The Dream nodded. "Only a little while,—just long enough to let your work pass you by."
"My work?" exclaimed Marjorie. "Why, I hadn't anything in particular to do!"
"Every one has something in particular to do," said the Dream, "if he has his hand ready;—but yours wasn't,—it was under your cheek."
"What was the work?" asked Marjorie.
The Dream pointed up the long hill in front of them; and away, almost at the top, she saw a little girl lifting a basket from the roadside, where she had set it while she was resting. It was a large, heavy basket with a handle at each end, and so it was awkward for one to carry alone. Marjorie started forward impulsively; but the Dream did not stir. "Wait," he said, "you cannot catch up with her now, before she reaches the top of the hill; it is only a little way farther."
"But," cried Marjorie, "I can help her then! That basket must be hard to carry, even on level ground."
"She lives at the top of the hill," said the Dream, quietly. "She has no farther to carry it."
Marjorie bit her lip. "And she was right here when you first spoke?"
