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 "Yes, they are Errors," said Marjorie, sorrowfully.

"Do you know what they are made of?" asked the woman.

"No," said Marjorie.

"Of just the same stuff as the Dream," said her friend, smiling.

"What!" exclaimed Marjorie, in astonishment.

"Just the same," said the woman, nodding and smiling again.

"But—but—the Dream isn't really anything," said Marjorie.

"No, and neither are the Errors," said the woman. "They are no more real than you let them be, by believing in them."

"Oh-h-h-h," said Marjorie. "But how shall I get rid of them, then?"

"Only by knowing that they are not anything. Just hold one up to the light and look through it."

Marjorie did so. At first it looked pretty solid; but as she kept on looking, she could see that it appeared to be only a sort of a misty and dusty shape, and here and there she could see the light through it; and the longer she looked,