utes! I wonder why some one doesn't roll them out of the road,—they are not so very large."
"I wonder why," echoed the Dream, and there was a queer little note in his voice that made Marjorie glance toward him; and then her face flushed and she gave a little laugh.
"Why, of course it's my work!" she exclaimed, stooping and beginning to roll one toward the side of the way. It was rather heavy and awkward to handle; but she kept bravely on, and soon returned for another. As she bent toward it, she happened to glance back down the road, and then she suddenly straightened up. "Oh, look!" she cried. "See all the people dragging that wagon up the hill,—and just hear them shout! Something must have happened to the horse! I'm going to help!" and she started to run down the hill.
"I thought you were busy," called the Dream, after her.
"Yes," she called back, "I know; but I can do that after a while,—I want to help with the wagon now;" and she ran on down the hill, and squeezing in among the others, she managed to get hold of one of the ropes, although there was
