ON THE ROOF


"Why, Mopsy Maynard," exclaimed her mother, as Marjorie danced
into the house, smiling and dishevelled, "what a looking head!
Please go straight to your room, and make yourself tidy before
supper time."

"Yes, indeed, Mother, but just listen a minute! Uncle Steve has a
new horse, a black one, and there are a hundred million little
chickens, in the queerest kind of a thing, but I can't remember
its name,--it's something like elevator."

"Incubator, perhaps," suggested her mother.

"Yes, that's it; and oh, Mother, it's so funny! Do come out and
see it, won't you?"

"Not to-night, child; and now run up to your room and tie up your
hair."

Marjorie danced upstairs, singing as she went, but when she
reached the door of the room she was accustomed to use, she
stopped her singing and stood in the doorway, stock-still with
sheer bewilderment.

For somehow the room had been entirely transformed, and looked
like a totally different apartment.