ested in something else," said the little girl.
"In what?" asked Marjorie.
"In themselves. They don't always see the others. They have not always enough time left in which to love their neighbors."
"Yes, I know," said Marjorie.
"But there are a good many who do;—and a good many who are waiting—or working, as you called it—along the trail."
"But don't you feel that you are being delayed—waiting this way to help others?"
"Someone once said:—
'Help thy brother's boat to cross,
'And lo, thine own has reached the shore.'
'And lo, thine own has reached the shore.'
No, we are not being delayed."
"I understand," said Marjorie softly; "but it seems very wonderful to me that you should choose to sit by these rough places along the trail, with helping hands and helping heart; but I see now that none of the mud sticks to your hands,
