Marjorie was able to come downstairs once more.

Uncle Steve assisted her down. He didn't carry her, for he said
she was far too much of a heavyweight for any such performance as
that, but he supported her on one side, and with a banister rail
on the other she managed beautifully.

And, anyway, her ankle was just about as well as ever. The doctor
had not allowed the active child to come downstairs until there
was little if any danger that an imprudence on her part might
injure her again.

It was Saturday afternoon, and though she could not be allowed to
walk about the place until the following week, yet Uncle Steve
took her for a long, lovely drive behind Ned and Dick, and then
brought her back to another jolly little surprise.

This was found in a certain sheltered corner of one of the long
verandas. It was so built that it was almost like a cosy, little
square room; and climbing vines formed a pleasant screen from the
bright sunlight. To it Uncle Steve had brought a set of wicker
furniture: dear little chairs and a table and a settee, all
painted green. Then there was a green-and-white hammock swung at
just the right height, and containing two or three fat, jolly-
looking, green pillows, in the midst of which Puff had chosen to
curl herself up for a nap.

There was a little bamboo bookcase, with a few books and papers,
and a large box covered with Japanese matting, which had a hinged
lid, and was lovely to keep things in. There was a rug on the