"Mother!" she called out. "I can't keep my eyes shut, unless I pin them. Shall I do that?" "Don't be foolish, Marjorie," called back Mrs. Maynard, from her own room. "Go to sleep." "But, Mother, I can't go to sleep. I'm as wide-awake as a--a weasel. Mother, what time are you going to the fair?" "At four o'clock. Now, be quiet, Marjorie, and don't ask any more questions." "No'm. But, Mother, mayn't I get up now? I've been here nearly six or seven hours." "It isn't six or seven minutes, yet. You must stay there half an hour, so you may as well make your mind up to it." "Yes'm; I've made up my mind. But I think this clock has stopped. It hasn't moved but a teenty, taunty speck in all these hours. What time is it by your clock, Mother?" "Marjorie! You'll drive me distracted! Will you be still?" "Yes'm, if you'll let me come in your room. May I, Mother? I'll just lie still on your couch, and I won't speak. I'll just look at you. You know you're so pretty, Mother." Mrs. Maynard stifled a laugh. "Come on, then," she called. "I simply can't yell like this any longer." "I should think not," said Marjorie, as she appeared in her mother's doorway. "My throat's exhausted, too." "Now, remember," said Mrs. Maynard, "you said you'd be quiet in here. Lie down on the couch, and put the afghan over you, and go to sleep." "I'll lie down on the couch,--so," said Marjorie, suiting the action to the word; "and I'll put the afghan over me,--so; but I can't go to sleep--because I can't." "Well, shut your eyes, and try to go to sleep; and, at any rate, stop talking." "Yes'm; I'll try." Marjorie squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and in a moment she began to talk in a droning voice. "I'm asleep now, Mother, thank you. I'm having a lovely nap. I'm just talking in my sleep, you know. Nobody can help that, can they?" "No; but they can't expect to be answered. So, talk in your sleep if you choose, but keep your eyes shut." "Oh, dear, that's the hardest part! Oh, Mother, I've such a good idea! Mayn't I begin to dress while I'm asleep? Just put on my slippers and stockings, you know. It would be such a help toward dressing to have that done. May I,--Mother? Mother, may I?" "Marjorie, you are incorrigible! Get up, do, and go for your bath, now. And if you're ready too early, you'll have to sit still and not move until it's time to go." "Oh, Mother, what a dear, sweet mother you are!" With a bound, Marjorie was off of the couch and tumbling into her mother's arms. Mrs. Maynard well understood the impatient young nature, and said no more about a nap. But at last the time came for Marjorie to start, and very sweet and dainty she looked in her mauve and white costume. She had never worn that color before, as it isn't usually considered appropriate for little girls, but it proved becoming, and her dancing eyes and rosy cheeks brightened up an effect otherwise too demure for a twelve-year-old child.