not only poverty but shiftlessness. Marjorie was not experienced
enough to know how often the former is the result of the latter,
and her heart was full of pity for people who must live in such
comfortless surroundings. The little old cottage was unpainted,
and the front porch was in such a dilapidated condition that one
step was entirely missing and several floor-boards were gone.

"It's like walking a tight-rope," said Marjorie, as she picked her
way carefully along what she hoped was a sound plank. "But it's
rather exciting. I wonder if we can get in."

There was no bell, and she tapped loudly on the door.

Almost instantly it was opened by a child whose appearance almost
made Marjorie scream out with laughter.

A little girl of about ten, dressed in a bright pink skirt and a
bright blue waist, stood before them. This startling color
combination was enhanced by a red sash, which, though faded in
streaks, was wide and tied at the back in a voluminous bow. The
girl's naturally straight hair had apparently been urged by
artificial means to curl in ringlets, but only a part of it had
succumbed to the hot iron. The rest fairly bristled in its stiff
straightness, and the whole mop was tied up with a large bow of
red ribbon.

This rainbow-hued specimen of humanity opened the door with a
flourish and bowed to the visitors with an air of extreme
elegance.