“You were very selfish,” said her mother coldly, when Valancy told her about it at night. That was the first and last time Valancy had ever taken any of her troubles to her mother.

Valancy was neither jealous nor selfish. It was only that she wanted a dust-pile of her own — small or big mattered not. A team of horses came down the street — Olive’s dust pile was scattered over the roadway — the bell rang — the girls trooped into school and had forgotten the whole affair before they reached their seats. Valancy never forgot it. To this day she resented it in her secret soul. But was it not symbolical of her life?

“I’ve never been able to have my own dust-pile,” thought Valancy.

The enormous red