Just then the woman stopped and turned aside from the road and threw herself on the grass under a tree, burying her face in her hands and sobbing heavily—great, dragging sobs; and Marjorie heard her gasping, over and over again, "I wasn't good enough to kiss her. Oh, I wasn't good enough—I wasn't good enough!"
Marjorie turned away her head. "Oh," she said, "how dreadful—how dreadful I am."
The Dream sat looking at her thoughtfully for a few moments. "Look at those sunbeams," he said at last.
Marjorie heaved a sigh and looked about. The apple-tree beneath which she was sitting was in full bloom, and the sunbeams came flickering down through the leaves and the pink and white blossoms, dancing all about over the grass and the pink and white fallen petals. "Oh," she said, "how beautiful! And don't the apple blossoms smell good! Don't you love them?"
"Yes," said the Dream, "they are beautiful and they are good; and they are working to make themselves something worth while—not
