Uncle Steve assisted her down. He didn't carry her, for he said she was far too much of a heavyweight for any such performance as that, but he supported her on one side, and with a banister rail on the other she managed beautifully.

And, anyway, her ankle was just about as well as ever. The doctor had not allowed the active child to come downstairs until there was little if any danger that an imprudence on her part might injure her again.

It was Saturday afternoon, and though she could not be allowed to walk about the place until the following week, yet Uncle Steve took her for a long, lovely drive behind Ned and Dick, and then brought her back to another jolly little surprise.

This was found in a certain sheltered corner of one of the long verandas. It was so built that it was almost like a cosy, little square room; and climbing vines formed a pleasant screen from the bright sunlight. To it Uncle Steve had brought a set of wicker furniture: dear little chairs and a table and a settee, all painted green. Then there was a green-and-white hammock swung at just the right height, and containing two or three fat, jolly-looking, green pillows, in the midst of which Puff had chosen to curl herself up for a nap.

There was a little bamboo bookcase, with a few books and papers, and a large box covered with Japanese matting, which had a hinged lid, and was lovely to keep things in. There was a rug on the floor, and Japanese lanterns hung from the ceiling, all in tones of green and white and silver.

Marjorie unceremoniously dislodged Puff from her comfortable position, and flung herself into the hammock instead.

"Uncle Steve!" she exclaimed, grabbing that gentleman tightly round the neck as he leaned over her to adjust her pillows, "you are the best man in the whole world, and I think you ought to be President! If you do any more of these lovely things for me I shall just—just SUFFOCATE with joy. What makes you so good to me, anyhow?"

"Oh, because you're such a little saint, and never do anything naughty or mischievous!"

"That's a splendid reason," cried Marjorie, quite appreciating the joke, "and, truly, Uncle Steve,—don't you tell,—it's a great secret: but I AM going to try to be more dignified and solemn."

This seemed to strike Uncle Steve as being very funny, for he sat down on the little wicker settee and laughed heartily.

"Well, you may as well begin now, then; and put on your most dignified and pompous manner, as you lie there in that hammock, for I'm going to read to you until tea-time."

"Goody, goody!" cried Marjorie, bobbing up her curly head, and moving about excitedly. "Please, Uncle, read from that new book you brought me last night. I'll get it!"

"That's a nice, dignified manner, that is! Your Serene Highness will please calm yourself, and stay just where you are. I shall select the book to read from, and I shall do the reading. All you have to do is to lie still and listen."

So Marjorie obeyed, and, of course, Uncle Steve picked out the very book she wanted, and read to her delightfully for an hour or more.

Marjorie's porch, as it came to be called, proved to be a favorite resort all summer long for the family and for any guests who came to the house. Marjorie herself almost lived in it for the first few days after she came downstairs, but at last the doctor pronounced her ankle entirely well, and said she might "start out to find some fresh mischief."

So the next morning, directly after breakfast, she announced her intention of going down to see the boathouse.

"Just think," she exclaimed, "I have never seen it yet, and King told me to go down there the very first thing."

"I suppose you'll come back half-drowned," said Grandma, "but as you seem unable to learn anything, except by mistakes, go ahead. But, Marjorie, do try not to do some absurd thing, and then say that I haven't forbidden it! I don't forbid you to go in the boat, if Carter goes with you, but I do forbid you to go alone. Will you remember that?"

"Yes, Grandma, truly I will," said Marjorie, with such a seraphic smile that her grandmother kissed her at once.

"Then run along and have a good time; and don't jump off the dock or anything foolish."

"I won't," cried Marjorie, gayly; and then she went dancing down the path to the garden. Carter was in the greenhouse potting some plants.

"Carter," said Marjorie, putting her head in at the door, "are you very busy?"

"Busy, indeed! I have enough work here with these pesky plants to keep me steady at it till summer after next. Busy, is it? I'm so busy that the bees and the ants is idle beside me. Busy? Well, I AM busy!"

But as the good-natured old man watched Marjorie's face, and saw the look of disappointment settling upon it, he said: "But what matters that? If so be, Miss Midget, I can do anything for you, you've only to command."

"Well, Carter, I thought this morning I'd like to go down to see the boathouse; and I thought, perhaps,—maybe, if you weren't busy, you might take me for a little row in the boat. Just a little row, you know—not very far."

It would have taken a harder heart than Carter's to withstand the pleading tones and the expectant little face; and the gardener set down his flower-pots, and laid down his trowel at once.

"Did your grandmother say you could go, Miss Midget?"

"She said I could go if you went with me."

"Then it's with ye I go, and we'll start at once."

