branches, looked like animals crouching for a spring, and Marjorie stumbled along, weary, frightened and miserable.
"It is very dark along this bit of trail," she said presently, a sob in her voice, "and there are so many things that trip me up,—and I am so very, very lonely."
The Dream was silent.
"But I know that I am going in the right direction," she said, her eyes straight ahead, "even if I am so tired and bound, and feel as if there were no starch in me—or in anything else,—and the choke in my throat hurts so."
The Dream plodded along without speaking.
"But I'm holding out both my hands all the time, as well as I can."
"What for?" asked the Dream.
"So that if someone comes by who is getting along better than I am just now; whose muscles are in better trim, from being free and constantly working; perhaps that one will give me a hand for
