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Page 38
"Which did?"
"Why, my running up the stairs! Of course, the punishment didn't
hurt her," and Marjorie laughed merrily at the idea.
"I think it hurt her more than it did you," said Uncle Steve, but
Marjorie only stared, open-eyed, at this nonsense.
"Well, anyway, it's all over now; so bundle your belongings back
where they belong and get yourself ready for a drive."
Marjorie flew to obey, but meeting Grandma in the hall, she
dropped her dressful of books and toys, and flung herself into
Mrs. Sherwood's waiting arms.
"Oh, Grandma!" she cried. "I AM so sorry I slam-banged upstairs,
and I'll never do it again, and I had a perfectly awful, DREADFUL
time, but of course you had to punish me for your own good,--I
mean for my own good,--but now it's all over, and you love me just
the same, don't you?"
The ardent embrace in progress left no doubt of the affection
still existing between the pair, and if Marjorie's hugs were of
the lovingly boisterous variety, Grandma Sherwood appeared quite
willing to submit to them.
"I don't know," she thought to herself, after Marjorie had gone
for her drive, "whether that child is impervious to discipline or
whether she is unusually capable of receiving and assimilating
it."
But at any rate, Marjorie never went up or down the front stairs
again, except on the occasions when it was distinctly permissible.
The drive with Uncle Steve was a succession of delights. This was
partly because it was such a sudden and pleasant change from the
abominable staircase and partly because Uncle Steve was such an
amiable and entertaining companion.
The two were alone in an old-fashioned, low basket-phaeton; and
Uncle Steve was willing to stop whenever Marjorie wished, to note
an especially beautiful bird on a neighboring branch or an extra-
fine blossom of some wild flower.
Also, Uncle Steve seemed to know the names of all the trees and
flowers and birds they chanced to see. Greatly interested in these
things, Marjorie learned much nature-lore, and the lessons were
but play. Tying the horse to a fence, the two cronies wandered
into the wood and found, after much careful search, some Indian
Pipes of an exquisite perfection. These fragile, curious things
were Marjorie's great delight, and she carried them carefully home
for her Memory Book.
"They won't be very satisfactory as mementoes," warned Uncle
Steve, "for they will turn brown and lose their fair, white
beauty."
Marjorie looked regretful, but an inspiration came to her.
"I'll tell you what, Uncle Steve, I'll get Stella to draw them in
my book and paint them. She's so clever at copying flowers, and
I'm sure she can do it."
"Let her try it, then, and if she doesn't succeed I'll photograph
them for you, so you'll have at least a hint of the lovely
things."
Hand in hand they walked through the wood, spying new beauties
here and there. Sometimes they sat on a fallen log to rest a bit
or to discuss some new marvel in Nature's kingdom.
At last, as the sun was sinking low in the west, they left the
wood, untied old Betsy, who was patiently waiting for them, and
jogged along homeward.
"Punishment is a strange thing," said Marjorie to Grandma, as they
were having their little "twilight talk" that evening, before the
child went to bed.
"Why?" asked Grandma.
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