mean for my own good,--but now it's all over, and you love me just
the same, don't you?"

The ardent embrace in progress left no doubt of the affection
still existing between the pair, and if Marjorie's hugs were of
the lovingly boisterous variety, Grandma Sherwood appeared quite
willing to submit to them.

"I don't know," she thought to herself, after Marjorie had gone
for her drive, "whether that child is impervious to discipline or
whether she is unusually capable of receiving and assimilating
it."

But at any rate, Marjorie never went up or down the front stairs
again, except on the occasions when it was distinctly permissible.

The drive with Uncle Steve was a succession of delights. This was
partly because it was such a sudden and pleasant change from the
abominable staircase and partly because Uncle Steve was such an
amiable and entertaining companion.

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