Marjorie did not cry, she was not that sort of a child. But she
had a broken-down, wilted air, the very despondency of which
almost made her grandmother relent. Had it been a more important
occasion she might have done so, but the children could go on the
river any day, and though it was a very real disappointment to
Marjorie to stay at home, yet discipline required it.

"Now, Marjorie," went on Mrs. Sherwood, after Jane had been
despatched on her errand, "take off those muddy shoes and set them
on the top step of the stairs."

Rather wondering at this command, Marjorie sat down on the top
step, unlaced her shoes, and did with them as she had been bidden.

"Now, this is your punishment, my child; you came up these stairs
when you had been told not to do so: now you may spend the rest of
the day on the stairs. You are not to leave them until six o'clock
to-night. With the muddy steps and your muddy shoes in front of
your eyes all day long, you may, perhaps, learn to remember better
in future."

Marjorie could scarcely believe her ears. To stay on the stairs
all day long seemed a funny punishment; and except for missing the
row on the river, it did not seem a very hard one.

"May I have a book, Grandma," she asked, still a little bewildered
by the outlook.

Grandma considered. "Yes," she said at last; "you may go to your