So all went well, and the question of punishment being unnecessary, it was almost forgotten.

One morning, Marjorie was getting ready to go rowing with Carter.  Molly was to go too, and as the girls had learned to sit moderately still in the boat, the good-natured gardener frequently took them on short excursions.

It was a perfect summer day, and Marjorie sang a gay little tune as she made herself ready for her outing.  She tied up her dark curls with a pink ribbon, and as a hat was deemed unnecessary by her elders, she was glad not to be bothered with one.  She wore a fresh, pink gingham dress and thick, heavy-soled shoes, lest the boat should be damp.  She took with her a small trowel, for she was going to dig some ferns to bring home; and into her pocket she stuffed a little muslin bag, which she always carried, in case she found anything in the way of pebbles or shells to bring home for her Memory Book.  She danced down the Other Stairs, kissed Grandma good-by, and picking up her basket for the ferns, ran merrily off.

Molly was waiting for her, and together they trotted down the sandy path to the boathouse.  It had rained the day before and the path was a bit muddy, but with heavy shoes the children did not need rubbers.

“Isn’t it warm?” said Molly.  “I ’most wish I’d worn a hat, it’s so sunny.”

“I hate a hat,” said Marjorie, “but I’ll tell you what, Molly, if we had my red parasol we could hold it over our heads.”

“Just the thing, Mopsy; do skip back and get it.  I’ll hold your basket, and Carter isn’t here yet.”

Marjorie ran back as fast as she could, pattering along the muddy path and thinking only of the red parasol, bounded in at the front door and up the Front Stairs!

Grandma was in the upper hall, and her heart sank as she saw the child, thoughtlessly unconscious of wrongdoing, clatter up the stairs, her heavy boots splashing mud and wet on every polished step.

Her heart sank, not so much because of the mud on the steps as because of this new proof of Marjorie’s thoughtlessness.

“My dear little girl!” she said, as Marjorie reached the top step, and in a flash Marjorie realized what she had done.

Crestfallen and horrified, she threw herself into her grandmother’s arms.

“I’m sorry, Midget dear, but I cannot break my word.  You know what I told you.”

“Yes, Grandma, and I am so sorry, but please, oh, Grandma dear, —­can’t you just postpone the punishment till to-morrow?  ’Cause Molly and I are going to Blossom Banks to dig ferns, and it’s such a beautiful day for ferns.”

Grandma Sherwood hesitated.  It almost broke her heart to deprive the child of her holiday, and yet it was for Marjorie’s own good that an attempt must be made to cure her of her carelessness.

“No, Marjorie; I cannot postpone the punishment until to-morrow.  If you wanted to go rowing to-day, you should have waited to run up these stairs until to-morrow.  You didn’t postpone your naughtiness, so I cannot postpone its punishment.”