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Page 35
In a few minutes Marjorie returned. She had turned up the short,
full skirt of her pink gingham frock to form a sort of bag, and
into it she had tumbled, helter-skelter, several books, some paper
and pens, her paper-doll's house, her paintbox, her kitten, a few
odd toys, her Memory Book, and her clock. Staggering under the
bulging load, but in a more cheerful frame of mind, she reached
the stairs again.
"I brought my clock," she observed, "because I shall want to know
as the hours so by; but I'll be careful not to scratch the stairs
with it, Grandma."
"Your carefulness comes too late, Marjorie. I shall have to send
for a man from town to repolish the stairs, anyway, for the nails
in the heels of your heavy boots have entirely ruined them."
"Oh, Grandma, I am so sorry; and if you think a day won't be
punishment enough, I'll stay for a week. Do I get anything to
eat?" she added, as a sudden thought of their picnic luncheon
occurred to her. "You might just send me the picnic basket."
"Jane will bring you your dinner," said her grandmother, shortly,
for she began to think the punishment she had devised was more
like a new game.
"Goody!" cried Marjorie. "I do love dinner on a tray. Send plenty
of strawberries, please; and, Grandma, don't think that I'm not
truly being punished, for I am. I shall think over my naughtiness
a good deal, and when I look at those awful shoes, I don't see how
I COULD have done such a wicked thing. But you know yourself,
Grandma, that we ought to make the best of everything, and so I'll
just get what fun I can out of my books and my strawberries."
Mrs. Sherwood went away, uncertain whether she had succeeded in
what she had intended to do or not. She knew Marjorie would not
leave the stairs without permission, for the little girl was
exceedingly conscientious.
Left to herself, Marjorie began to take in the situation.
She carefully unpacked her dressful of things, and arranged them
on the steps. In this she became greatly interested. It was a
novel way of living, to go always up and down and never sideways.
She planned her home for the day with care and thought. She
decided to reserve a narrow space next the banister to go up and
down; and to arrange her belongings on the other side of the
staircase. She put her clock on the top step that she might see it
from any point of view; and on the other steps she laid neatly her
books, her paint-box, her writing things, and her toys. She became
absorbed in this occupation, and delightedly scrambled up and
down, arranging and rearranging her shelved properties.
"It's a good deal like my shelf in my own room," she thought,
"except it's all in little pieces instead of straight ahead. But
that doesn't really matter, and I'm not sure but I like it better
this way. Now, I think I'll write a letter to Mother, first, and
confess this awful thing I've done. I always feel better after I
get my confessions off of my mind, and when Jane brings my dinner
I expect she'll take it to be mailed."
Marjorie scrambled up to a step near the top where her little
writing tablet was. She arranged her paper and took up her pen,
only to discover that in her haste she had forgotten to bring any
ink.
"But it doesn't matter," she thought, cheerfully, "for it would
have upset in my dress probably, and, anyway, I can just as well
use a pencil."
But the pencil's point was broken, and, of course, it had not
occurred to her to bring a knife. She had promised Grandma not to
leave the stairs without permission, so there was nothing to do
but to give up the idea of letter-writing, and occupy herself with
something else.
"And, anyway," she thought, "it must be nearly dinner time, for
I've been here now for hours and hours."
She glanced at the clock, and found to her amazement that it was
just twenty minutes since her grandmother had left her alone.
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