"What was the work?" asked Marjorie.

The Dream pointed up the long hill in front of them; and away, almost at
the top, she saw a little girl lifting a basket from the roadside, where
she had set it while she was resting. It was a large, heavy basket with
a handle at each end, and so it was awkward for one to carry alone.
Marjorie started forward impulsively; but the Dream did not stir.
"Wait," he said, "you cannot catch up with her now, before she reaches
the top of the hill; it is only a little way farther."

"But," cried Marjorie, "I can help her then! That basket must be hard to
carry, even on level ground."

"She lives at the top of the hill," said the Dream, quietly. "She has no
farther to carry it."

Marjorie bit her lip. "And she was right here when you first spoke?"

"Yes," said the Dream, "she was right here."

"But I didn't see her," protested Marjorie.

"You weren't looking for her," said the Dream.

"I'm sorry," said Marjorie, "but--but--" searching vainly for an excuse;
and then a little virtuous tone coming into her voice; "--as likely as
not she is better off for having carried it alone,--stronger, you
know,--more experienced,--" this last rather lamely, for the Dream was
looking at her fixedly. "Don't you think so?" she asked presently, as