go and look after your chicken-coops and things. Won't you please let me?"
The boy shook his head. "No," he said, positively, "I can't do it."
Marjorie turned to the Dream, who was balancing himself on the marble balustrade. "Can't you help me?" she coaxed. "You can 'most always fix things for me, and I do, so much, want to be porter here."
The Dream grinned and swung his feet. "You think that you could tend door better than that boy, do you," he asked.
Marjorie pursed her lips. "Well," she said, "—I don't know as I could do it any better; but I'm sure that I could do it just as well." She came a little closer to the Dream and lowered her voice. "He turns away some who look very nice, indeed," she said, "and he let in several that I wouldn't."
The Dream grinned still broader. "His house looks pretty well, though, doesn't it!" he remarked, glancing over it, critically.
"Ye-es," admitted Marjorie; "but that attic window looks soiled."
The Dream giggled. "And you would clean it, would you?"
