“Blow, breezes, blow! 
     Let Curdkin’s hat go! 
     Blow, breezes, blow! 
     Let him after it go! 
     O’er hills, dales and rocks,
          Away be it whirled,
     Till the silvery locks
          Are all combed and curled.”

This made her laugh so that she tumbled into a clover-bed, and lay there a minute to get her breath.  Just then, as if the playful wind repented of its frolic, the long veil fastened to the hat caught in a blackberry-vine near by, and held the truant fast till Marjorie secured it.

“Now come and see what I am doing,” said the lady, when she had thanked the child.

Marjorie drew near confidingly, and looked down at the wide-spread book before her.  She gave a start, and laughed out with surprise and delight; for there was a lovely picture of her own little home, and her own little self on the door-step, all so delicate, and beautiful, and true, it seemed as if done by magic.

“Oh, how pretty!  There is Rover, and Kitty and the robins, and me!  How could you ever do it, ma’am?” said Marjorie, with a wondering glance at the long paint-brush, which had wrought what seemed a miracle to her childish eyes.

“I’ll show you presently; but tell me, first, if it looks quite right and natural to you.  Children sometimes spy out faults that no one else can see,” answered the lady, evidently pleased with the artless praise her work received.

“It looks just like our house, only more beautiful.  Perhaps that is because I know how shabby it really is.  That moss looks lovely on the shingles, but the roof leaks.  The porch is broken, only the roses hide the place; and my gown is all faded, though it once was as bright as you have made it.  I wish the house and everything would stay pretty forever, as they will in the picture.”

While Marjorie spoke, the lady had been adding more color to the sketch, and when she looked up, something warmer and brighter than sunshine shone in her face, as she said, so cheerily, it was like a bird’s song to hear her,—­

“It can’t be summer always, dear, but we can make fair weather for ourselves if we try.  The moss, the roses, and soft shadows show the little house and the little girl at their best, and that is what we all should do; for it is amazing how lovely common things become, if one only knows how to look at them.”

“I wish I did,” said Marjorie, half to herself, remembering how often she was discontented, and how hard it was to get on, sometimes.

“So do I,” said the lady, in her happy voice.  “Just believe that there is a sunny side to everything, and try to find it, and you will be surprised to see how bright the world will seem, and how cheerful you will be able to keep your little self.”

“I guess granny has found that out, for she never frets.  I do, but I’m going to stop it, because I’m twelve to-day, and that is too old for such things,” said Marjorie, recollecting the good resolutions she had made that morning when she woke.