"Never mind, never mind," said a man near her, "you weren't to blame. It was all because of those stones in the road,—any one would trip on things like that;—some one else would have stumbled if you hadn't, so don't worry;" and he began pitching the stones out of the way.
"Oh," cried Marjorie, in dismay, "then it really was my fault more than I thought! Why didn't I keep on with what I was doing, when it needed to be done, and I was doing it right! Oh, dear, what shall I do now?"
But the man did not understand. "You can't do anything," said he, sending the last stone flying into the ditch. "It isn't your fault; it is the fault of the people who go by here every day and leave these stones lying in the road, when it would take only a few moments to clear them away. Now run along and don't worry,—you couldn't help it."
So Marjorie turned and walked sorrowfully away beside the Dream.
"I don't see why it didn't come out right," she said at last. "I really wanted to help,—I was honest."
"Were you, truly?" asked the Dream.
