“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.”