"Well, I can read that much, anyway."
"But still you don't feel real happy."
"Of course I don't feel happy when I am hating people; but how can I help hating them when they do things like that?"
The two were climbing the path, back to the apple-tree on the hillside. When they reached it, Marjorie sat down and took her chin on her hands and sat gloomily gazing out over the valley.
"Do you like you?" asked the Dream, presently.
"No," said Marjorie, "I don't. The people are so dreadful, and so cruel and so unkind that I can't help not liking them; and the more I don't like them, the more and more I don't like me."
"Hard luck!" said the Dream.
"But what shall I do?" asked Marjorie. "I've got to like me. It's bad enough not to like other folks; but I've got to live with me for an awfully long time; and if I get the habit of not liking me, it—it will be dreadful."
"Yes," said the Dream, "that would be very dreadful."
"But what shall I do?" asked Marjorie again.
