she stepped up to the small boy, holding them out and smiling kindly.
"Here, little boy," she said, distinctly, "take my gloves. You need them more than I do."
The boy accepted the gift with much gratitude, and Marjorie walked on with her head quite high in the air.
"Don't you wish that your arms were longer?" asked the Dream, presently.
"Why?" asked Marjorie in surprise.
"So that you could pat yourself on the back."
Marjorie flushed. "You are unkind," she said, in a hurt tone. "I really did give them because the boy needed them."
"I know it," said the Dream; "but, nevertheless, there was, in the end, what I should call a mixed motive. But never mind, you have your new gloves."
Marjorie glanced down at her hands, and sure enough, there were gloves; but such gloves! Soiled, ragged, and ill-fitting!
Marjorie bit her lip as she looked at them. "Do you think that was fair?" she asked, at last. "My first thought was good."
"Well," said the Dream, "I think you got just about what was coming to you. Those