Marjorie danced along by the side of the old man as he walked more slowly down the garden path, when suddenly a new idea came into her head.

"Oh, Carter," she cried, "have my seeds come up yet? And what are the flowers? Let's go and look at them."

"Come up yet, is it? No, indeed, they've scarcely settled themselves down in the earth yet."

"I wish they would come up, I want to see what they'll be. Let's go and look at the place where we planted them, Carter."

So they turned aside to the flowerbed where the precious seeds had been planted, but not even Marjorie's sharp eyes could detect the tiniest green sprout. With an impatient little sigh she turned away, and as they continued down toward the boathouse, Marjorie heard somebody calling, and Molly Moss came flying up to her, all out of breath.

"We were so afraid we wouldn't catch you," she exclaimed, "for your

Grandma said you had gone out in the boat."

"We haven't yet," answered Marjorie, "but we're just going. Oh, Carter, can we take Molly, too?"

"And Stella," added Molly. "She's coming along behind."

Sure enough, Stella was just appearing round the corner of the house, and walking as sedately as if on her way to church.

"Hurry up, Stella," called Marjorie. "Can we all go, Carter?"

"Yes, if yees'll set still in the boat and if the other little lady gets here before afternoon. She's the nice, quiet child, but you two are a pair of rascally babies, and I don't know whether it's safe to go on the water with ye. I'm thinkin' I'll take little Miss Stella, and leave ye two behind."

"I don't think you will, Carter," said Marjorie, not at all alarmed by the old man's threat. "I think you'll take all three of us, and we'll sit as still as mice, won't we, Molly?"

"Yes," said Molly; "can we take off our shoes and stockings and hang our feet over the sides of the boat?"

"Oh, yes," cried Marjorie, "that will be lots of fun!"

"Indeed you'll do nothing of the sort," and Carter's honest old face showed that he felt great anxiety concerning his madcap charges. "Ye must promise to sit still, and not move hand or foot, or I'll go back to my work and leave yees on shore."

This awful suggestion brought about promises of strictly good behavior, and as Stella had arrived, the party proceeded to the boathouse.

Stella was mildly pleased at the prospect of a row, and walked demurely by Carter's side, while the other two ran on ahead and reached the boathouse first.

As the door was locked, and they could not open it, Marjorie, who was all impatience to see the boat, proposed that they climb in the window. Molly needed no second invitation, and easily slipped through the little square window, and Marjorie, with a trifle more difficulty, wriggled her own plump little body through after.

As the window was not on the side of the boathouse toward which Carter was approaching, he did not see the performance, and so when he and Stella reach the boathouse a few moments later, they could see nothing at all of the other two girls.

"Merciful powers!" he exclaimed. "Whatever has become of them two witches?"

"Where can they be?" cried Stella, clasping her hands, and opening her eyes wide in alarm.

Old Carter was genuinely frightened. "Miss Marjorie!" he called, loudly. "Miss Molly! Where be ye?"

Meanwhile, the two girls inside the boathouse had carefully scrambled down into the boat and sat quietly on the stern seat. There was a strong breeze blowing, and as the boat swayed up and down on the rippling water, its keel grating against the post to which it was tied, and the doors and windows being tightly shut, they did not hear Carter's voice. They really had no intention of frightening the old man, and supposed he would open the door in a moment.

But Carter's mind was so filled with the thought that the children had fallen into the water that it didn't occur to him to open the boathouse. He went to the edge of the pier, which was a narrow affair, consisting only of two wooden planks and a single hand rail, and gazed anxiously down into the water.

This gave Stella a firm conviction that the girls were drowned, and without another word she began to cry in her own noisy and tumultuous fashion. Poor Carter, already at his wits' end, had small patience with any additional worry.

"Keep still, Miss Stella," he commanded; "it's enough to have two children on me hands drowned without another one raising a hullabaloo. And it's a queer thing, too, if them wicked little rats is drownded, why they don't come up to the surface! My stars! Whatever will the Missus say? But, havin' disappeared so mortal quick, there's no place they can be but under the water. I'll get a boat-hook, and perhaps I can save 'em yet."

Trembling with excitement and bewildered with anxiety, so that he scarcely knew what he did, the old man fitted the key in the lock. He flung open the boathouse door and faced the two children, who sat quietly and with smiling faces in the boat.

"Well, if ye don't beat all! Good land, Miss Marjorie, whatever did ye give me such a scare for? Sure I thought ye was drownded, and I was jest goin' to fish ye up with a boat-hook! My, but you two are terrors! And how did ye get in now? Through the keyhole, I suppose."

