"Yes'm," said Marjorie, blushing.
"If I can't find him a piece of strong string?" finished grandmother.
"O, no--it's a little brass tack!" declared Marjorie, soberly.
She was a patient, loving grandmother, and she went to the little closet
again. Marjorie could hardly believe her eyes when she saw the tacks, for
there were three!
"He--said--" she began slowly, and stopped.
"You ought to tell him to come and say it himself," and grandmother
laughed; "but we will forgive him this time. Was it 'Thank you,' he said?"
"He feels 'Thank you' awfully, I'm sure," said Marjorie, politely, "but
what he said was that if wasn't too much bother--well, he could use a kind
of hook thing."
Her grandmother produced a long iron hook, and Marjorie looked at her
wonderingly. "Are you a fairy?" she asked, timidly. "You must have a wand
and just make things."
Grandmother laughed. "Come here," she said. And she opened the little dark
closet, and from the shelf took a long wooden box. This she brought to the
table, and when she opened it, Marjorie gave a little cry of delight. It
seemed to her that there was a little of everything in it.
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