The two were alone in an old-fashioned, low basket-phaeton; and Uncle Steve was willing to stop whenever Marjorie wished, to note an especially beautiful bird on a neighboring branch or an extra-fine blossom of some wild flower.

Also, Uncle Steve seemed to know the names of all the trees and flowers and birds they chanced to see.  Greatly interested in these things, Marjorie learned much nature-lore, and the lessons were but play.  Tying the horse to a fence, the two cronies wandered into the wood and found, after much careful search, some Indian Pipes of an exquisite perfection.  These fragile, curious things were Marjorie’s great delight, and she carried them carefully home for her Memory Book.

“They won’t be very satisfactory as mementoes,” warned Uncle Steve, “for they will turn brown and lose their fair, white beauty.”

Marjorie looked regretful, but an inspiration came to her.

“I’ll tell you what, Uncle Steve, I’ll get Stella to draw them in my book and paint them.  She’s so clever at copying flowers, and I’m sure she can do it.”

“Let her try it, then, and if she doesn’t succeed I’ll photograph them for you, so you’ll have at least a hint of the lovely things.”

Hand in hand they walked through the wood, spying new beauties here and there.  Sometimes they sat on a fallen log to rest a bit or to discuss some new marvel in Nature’s kingdom.

At last, as the sun was sinking low in the west, they left the wood, untied old Betsy, who was patiently waiting for them, and jogged along homeward.

“Punishment is a strange thing,” said Marjorie to Grandma, as they were having their little “twilight talk” that evening, before the child went to bed.

“Why?” asked Grandma.

“Because it makes you remember,” said Marjorie, slowly; “I don’t see why I couldn’t remember to keep off the Front Stairs, just because you told me to, but somehow I couldn’t.  Now, after to-day, I’m sure I shall never forget again.”

“That’s the difference, my child, between youth and age.  You are young and careless of other people’s wishes.  I want you to learn to consider others before yourself, and to remember to do so without a dreadful punishment to fix it in your memory.”

“It’s lucky, isn’t it, that I don’t get punished for all the naughty things I do?  It would keep me busy being punished most of the time.”

“You are a mischievous child, Marjorie; but your mischief is always the result of carelessness or forgetfulness.  I have never known you purposely to disobey me or deliberately to cut up some naughty trick.”

“No, I don’t, Grandma; often I’m being just as good as an angel and as quiet as a mouse, when suddenly something pops into my head that would be fun to do; and I fly and do it, before I think, and just about every time it’s something wrong!”

“Then suppose you try to act more slowly.  When you think of some piece of fun, pause a moment, to make sure that it isn’t mischief.  There’s quite enough innocent fun in the world to keep you busy all day, and every day.”