Marjorie loved all animals, but after cats, horses were her favorites.

“Are there any ducks this year, Carter?” she inquired.

“Yes, Miss Midge, there is a duck-pond full of them; and you haven’t seen the new boathouse that was built last year for Master Kingdon.”

“No, but I want to see it; and oh, Carter, don’t you think you could teach me to row?”

“I’m sure of it, Miss Midge; but I hear your grandmother calling you, and I think you’d better leave the boathouse to see to-morrow.”

“All right; I think so too, Carter.”  And Marjorie ran back to the house, her broad-brimmed hat in one hand and her hair ribbon in the other, while her curls were, indeed, in a tangled mop.

CHAPTER III

ON THE ROOF

“Why, Mopsy Maynard,” exclaimed her mother, as Marjorie danced into the house, smiling and dishevelled, “what a looking head!  Please go straight to your room, and make yourself tidy before supper time.”

“Yes, indeed, Mother, but just listen a minute!  Uncle Steve has a new horse, a black one, and there are a hundred million little chickens, in the queerest kind of a thing, but I can’t remember its name,—­it’s something like elevator.”

“Incubator, perhaps,” suggested her mother.

“Yes, that’s it; and oh, Mother, it’s so funny!  Do come out and see it, won’t you?”

“Not to-night, child; and now run up to your room and tie up your hair.”

Marjorie danced upstairs, singing as she went, but when she reached the door of the room she was accustomed to use, she stopped her singing and stood in the doorway, stock-still with sheer bewilderment.

For somehow the room had been entirely transformed, and looked like a totally different apartment.

The room was in one of the wings of the house, and was large and square, with windows on two sides.  But these had been ordinary windows, and now they were replaced by large, roomy bay windows, with glass doors that reached from floor to ceiling, and opened out on little balconies.  In one of these bay windows was a dear little rocking-chair painted white, and a standard work-basket of dainty white and green wicker, completely furnished with sewing materials.  In the other bay window was a dear little writing-desk of bird’s-eye maple, and a wicker chair in front of it.  The desk was open, and Marjorie could see all sorts of pens and pencils and paper in fascinating array.

But these were only a few of the surprises.  The whole room had been redecorated, and the walls were papered with a design of yellow daffodils in little bunches tied with pale green ribbon.  The woodwork was all painted white, and entirely around the room, at just about the height of Marjorie’s chin, ran a broad white shelf.  Of course this shelf stopped for the windows and doors, but the room was large, and there was a great deal of space left for