"Why, no, Carter," exclaimed Marjorie, who was really surprised at the old man's evident excitement; "we were in a hurry, and the door was locked, so we just stepped in through the window."

"Stepped in through the window, is it? And if the window had been locked ye'd have jest stepped in through the chimley! And if the chimley had been locked, ye'd have stepped into the water, and ducked under, and come up through the floor! When ye're in a hurry, ye stop for nothin', Miss Midget."

The old man's relief at finding the children safe was so great that he was really talking a string of nonsense to hide his feelings.

But Stella, though she realized the girls were all right, could not control her own emotions so easily, and was still crying vociferously.

"For goodness' sake!" exclaimed Molly, "what IS the matter with Stella?

Doesn't she want to go boating?"

"Why—yes," sobbed Stella, "b-but I thought you two were drowned."

"Well, we're not!" cried Marjorie, gayly. "So cheer up, Stella, and come along."

Leaving the two girls, as they were already seated, in the stern of the boat, Carter carefully tucked Stella into the bow seat, and then took his own place on the middle thwart. This arrangement enabled him to keep his eye on the two mischievous madcaps, and he had no fear that Stella would cut up any tricks behind his back.

He could not reprove the mischief-makers, for they had done nothing really wrong, but he looked at them grimly as he rowed out into the stream.

"Oh," exclaimed Marjorie, "isn't this just too lovely for anything! Please, Carter, mayn't we just put our hands in the water if we keep our feet in the boat?"

"No," growled Carter; "you'll be wantin' to put your heads in next. Now do set still, like the nice young lady behind me."

Anxious to be good, Marjorie gave a little sigh and folded her hands in her lap, while Molly did likewise.

Carter's eyes twinkled as he looked at the two little martyrs, and his heart relented.

"Ye may just dangle your fingers in the water, if ye want to," he said, "but ye must be careful not to wobble the boat."

The children promised, and then gave themselves up to the delight of holding their hands in the water and feeling the soft ripples run through their fingers.

The row down the river was perfect. The balmy June day, with its clear air and blue sky, the swift, steady motion of the boat impelled by Carter's long, strong strokes, and the soothing sensation of the rushing water subdued even the high spirits of Midge and Molly into a sort of gentle, tranquil happiness.

CHAPTER VIII
A MEMORY BOOK

With a few deft strokes Carter brought the boat to land on a long, smooth, shelving beach. A crunch of the keel on the pebbles, and then the boat was half its length on shore. Stella, in the bow, grasped the sides of the boat tightly with both hands, as if the shore were more dangerous than the water. Carter stepped out, and drew the boat well up on land, and assisted the girls out.

Stella stepped out gingerly, as if afraid of soiling her dainty boots; but Midge and Molly, with a hop, skip, and jump, bounded out on the beach and danced round in glee.

"I do believe," cried Marjorie, "that this is Blossom Banks! For there are three banks, one after another, just covered with wild flowers. And as true as I live there's a scarlet tanager on that bush! Don't startle him, Stella."

Molly laughed at the idea of Stella startling anything, and softly the girls crept nearer to the beautiful red bird, but in a moment he spread his black-tipped wings and flew away.

"It is Blossom Banks, Miss Midge," said Carter, who now came up to the girls, and who was carrying a mysterious-looking basket. He had secured the boat, and seemed about to climb the banks.

"What's in the basket, Carter?" cried Midge. "Is it a picnic? Is it a truly picnic?"

"Well, just a wee bit of a picnic, Miss Midget. Your Grandma said that maybe some cookies and apples wouldn't go begging among yees. But ye must climb the banks first, so up ye go!"

Gayly the girls scrambled up the bank, and though Stella was not as impetuous as the others, she was not far behind. At every step new beauties dawned, and Marjorie, who was a nature-lover, drew a long breath of delight as she reached the top of the Blossom Banks.

They trotted on, sometimes following Carter's long strides and sometimes dancing ahead; now falling back to chatter with Stella and now racing each other to the next hillock.

At last they reached the dearest little picnic place, with soft green grass for a carpet, and gnarled roots of great trees for rustic seats.

"For a little picnic," said Midge, as she sat with an apple in one hand and a cookie in the other, contentedly munching them both alternately, "this is the bestest ever. And isn't this a splendiferous place for a big picnic!"

"Perhaps your grandma will let you have one this summer," said Stella. "She had one for Kingdon last year and we all came to it. It was lovely fun."

"Indeed it was," cried Molly; "there were swings on the trees, and we played tag, and we had bushels of sandwiches."

"I'm going to ask Grandma as soon as ever I get home," declared Midge, "and I 'most know she'll let me have one. But I don't know many children around here to ask."

