Marjorie looked dumfounded.  She had not intended to be naughty, but also she had never supposed her gentle grandma could be so severe.  She looked utterly disconsolate, and said in despairing tones:  “But, Grandma, won’t you let me go rowing this morning and give me the punishment this afternoon?  I must go; Molly and Carter are down by the boathouse waiting for me!  Please, Grandma!”

So difficult was it for Mrs. Sherwood to resist the child’s pleading tones that her own voice was more stern than she intended to make it, lest she reveal her true feeling.

“No, Marjorie; you have been very naughty now, and so you must be punished now.  Listen to me.  I shall send Jane to tell Carter to go back to his work and to tell Molly to go home.  I’m sorry to spoil your pleasure, but remember you have really spoiled it yourself.”

Marjorie did not cry, she was not that sort of a child.  But she had a broken-down, wilted air, the very despondency of which almost made her grandmother relent.  Had it been a more important occasion she might have done so, but the children could go on the river any day, and though it was a very real disappointment to Marjorie to stay at home, yet discipline required it.

“Now, Marjorie,” went on Mrs. Sherwood, after Jane had been despatched on her errand, “take off those muddy shoes and set them on the top step of the stairs.”

Rather wondering at this command, Marjorie sat down on the top step, unlaced her shoes, and did with them as she had been bidden.

“Now, this is your punishment, my child; you came up these stairs when you had been told not to do so:  now you may spend the rest of the day on the stairs.  You are not to leave them until six o’clock to-night.  With the muddy steps and your muddy shoes in front of your eyes all day long, you may, perhaps, learn to remember better in future.”

Marjorie could scarcely believe her ears.  To stay on the stairs all day long seemed a funny punishment; and except for missing the row on the river, it did not seem a very hard one.

“May I have a book, Grandma,” she asked, still a little bewildered by the outlook.

Grandma considered.  “Yes,” she said at last; “you may go to your room, put on your worsted bedroom slippers, and then you may bring back with you any books or toys you care for.”

“How many?” asked Marjorie, whose spirits were rising, for her punishment seemed to promise a novel experience.

“As many as you can carry at once,” replied Grandma, turning aside to hide a smile.

In a few minutes Marjorie returned.  She had turned up the short, full skirt of her pink gingham frock to form a sort of bag, and into it she had tumbled, helter-skelter, several books, some paper and pens, her paper-doll’s house, her paintbox, her kitten, a few odd toys, her Memory Book, and her clock.  Staggering under the bulging load, but in a more cheerful frame of mind, she reached the stairs again.