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.