them with divine love that shines down through me and makes me one with them all."
The Dream turned away his face for a moment. Then he turned back and his eyes looked misty. "I guess I was looking up a sunbeam," he said, "and I was dazzled."
Marjorie sat down again under the apple-tree. "I want to think for a little while," she said. "This must be one of those thoughts that I would better walk up to and examine."
After a while she heaved a little sigh and looked up. "I wish I could stay there all the time," she said.
"Where?" asked the Dream.
"Where I can see things right. If I am like a sunbeam, I ought to know that even my own rough edges and ugly sides aren't real, and I ought to look back up the self of me, to where I really live, and act the way that it belongs to me to act; but I know just as well as can be that as soon as I see folks again, I shall begin seeing their rough edges and dullnesses, and feeling my own. What can I do about it?"
"You can remember and try," said the Dream. "Since you know the truth, you can just keep everlastingly using it. Shove it in
