at it, breathless and proud.
Marjorie's hand crept into that of the little girl. "How good you are to
help me," she said softly, "when I had been so unkind to you."

"It was my work, too," said the little girl, "and I was glad to do
it;--and you were busy when I called to you."

"I was selfish," said Marjorie; "but I am sorry. Mayn't I help you to
fix your dress? I have pins, and it is hard for you to walk with it that
way; for you tread on it at every step, unless you carry the torn part."

And so, together, they pinned up the torn skirt; and then, with a loving
hand-clasp, the little girl went away up one road, and Marjorie and the
Dream turned to follow the other.

"I wish that she was going my way," said Marjorie, at last. "She is so
kind, and she didn't keep complaining and talking about how hard it was
to do her work, and how much she would rather do something else; and how
much pleasanter this road looks than the one she had to take; but she
was just loving and sunshiny and helpful."

And now they came to a place where there was a clump of wild roses
growing by the wayside, and Marjorie stopped and began to gather some.

"The thorns are troublesome, aren't they?" asked the Dream, presently.

"Yes," said Marjorie, "but these are only little scratches, and I don't
mind."

"But why are you gathering the roses?"

"Because there is nothing else to do just here, and I shall soon find
some one who will love to have them; and, besides, they will make me
happier, as I go along," and she buried her face in the pink petals.

After a time they came to where a little brook wandered across the road.
There had been stepping-stones, but some thoughtless youngsters had
taken them to one side and built a dam, which caused the water to back
up until the way was impassable, if one would cross dry-shod.

Marjorie stood and looked for a moment, and then turned toward the fence
where she saw that others had crossed by clinging to the boards. Then
she stopped, and laying her roses in the shadow of a clump of bushes,
she went to the little dam and began to loosen the stones. They proved
to be heavy and slippery, and well embedded in the mud; but she managed,
at the expense of wet feet and clothing, to dislodge them at last;--and
then came the task of carrying them to where the other stepping-stones
were. One she carried, and dropped it into exactly the right place, and
then another, and was just returning for a third, when