Marjorie clapped her hands. "Oh, I know!" she cried, "'In my Father's house are many mansions!'"
The Dream nodded his head in approval. "You are doing first rate," he said; and, for a moment it seemed to Marjorie that the beautiful mansions shone with such a brilliant whiteness that she almost lost sight of the other houses.
"May I go close to one of the mansions?" she asked, at last.
"Yes," said the Dream; "whichever one you wish."
Marjorie looked from one to another. "I hardly know which to choose," she said; "there are so many beautiful ones right here together. Well, I guess I'll try this one, because it is nearest," and she and the Dream walked up the broad, white marble steps.
At the door was a boy of about her own age, with a bright, earnest face and kind eyes. Marjorie hesitated as she saw him; but he smiled and held out his hand to her and made room for her to sit beside him.
"Whose house is this?" asked Marjorie.
"Mine," said the boy.
