The Project Gutenberg eBook, By the Roadside, by Katherine M. Yates

Title: By the Roadside

Author: Katherine M. Yates

Release Date: May 17, 2006 [eBook #18409]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BY THE ROADSIDE***

E-text prepared by Roger Frank
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net/)

Copyright, 1908
by
KATHERINE M. YATES

"It's time to go to work," said the little brown Dream.

"I'm not ready to go to work," said Marjorie, crossly, turning over and snuggling her head more comfortably into her pillow.

The Dream said nothing. He only sat on the foot-board and swung his feet.

By and by Marjorie turned over again,—and then again,—and then at last she sat up, exclaiming angrily: "I wish you wouldn't bother me! I want to go to sleep."

"Well," said the Dream, "how am I preventing you from sleeping?"

"You said it was time to go to work."

"That was half an hour ago," said the Dream. "I haven't spoken since."

"That doesn't make any difference," said Marjorie. "When you once say a thing that I know is true, it stays with me, and you might as well keep shouting it all the time as to have said it once;—I can't get away from it."

"If it is true, why do you want to get away from it?" asked the Dream.

"Because—" Marjorie hesitated, "—because I'm sleepy," she said petulantly.

"There are ever so many sleepy folks in this world," observed the Dream.

"Then one more can't make much difference," said Marjorie.

"That's what the others think,—and that's why there are so many. Suppose every one thought that!"

Marjorie pondered for a moment,—then she laughed. "Just think what a great big alarm-clock it would take to wake them all up!" she said.

The Dream rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "An alarm-clock is a pretty noisy article," he observed, "and it never says anything; and besides, I don't like its name. But one good, wide-awake person—" he looked directly at Marjorie, "—one good, wide-awake person could waken a very great many people—if he wanted to. But go on to sleep if you choose. I won't bother you."

"I'm not sleepy any more," said Marjorie; "and anyway, I slept only a little while after you spoke."

The Dream nodded. "Only a little while,—just long enough to let your work pass you by."

"My work?" exclaimed Marjorie. "Why, I hadn't anything in particular to do!"

"Every one has something in particular to do," said the Dream, "if he has his hand ready;—but yours wasn't,—it was under your cheek."

"What was the work?" asked Marjorie.

The Dream pointed up the long hill in front of them; and away, almost at the top, she saw a little girl lifting a basket from the roadside, where she had set it while she was resting. It was a large, heavy basket with a handle at each end, and so it was awkward for one to carry alone. Marjorie started forward impulsively; but the Dream did not stir. "Wait," he said, "you cannot catch up with her now, before she reaches the top of the hill; it is only a little way farther."

"But," cried Marjorie, "I can help her then! That basket must be hard to carry, even on level ground."

"She lives at the top of the hill," said the Dream, quietly. "She has no farther to carry it."

Marjorie bit her lip. "And she was right here when you first spoke?"

"Yes," said the Dream, "she was right here."

"But I didn't see her," protested Marjorie.

"You weren't looking for her," said the Dream.

"I'm sorry," said Marjorie, "but—but—" searching vainly for an excuse; and then a little virtuous tone coming into her voice; "—as likely as not she is better off for having carried it alone,—stronger, you know,—more experienced,—" this last rather lamely, for the Dream was looking at her fixedly. "Don't you think so?" she asked presently, as the Dream made no reply.

"I think," he said at last, "that there was Some One, a long time ago, who spent His entire life helping others, wisely."

"And I suppose you think that I ought to have taken the whole basket and lugged it up the hill for her, and let her walk along and carry her hands!" exclaimed Marjorie, angrily.

"No," said the Dream, "not unless, for some reason, you thought that you ought to. You are not arguing honestly. You are not called upon to do one thing more than you think, honestly, that you ought to. No more than that is your work."

"But I could make myself think—" began Marjorie.

"I said honestly," said the Dream. "It isn't honest to make yourself think anything."

"But mustn't I study about it, and try—"

"Cer-tain-ly! Study about it carefully; but do it fairly. Don't take what some one else says that you 'ought' to do, and try to shave yourself down to fit it. Study it out and think it out for yourself; and then if the other fellow's opinion seems wise, follow it;—and if it doesn't, follow a better one of your own."

"But suppose that some one has a right to tell me what to do?"

"That's different. If you have given some one the right to tell you what to do, it must be because you believe that person understands better than you do. If you believe that, be obedient; if you don't, say so and go your own way. Be honest, that's all,—be honest with you."

"With me?"

"Yes, with you. If you are honest with yourself, you are square with the world."

"I see," said Marjorie. "Oh, dear, that is the third stone I've stumbled over in two minutes! I wonder why some one doesn't roll them out of the road,—they are not so very large."

"I wonder why," echoed the Dream, and there was a queer little note in his voice that made Marjorie glance toward him; and then her face flushed and she gave a little laugh.

"Why, of course it's my work!" she exclaimed, stooping and beginning to roll one toward the side of the way. It was rather heavy and awkward to handle; but she kept bravely on, and soon returned for another. As she bent toward it, she happened to glance back down the road, and then she suddenly straightened up. "Oh, look!" she cried. "See all the people dragging that wagon up the