“Well, you see,” explained Marjorie, “I noticed that some people had walked along here and made a little path, and it will be much better to walk on a path by and by when the road is dusty.”

“But your walking there this once can’t help much.”

“It will help some,” said Marjorie, “and it is only a little hard for me; and walking in the dust will be very hard for ever so many after a while, and the weeds and grass would be grown quite high by that time.  You see, my walking here presses the grass down and makes it look easier, so that some one else will do the same and help to wear the way.  There,” pointing backward, “do you see?  All of those schoolchildren have come over on to the path because they saw me, and that will help ever so much.”

“I guess you’re right,” said the Dream.  “It is a good thing to make every step that you take, do work that will help some one some time.”

Presently they came to a cross-roads, and Marjorie hesitated for a moment to see which way to turn; and then she noticed that the wind had blown one of the sign-boards from off its post, and that it lay, face-downward, in the road, covered with mud.  Taking it up, she went to the little brook by the wayside and washed it carefully; and then, holding it as high as she could reach, she fastened it to the post, by pounding in the loosened nails with a stone.  This had all taken some time, and when she had finished, she stepped back to view her work, wearing an expression of extreme complacence, which quickly changed to one of vexation, as she discovered that she had nailed the sign up side down, so that not only were the words inverted; but it 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.”