worse, and you don't know how to get out of it or go back, and you get all soiled, and you get muddled and you don't know whether it is your fault or what the trouble is, but you think that everybody hates you,—and it keeps getting worse, and—and—," the child stopped and bit her lip hard. Marjorie tightened her hold on the little one's hand, and presently she went on:—"And if you are soiled and everybody keeps away from you and—and sometimes they throw mud so that you look dirtier than ever—and then you—you just don't know what to do." Again she stopped and held her lip between her teeth. After a while she spoke again. "I suppose," she said, "that you think that I am too old to get so dirty;—but I wouldn't have, if I had understood in the first place that it was the wrong trail."
The girl bent down toward her. "Listen," she said, "you are only as old as you know and understand. No matter how big you are or how big you grow to be, on the outside, if you are not wise and kind inside, you will make mistakes, and you can't really correct them until you learn better ways, and you can learn those only by studying the best in you and by coming near to those who are wiser and kinder than you are; but you must always be sure never to draw away from those who need your help, or tell them that they must get clean before they can come near to you, or before they can begin to learn; for perhaps they don't know how to get clean without your help."
