CHAPTER VIII
關燈
小
中
大
InvainValancy,withscrawny,outstretchedlittlearms,triedtoprotecthers.Shewasruthlesslysweptaside,herdust-pilescoopedupandpouredonOlive’s.Valancyturnedawayresolutelyandbeganbuildinganotherdust-pile.Againabiggergirlpouncedonit.Valancystoodbeforeit,flushed,indignant,armsoutspread.
“Don’ttakeit,”shepleaded.“Pleasedon’ttakeit.”
“Butwhy?”demandedtheoldergirl.“Whywon’tyouhelptobuildOlive’sbigger?”
“Iwantmyownlittledust-pile,”saidValancypiteously.
Herpleawentunheeded.Whileshearguedwithonegirlanotherscrapedupherdust-pile.Valancyturnedaway,herheartswelling,hereyesfulloftears.
“Jealous—you’rejealous!”saidthegirlsmockingly.
“Youwereveryselfish,”saidhermothercoldly,whenValancytoldheraboutitatnight.ThatwasthefirstandlasttimeValancyhadevertakenanyofhertroublestohermother.
Valancywasneitherjealousnorselfish.Itwasonlythatshewantedadust-pileofherown—smallorbigmatterednot.Ateamofhorsescamedownthestreet—Olive’sdustpilewasscatteredovertheroadway—thebellrang—thegirlstroopedintoschoolandhadforgottenthewholeaffairbeforetheyreachedtheirseats.Valancyneverforgotit.Tothisdaysheresenteditinhersecretsoul.Butwasitnotsymbolicalofherlife?
“I’veneverbeenabletohavemyowndust-pile,”thoughtValancy.
Theenormousredmoonshehadseenrisingrightattheendofthestreetoneautumneveningofhersixthyear.Shehadbeensickandcoldwiththeawful,uncannyhorrorofit.Soneartoher.Sobig.Shehadrunintremblingtohermotherandhermotherhadlaughedather.Shehadgonetobedandhiddenherfaceundertheclothesinterrorlestshemightlookatthewindowandseethathorriblemoonglaringinatherthroughit.
Theboywhohadtriedtokissheratapartywhenshewasfifteen.Shehadnotlethim—shehadevadedhimandrun.Hewastheonlyboywhohadevertriedtokissher.Now,fourteenyearslater,Valancyfoundherselfwishingthatshehadlethim.
ThetimeshehadbeenmadetoapologisetoOliveforsomethingshehadn’tdone.OlivehadsaidthatValancyhadpushedherintothemudandspoiledhernewshoesonpurpose.Valancyknewshehadn’t.Ithadbeenanaccident—andeventhatwasn’therfault—butnobodywouldbelieveher.Shehadtoapologise—andkissOliveto“makeup.”Theinjusticeofitburnedinhersoultonight.
ThatsummerwhenOlivehadthemostbeautifulhat,trimmedwithcreamyyellownet,withawreathofredrosesandlittleribbonbowsunderthechin.Valancyhadwantedahatlikethatmorethanshehadeverwantedanything.Shepleadedforoneandhadbeenlaughedat—allsummershehadtowearahorridlittlebrownsailorwithelasticthatcutbehindherears.Noneofthegirlswouldgoaroundwithherbecauseshewassoshabby—nobodybutOlive.PeoplehadthoughtOlivesosweetandunselfish.
“Iwasanexcellentfoilforher,”thoughtValancy.“Eventhensheknewthat.”
ValancyhadtriedtowinaprizeforattendanceinSundaySchoolonce.ButOlivewonit.ThereweresomanySundaysValancyhadtostayhomebecauseshehadcolds.Shehadoncetriedto“sayapiece”inschooloneFridayafternoonandhadbrokendowninit.Olivewasagoodreciterandnevergotstuck.
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