By the Roadside | Page 3

hesitated.
"You saw the need of moving the stones, didn't you?"
"Yes," said Marjorie.
"And you were able to do it?"
"Oh, yes."
"And the people were really bringing the wagon up the hill quite easily, there were so many of them?"
"Yes," admitted Marjorie.
"Then, honestly, why did you leave the stones in order to go and pull on the rope?"
Marjorie stood still and thought, very soberly. "Well," she said at last, "I guess it was because it looked more interesting."
"It wasn't because you actually thought that they needed your help?"
"No-o," admitted Marjorie. "But then, I didn't stop to think of it that way,--I just wanted to do it."
"But you didn't ask yourself why you wanted to do it,--or if it were wise?"
"No-o. It just looked like helping, and I--I wanted to be in with the shouting."
"Yes," said the Dream, "you are not the only one who wants to 'be in with the shouting.' But just let me tell you something:--if you want to be honest with yourself, carry a great big WHY around with you all the time,--and when you have an impulse to do anything, look at that first. Don't just glance at it,--look at it squarely, if for only a moment. When you have answered that honestly, you will know what to do."
The two walked on in silence for quite a distance. By and by Marjorie heaved a little sigh. "I wish that I could find a big work," she said. "I wish that it would be very, very big,--very, very big and very wonderful."
"Why?" asked the Dream.
"Oh!" cried Marjorie, clasping her hands, "so that years and years from now, people would look at it and say that I did it,--and would remember me for it."
"'M-hm," said the Dream.
"Wouldn't that be grand?" went on Marjorie, enthusiastically.
"'M-hm," said the Dream.
Marjorie looked hard at him. "Isn't it right to want to do great and wonderful things?" she asked.
"Yes," said the Dream.
"Then what--" Marjorie stopped.
"When you look at it fairly and squarely," said the Dream, "what do you think of your reason for wanting to do something great?"
Marjorie bit her lip.
"Be honest," said the Dream.
"Well," said Marjorie, at last, "I suppose the reason is just about as small and selfish and useless as a reason could possibly be."
"It is," said the Dream. "Now I'll tell you something. Those who have come to be known for their work are those who have worked for the love that was in them,--not for the name. To really work, is only to help; and those who are helped will see to it that the work and the worker are never separated; for while the work lives, the worker is in and of it. Do you see?"
"Yes, I see," said Marjorie, softly. "I am not honest enough, nor unselfish enough for a great work yet; but the little things will get me into practice, so I must love to do them, and perhaps the other will come when I am ready for it."
They had reached the top of the hill and passed a little school-house before either of them spoke again, and then the Dream broke the silence. "Why did you do that?" he asked; for Marjorie had jumped across the little ditch and was walking in the grass and weeds along the roadside. "The road isn't dusty," he added, "so it is no pleasanter walking there."
"Well, you see," explained Marjorie, "I noticed that some people had walked along here and made a little path, and it will be much better to walk on a path by and by when the road is dusty."
"But your walking there this once can't help much."
"It will help some," said Marjorie, "and it is only a little hard for me; and walking in the dust will be very hard for ever so many after a while, and the weeds and grass would be grown quite high by that time. You see, my walking here presses the grass down and makes it look easier, so that some one else will do the same and help to wear the way. There," pointing backward, "do you see? All of those schoolchildren have come over on to the path because they saw me, and that will help ever so much."
"I guess you're right," said the Dream. "It is a good thing to make every step that you take, do work that will help some one some time."
Presently they came to a cross-roads, and Marjorie hesitated for a moment to see which way to turn; and then she noticed that the wind had blown one of the sign-boards from off its post, and that it lay, face-downward, in the road, covered with mud. Taking it up, she went to the little brook by the wayside and washed it carefully; and then, holding it as high as she could reach, she