“Oh, what fun!” cried Molly, who was not as ingenious as Marjorie at making up games, but who was appreciative enough to enter into the spirit of it at once.

They became so absorbed in this new sort of play that again the time flew and it was dinner-time before they knew it.

Grandma did not invite Molly to stay to dinner, for she thought Marjorie ought to rest, but she asked the little neighbor to come again the next morning and continue their game.

After dinner Grandma darkened the room and left Marjorie to rest by herself, and the result of this was a long and refreshing nap.

When she awoke, Grandma appeared again with fresh water and towels, and her afternoon toilet was made.  Marjorie laughed to think that dressing for afternoon meant only putting on a different kimono, for dresses were not to be thought of with a sprained ankle.

And then Uncle Steve came in.

Uncle Steve was always like a ray of sunshine, but he seemed especially bright and cheery just now.

“Well, Midget Mops,” he said, “you have cut up a pretty trick, haven’t you?  Here, just as I wanted to take you driving, and walking in the woods, and boating, and fishing, and perhaps ballooning, and airshipping, and maybe skating, here you go and get yourself laid up so you can’t do anything but eat and sleep!  You’re a nice Midget, you are!  What’s the use of having an Uncle Steve if you can’t play with him?”

“Just you wait,” cried Marjorie; “I’m not going to be in bed more than a few days, and I’m going to stay here all summer.  There’ll be plenty of time for your fishing and skating yet.”

“But unless I get you pretty soon, I’ll pine away with grief.  And everybody out on the farm is lonesome for you.  The horses, Ned and Dick, had made up their minds to take you on long drives along the mountain roads where the wild flowers bloom.  They can’t understand why you don’t come out, and they stand in their stalls weeping, with great tears rolling down their cheeks.”

Marjorie laughed gayly at Uncle Steve’s foolery, and said:  “If they’re weeping so you’d better take them some of my pocket handkerchiefs.”

“Too small,” said Uncle Steve, scornfully; “one of your little handkerchiefs would get lost in Dick’s eye or Ned’s ear.  And old Betsy is weeping for you too.  Really, you’ll have to get around soon, or those three horses will run away, I fear.”

“What about the cow; does she miss me?” asked Marjorie, gravely, though her eyes were twinkling.

“The cow!” exclaimed Uncle Steve.  “She stands by the fence with her head on the top rail, and moos so loud that I should think you could hear her yourself.  She calls ‘Mopsy, Mopsy, Moo,’ from morning till night.  And the chickens!  Well, the incubator is full of desolate chickens.  They won’t eat their meal, and they just peep mournfully, and stretch their little wings trying to fly to you.”