"Well, my husband will have something to say about that time. I guess—"
Marjorie stopped up her ears. There seemed nothing that she could do, it had all gotten so far beyond her; and so she turned into a little path which led into the woods just at a curve of the road. The Dream walked along beside her quietly. Soon they were out of hearing of the unpleasant sounds, and Marjorie stopped and stood leaning against the mossy trunk of a great tree that overhung the little stream. The Dream spoke; "Stopping up your ears and running away, helped some, didn't it?" he said.
"No," said Marjorie, "it didn't help either them or me; but I couldn't do any good by staying, and so I came away to think."
"And have you thought it out?"
"Yes, because it brought me a part of the dream that came before the message."
"And what was the dream?"
"Well," said Marjorie, "I seemed to be in the queerest sort of a place; a kind of a storeroom, full of shelves and pigeon-holes; and the pigeon-holes were full of the most curious things, and at first I couldn't make out what they were; but they were alive, and every time that I said anything, a lot of them would fly down and crawl into the ears of the person I was speaking to, just as if I had sent them; and the person's face would change when they were in, and would
