fell to work again. She was just finishing, when a voice called out
from the lane,--

"Hi, there! come here a minute, child!" and looking up, she saw a little
old man in a queer little carriage drawn by a fat little pony.

Running down to the gate, Marjorie dropped a curtsy, saying
pleasantly,--

"What did you wish, sir?"

"Just undo that check-rein for me. I am lame, and Jack wants to drink
at your brook," answered the old man, nodding at her till his spectacles
danced on his nose.

Marjorie was rather afraid of the fat pony, who tossed his head, whisked
his tail, and stamped his feet as if he was of a peppery temper. But she
liked to be useful, and just then felt as if there were few things she
could NOT do if she tried, because it was her birthday. So she proudly
let down the rein, and when Jack went splashing into the brook, she
stood on the bridge, waiting to check him up again after he had drunk
his fill of the clear, cool water.

The old gentleman sat in his place, looking up at the little girl, who
was smiling to herself as she watched the blue dragon-flies dance among
the ferns, a blackbird tilt on the alderboughs, and listened to the
babble of the brook.

"How old are you, child?" asked the old man, as if he rather envied this
rosy creature her youth and health.

"Twelve to-day, sir;" and Marjorie stood up straight and tall, as if
mindful of her years.

"Had any presents?" asked the old man, peering up with an odd smile.

"One, sir,--here it is;" and she pulled out of her pocket a tin
savings-bank in the shape of a desirable family mansion, painted red,
with a green door and black chimney. Proudly displaying it on the rude
railing of the bridge, she added, with a happy face,--

"Granny gave it to me, and all the money in it is going to be mine."

"How much have you got?" asked the old gentleman, who appeared to like
to sit there in the middle of the brook, while Jack bathed his feet and
leisurely gurgled and sneezed.

"Not a penny yet, but I'm going to earn some," answered Marjorie,
patting the little bank with an air of resolution pretty to see.

"How will you do it?" continued the inquisitive old man.

"Oh, I'm going to pick berries and dig dandelions, and weed, and drive
cows, and do chores. It is vacation, and I can work all the time, and
earn ever so much."

"But vacation is play-time,--how about that?"

"Why, that sort of work IS play, and I get bits of fun all along. I
always have