"I'll make up a list for you," volunteered Molly. "Come on, girls, let's play tag."

The cookies and apples being all gone and Carter having consented in response to their coaxing to stay half an hour longer, they had a glorious game of tag.

Stella, though so sedate when walking, could run like a deer, and easily caught the others; for Marjorie was too plump to run fast, and Molly, though light on her feet, was forever tumbling down.

At last, tired and warm from their racing, they sat down again in the little mossy dell and played jackstones until Carter declared they must go home.

"All right," said Midge; "but, Carter, row us a little farther down stream, won't you, before you turn around?"

"I will, Miss Midge, if ye'll sit still and not be everlastin' makin' me heart jump into me throat thinkin' ye'll turn the boat upside down."

"All right," cried Midge, and she jumped into the boat with a spring and a bounce that made the other end tip up and splash the water all over her.

"There ye go now," grumbled Carter; "my, but it's the rambunctious little piece ye are! Now, Miss Molly, for the land's sake, do step in with your feet and not with your head! You two'll be the death of me yet!"

Carter's bark was worse than his bite, for, although he scolded, he helped the children in carefully and gently seated Stella in her place. Then he stepped in, and with a mighty shove of the oar pushed the boat off the beach, and they were afloat again.

The exhilaration of the occasion had roused Midge and Molly to a high state of frolicsomeness, and it did seem impossible for them to keep still. They dabbled their hands in the water and surreptitiously splashed each other, causing much and tumultuous giggling. This was innocent fun in itself, but Carter well knew that a sudden unintentional bounce on the part of either might send the other one into the water. Regardless of their entreaties he turned around and headed the boat for home.

"Ye're too many for me, Miss Midge," he exclaimed; "if I land you safe this trip ye can get somebody else to row ye the next time. I'm having nervous prostration with your tricks and your didoes. NOW, will ye be good?"

This last exasperated question was caused by the fact that a sudden bounce of Molly's caused the boat to lurch and Carter's swift-moving oar sent a drenching wave all over Midge.

"Pooh, water doesn't hurt!" cried the victim. "I like it. Do it again,

Molly!"

"Don't you do it, Miss Molly!" roared Carter, bending to his oars and pulling fast in an effort to get home before these unmanageable children had passed all bounds.

"Girls," piped Stella, plaintively from her end of the boat, "if you don't stop carrying on, I shall cry."

This threat had more effect than Carter's reprimands, and, though the two madcaps giggled softly, they did sit pretty still for the remainder of the trip.

Once more on the dock, Marjorie shook herself like a big dog, and declared she wasn't very wet, after all. "And I'm very much obliged to you, Carter," she said, smiling at the old man; "you were awful good to take us for such a lovely boat-ride, and I'm sorry we carried on so, but truly, Carter, it was such a lovely boat that I just couldn't help it! And you do row splendid!"

The compliment was sincere, and by no means made with the intention of softening Carter's heart, but it had that effect, and he beamed on Midget as he replied:

"Ah, that's all right, me little lady. Ye just naturally can't help bouncin' about like a rubber ball. Ye have to work off yer animal spirits somehow, I s'pose. But if so be that ye could sit a bit quieter, I might be injuced to take ye agin some other day. But I'd rather yer grandma'd be along."

"Oho!" laughed Marjorie. "It would be funny to have Grandma in a boat! She'd sit stiller than Stella, and I don't believe she'd like it, either."

With Stella in the middle, the three girls intertwined their arms and skipped back to the house. Marjorie and Molly had found that the only way to make Stella keep up with them was to urge her along in that fashion.

"Good-by," said Marjorie, as the three parted at the gate; "be sure to come over to-morrow morning; and, Stella, if you'll bring your paintbox, it will be lovely for you to paint those paper dolls."

The three girls had become almost inseparable companions, and though Midge and Molly were more congenial spirits, Stella acted as a balance wheel to keep them from going too far. She really had a good influence over them, though exerted quite unconsciously; and Midge and Molly inspired Stella with a little more self-confidence and helped her to conquer her timidity.

"Good-by," returned Stella, "and be sure to have a letter in the post office by four o'clock, when James goes for the milk."

The post office in the old maple tree had become quite an institution, and the girls put letters there for each other nearly every day, and sent for them by any one who might happen to be going that way.

Quiet little Stella was especially fond of getting letters and would have liked to receive them three times a day.

The elder members of the three families often sent letters or gifts to the children, and it was not at all unusual to find picture postcards or little boxes of candy, which unmistakably came from the generous hand of Uncle Steve.

One delightful afternoon Marjorie sat in her cosy little porch with a table full of delightful paraphernalia and a heart full of expectation.

