pointed in the wrong direction.

"Oh, dear, see what I've done!" she cried.

"How did you happen to do that?" asked the Dream, looking interested.

"It was just because that little girl over there kept calling and calling to me. I tried not to hear, at first, but she worried me until I didn't know what I was about."

"What was the matter with her?" asked the Dream.

"Oh, she had got her dress caught on the fence when she was climbing over, and spilled some apples or something out of a basket. There, see how she's torn her dress! It's her own fault! I told her to wait until I got through, and I would help her;—but I was too busy then."

"You told her to wait where? On the fence?"

"Oh, well, I couldn't help it,—it wasn't my fault that she caught her dress, she ought to have been more careful,—and, anyway, I had to nail the sign-board,—that was much more important, wasn't it?"

The Dream turned and looked at the sign-board critically. "Yes," he said, "I suppose it did have to be done in a hurry,—sign-boards don't 'keep' very well."

Marjorie flushed. "But some one might have come along who wanted to know the way."

"Yes," assented the Dream, dryly, "it would have been too bad if some one had come along before you got it put up—that way."

Marjorie's head drooped.

"As far as I can see," went on the Dream, "the only way to read that sign is to turn it 'tother end to,' in your mind."

"Yes," said Marjorie, in a very low voice.

"And how do you like to go on record as standing for a sign that reads:—'If you want to go right, don't follow me?'"

Marjorie's lip was quivering. "I'll take it down," she said, and began to pull upon the board, but it was of no use; for she had driven in the nails so tightly that she could not start them. Her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, what shall I do?" she sobbed. "I can't bear to go away and leave it like that!"

"I suppose that you see your mistake," said the Dream.

"Yes, yes, I know," sobbed Marjorie. "I ought to have stopped and helped the little girl,—I could have set up the sign at the foot of the post while I did it;—but I was interested in what I was doing, and didn't want to be bothered."

Just then the little girl came across the road, carrying the basket of apples which she had picked up, the long rent in her frock gathered together in her hand. "What is the matter?" she asked, looking at Marjorie's wet cheeks.

Marjorie pointed miserably to the sign.

"Oh," said the little girl, "you've made a mistake, haven't you! Let's fix it right."

"We can't," said Marjorie. "I can't get the board off."

"Perhaps both of us, together, can," said the little girl. "Come, let's both pull at once," and setting down her basket, she took a firm hold of the sign. And so Marjorie took hold again, and with much pulling and tugging, together, they soon had it off; and then, together, they nailed it back in place,—right.

When it was done, they stepped back to look 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 she saw a boy coming along the road. When she saw him, she hurried more eagerly, and was just lifting a very large stone when he came forward, timidly, but with outstretched hands. "Let me help you," he said.

But Marjorie half turned her back, with the heavy stone. "No, no!" she said. "I can do it myself."

"I would like to help you," the boy persisted. "I could make it much easier for you."

"No," said Marjorie, "I don't need you. Please let me pass."

The boy stepped aside with a little sigh. "No one wants me to help," he said, "and I don't seem to find any work of my own. I am not very clever," and he went on, crossing upon the stones which were already laid, and then jumping to the farther side, where he stood, watching.

Marjorie followed with her load, stepping carefully from one stone to another, and then, just as she bent to lower her burden into the stream, it slipped from her hands and dropped with a great splash that deluged the boy on the other side, with muddy water.

"There!" exclaimed Marjorie, impatiently, "I've got you all muddy! I'm sorry, but you shouldn't have waited. I told you that I didn't want help."

"Never mind," said the boy, wiping the mud from his face; and turning away, he walked quietly up the road.

Marjorie looked after him ruefully.

"What is the matter?" asked the Dream.

"I don't exactly know," said Marjorie; "but there is a mistake somewhere."

"Why didn't you let him help you?" asked the Dream.

"I didn't need his help. I could do it alone."

"But perhaps he needed to help you."

Marjorie bit her lip. "I wanted to do it alone," she said. "I thought it was my work. I wanted to work, and I was glad that it was hard, and that the stones were all that I could lift,—it made it seem more like doing something."

The Dream was silent for a moment, and Marjorie stood dabbling the toe of her shoe in the water. At last, "Were you selfish?" asked the Dream.

"Yes," said Marjorie, in a low voice, "I was." Then she went back and gathered up her roses, and she and the Dream