smiled up into the tortured face and held out her violets. "These are to bring you sweet dreams," she said.
"Sweet dreams?" repeated the woman, curiously; "It is not night."
"No," said Marjorie; "but our day-dreams are a lot more important than our night dreams; for we live in them so much of the time, and when other persons are about, too; so that we hurt them when we have bad dreams; and sometimes make them share our nightmares with us;—so sweet day-dreams are very, very important. Don't you think so? And one couldn't look at those violets and have a bad dream at the same time, could he?"
The woman took the violets and stood looking at them; and gradually the hurt went out of her face, and her eyes grew misty instead of tortured. Then she turned and looked down at Marjorie, and even a little smile came about her lips. "No," she said; "One couldn't have a bad dream, with the violets and you near. My nightmare has gone. I thank you more than I can tell you;"—and she turned away, holding the violets in both of her hands and smiling down at them.
Marjorie went back and sat down on the boulder and looked away toward the mountains once more. The trees swayed and flicked their shadows across the grass, the little wind-flowers nodded about the base of the rock, and a stray
