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 hands, and ran back into the yard with it and out of their sight among the shrubbery in the garden.

The children stared, open mouthed, after him for a moment, and then the little girl threw herself on the grass by the roadside and began to cry bitterly, and the little boy bent over her, trying to comfort her.

"Oh, how shameful, how shameful!" cried Marjorie, starting to her feet. "How could he do a thing like that?"

The Dream lay still with his chin on his hands. Marjorie looked at him angrily. "How can you lie there and kick your heels together, when anything like that is going on?"

"It does no good to get angry and hate the man," said the Dream easily.

"But I'm going to do something. I'm not going to stand— Oh, dear, now where have the children gone? I didn't see, did you? And I can't even be sure out of which gate the man came. Oh, dear, I can't do a thing after all."

"No," said the Dream, "all you can do is to hate the man."

Marjorie looked at him sharply. "How