photographs there were, for Marjorie had learned to use her camera
pretty well, and Uncle Steve sometimes took snap-shots of the
children with his own larger camera. There were several little
pictures that Stella had painted for her, an old tintype that
Grandma had given her, a feather from the tail of Marjorie's pet
rooster, and many such trifles, each of which brought up a host of
memories of pleasant or comical situations.

The sprained-ankle episode filled up several pages. For there were
the letters that Marjorie had received from the animals, and other
notes and pictures that had been sent to her, and many mementoes
of those long days she had spent in bed. The beautiful book Uncle
Steve had brought her at that time was suggested by its title, cut
from the paper wrapper which had been on the book when it came.
Indeed, it seemed that there was no end to the ingenious ways of
remembering things that Marjorie wanted to remember. A tiny,
bright bird feather would recall the walk she took with Grandma
one afternoon; a pressed wild flower was an eloquent reminder of
Blossom Banks; and a large strawberry hull, neatly pasted into
place, Marjorie insisted upon to remind her of the day when she
said "Boo" to Stella.

Several pages were devoted to souvenirs from home, and Rosy Posy's
illegible scrawls were side by side with neatly-written postcards
from her parents.

All of these things Uncle Steve arranged with the utmost care and
taste, and Marjorie soon learned how to do it for herself. Some
things, such as letters or thin cards, must be pasted in; heavier
cards or postcards were best arranged by cutting slits for the