“I thought you were busy,” called the Dream, after her.

“Yes,” she called back, “I know; but I can do that after a while,—­I want to help with the wagon now;” and she ran on down the hill, and squeezing in among the others, she managed to get hold of one of the ropes, although there was scarcely room for her hand to grasp it.  Up the hill she came, struggling and panting with the rest, and as she reached the spot where the Dream had remained, she waved her free hand proudly; but just then her foot struck a stone, and she tripped and fell against the person next to her, who let go of the rope in a wild effort to regain his balance; while the man behind her stumbled upon her feet and let go his hold; others stumbled, the rope was jerked from their hands, and in another moment the wagon began to roll slowly backward.  Every one made a dash for it; but it was too late, and in an instant it was careening madly down the hill,—­then a wheel struck another stone, the tongue turned, and with a great lurch the whole thing went over, scattering potatoes, turnips, and other vegetables in every direction, and sending barrels and boxes rolling and tumbling down the hill with a tremendous clatter.

Marjorie had picked herself up and stood watching it all with great, frightened eyes.  “Oh, look, look!” she cried.  “It’s all my fault, and I was only trying to help!  Oh, I’m so sorry!  I didn’t mean to trip,—­I truly didn’t!”

“Never mind, never mind,” said a man near her, “you weren’t to blame.  It was all because of those stones in the road,—­any one would trip on things like that;—­some one else would have stumbled if you hadn’t, so don’t worry,” and he began pitching the stones out of the way.

“Oh,” cried Marjorie, in dismay, “then it really was my fault more than I thought!  Why didn’t I keep on with what I was doing, when it needed to be done, and I was doing it right!  Oh, dear, what shall I do now?”

But the man did not understand.  “You can’t do anything,” said he, sending the last stone flying into the ditch.  “It isn’t your fault; it is the fault of the people who go by here every day and leave these stones lying in the road, when it would take only a few moments to clear them away.  Now run along and don’t worry,—­you couldn’t help it.”

So Marjorie turned and walked sorrowfully away beside the Dream.

“I don’t see why it didn’t come out right,” she said at last.  “I really wanted to help,—­I was honest.”

“Were you, truly?” asked the Dream.

“Why, yes,” said Marjorie, “I—­” then she hesitated.

“You saw the need of moving the stones, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” said Marjorie.

“And you were able to do it?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And the people were really bringing the wagon up the hill quite easily, there were so many of them?”

“Yes,” admitted Marjorie.

“Then, honestly, why did you leave the stones in order to go and pull on the rope?”