By the Roadside | Page 2

basket
and lugged it up the hill for her, and let her walk along and carry her
hands!" exclaimed Marjorie, angrily.
"No," said the Dream, "not unless, for some reason, you thought that
you ought to. You are not arguing honestly. You are not called upon to
do one thing more than you think, honestly, that you ought to. No more
than that is your work."
"But I could make myself think--" began Marjorie.

"I said honestly," said the Dream. "It isn't honest to make yourself think
anything."
"But mustn't I study about it, and try--"
"Cer-tain-ly! Study about it carefully; but do it fairly. Don't take what
some one else says that you 'ought' to do, and try to shave yourself
down to fit it. Study it out and think it out for yourself; and then if the
other fellow's opinion seems wise, follow it;--and if it doesn't, follow a
better one of your own."
"But suppose that some one has a right to tell me what to do?"
"That's different. If you have given some one the right to tell you what
to do, it must be because you believe that person understands better
than you do. If you believe that, be obedient; if you don't, say so and go
your own way. Be honest, that's all,--be honest with you."
"With me?"
"Yes, with you. If you are honest with yourself, you are square with the
world."
"I see," said Marjorie. "Oh, dear, that is the third stone I've stumbled
over in two minutes! I wonder why some one doesn't roll them out of
the road,--they are not so very large."
"I wonder why," echoed the Dream, and there was a queer little note in
his voice that made Marjorie glance toward him; and then her face
flushed and she gave a little laugh.
"Why, of course it's my work!" she exclaimed, stooping and beginning
to roll one toward the side of the way. It was rather heavy and awkward
to handle; but she kept bravely on, and soon returned for another. As
she bent toward it, she happened to glance back down the road, and
then she suddenly straightened up. "Oh, look!" she cried. "See all the
people dragging that wagon up the hill,--and just hear them shout!
Something must have happened to the horse! I'm going to help!" and

she started to run down the hill.
"I thought you were busy," called the Dream, after her.
"Yes," she called back, "I know; but I can do that after a while,--I want
to help with the wagon now;" and she ran on down the hill, and
squeezing in among the others, she managed to get hold of one of the
ropes, although there was scarcely room for her hand to grasp it. Up the
hill she came, struggling and panting with the rest, and as she reached
the spot where the Dream had remained, she waved her free hand
proudly; but just then her foot struck a stone, and she tripped and fell
against the person next to her, who let go of the rope in a wild effort to
regain his balance; while the man behind her stumbled upon her feet
and let go his hold; others stumbled, the rope was jerked from their
hands, and in another moment the wagon began to roll slowly
backward. Every one made a dash for it; but it was too late, and in an
instant it was careening madly down the hill,--then a wheel struck
another stone, the tongue turned, and with a great lurch the whole thing
went over, scattering potatoes, turnips, and other vegetables in every
direction, and sending barrels and boxes rolling and tumbling down the
hill with a tremendous clatter.
Marjorie had picked herself up and stood watching it all with great,
frightened eyes. "Oh, look, look!" she cried. "It's all my fault, and I was
only trying to help! Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to trip,--I truly
didn't!"
"Never mind, never mind," said a man near her, "you weren't to blame.
It was all because of those stones in the road,--any one would trip on
things like that;--some one else would have stumbled if you hadn't, so
don't worry," and he began pitching the stones out of the way.
"Oh," cried Marjorie, in dismay, "then it really was my fault more than
I thought! Why didn't I keep on with what I was doing, when it needed
to be done, and I was doing it right! Oh, dear, what shall I do now?"
But the man did not understand. "You can't do anything," said he,
sending the last stone flying into the ditch. "It isn't your fault; it is the

fault of the people who go by here every day and leave these stones
lying