slippers. It was an understood exception that, when dressed for
dinner or on company occasions and her feet shod with light, thin-
soled shoes, Marjorie might walk properly up or down the Front
Stairs. The restriction only applied to her heavy-soled play shoes
or muddied boots.

So all went well, and the question of punishment being
unnecessary, it was almost forgotten.

One morning, Marjorie was getting ready to go rowing with Carter.
Molly was to go too, and as the girls had learned to sit
moderately still in the boat, the good-natured gardener frequently
took them on short excursions.

It was a perfect summer day, and Marjorie sang a gay little tune
as she made herself ready for her outing. She tied up her dark
curls with a pink ribbon, and as a hat was deemed unnecessary by
her elders, she was glad not to be bothered with one. She wore a
fresh, pink gingham dress and thick, heavy-soled shoes, lest the
boat should be damp. She took with her a small trowel, for she was
going to dig some ferns to bring home; and into her pocket she
stuffed a little muslin bag, which she always carried, in case she
found anything in the way of pebbles or shells to bring home for
her Memory Book. She danced down the Other Stairs, kissed Grandma
good-by, and picking up her basket for the ferns, ran merrily off.

Molly was waiting for her, and together they trotted down the
sandy path to the boathouse. It had rained the day before and the
path was a bit muddy, but with heavy shoes the children did not
need rubbers.