She was waiting for Uncle Steve, who was going to devote that afternoon to helping her arrange her Memory Book. Marjorie had collected a quantity of souvenirs for the purpose, and Uncle Steve had bought for her an enormous scrapbook. When she had exclaimed at its great size, he had advised her to wait until it had begun to fill up before she criticised it; and when she looked at her pile of treasures already accumulated, she wondered herself how they would all get in the book.

At last Uncle Steve came, and sitting down opposite Marjorie at her little table, announced himself as ready to begin operations.

"We'll plan it out a little first, Mopsy, and then fasten the things in afterward."

Marjorie was quite content to sit and look on, at least until she found out how such things were done.

"You see," said her uncle, "we'll take a page for each occasion—more or less. For instance, as this book is to represent just this summer it ought to begin with your trip up here. Have you anything that reminds you of that day?"

"Yes," said Marjorie, looking over her heap of treasures, "here's a little kind of a badge that father bought for me at the station as we were going to the train."

"Just the thing; now, you see, as this is on a pin itself we'll just stick it in this first page. Anything else?"

"Well, here's a pretty picture I cut out of a magazine on the train coming up; oh, and here are two postcards that I bought of a boy who brought them through the train."

"Fine! Now, you see, we'll paste all these on this page and anything more if you have it, and then every time you look at this page you can just seem to see that whole trip, can't you?"

"Yes," said Marjorie, who was becoming absorbedly interested in this new game; "and here's the time-table, Uncle: but that isn't very pretty and it's so big. Oh, and here's the card, the bill of fare, you know, that we had in the dining-car. See, it has a picture on it."

"Why, Midget, it isn't considered exactly good form to carry the MENU away with you; but it's really no crime, and since you have it, we'll put it in. As to the time-table, we'll just cut out this part that includes the stations at the beginning and end of your trip. See?"

"Oh, yes, indeed I do! And what a beautiful page!" Marjorie breathlessly watched as Uncle Steve arranged the souvenirs harmoniously on the big page and pasted them neatly in their places. Then, taking from his pocket a box of colored pencils, he printed at the top of the page, in ornate letters, the date and the occasion. Uncle Steve was an adept at lettering, and the caption was an additional ornament to the already attractive page.

Thus they went on through the book. Sometimes a page was devoted to a special occasion, and again many scattered mementoes were grouped together. It seemed as if every pleasure Marjorie had had since she came, had produced something attractive for her book.

A fancy lace paper represented the big box of bonbons that her father had sent her when she had her sprained ankle. Many photographs there were, for Marjorie had learned to use her camera pretty well, and Uncle Steve sometimes took snap-shots of the children with his own larger camera. There were several little pictures that Stella had painted for her, an old tintype that Grandma had given her, a feather from the tail of Marjorie's pet rooster, and many such trifles, each of which brought up a host of memories of pleasant or comical situations.

The sprained-ankle episode filled up several pages. For there were the letters that Marjorie had received from the animals, and other notes and pictures that had been sent to her, and many mementoes of those long days she had spent in bed. The beautiful book Uncle Steve had brought her at that time was suggested by its title, cut from the paper wrapper which had been on the book when it came. Indeed, it seemed that there was no end to the ingenious ways of remembering things that Marjorie wanted to remember. A tiny, bright bird feather would recall the walk she took with Grandma one afternoon; a pressed wild flower was an eloquent reminder of Blossom Banks; and a large strawberry hull, neatly pasted into place, Marjorie insisted upon to remind her of the day when she said "Boo" to Stella.

Several pages were devoted to souvenirs from home, and Rosy Posy's illegible scrawls were side by side with neatly-written postcards from her parents.

All of these things Uncle Steve arranged with the utmost care and taste, and Marjorie soon learned how to do it for herself. Some things, such as letters or thin cards, must be pasted in; heavier cards or postcards were best arranged by cutting slits for the corners and tucking them in; while more bulky objects, such as pebbles, a tiny china doll or a wee little Teddy Bear, must be very carefully tied to the page by narrow ribbons put through slits from the back.

Marjorie was so impetuous and hasty in her work that it was difficult for her to learn to do it patiently and carefully. Her first efforts tore the pages and were far from being well done. But, as she saw the contrast between her own untidy work and Uncle Steve's neat and careful effects, she tried very hard to improve, and as the book went on her pages grew every day better and more careful.

At the top of each page Uncle Steve would write the date or the place in dainty, graceful letters; and often he would write a name or a little joke under the separate souvenirs, until, as time went on, the book became one of Marjorie's most valued and valuable possessions.