delightful. How delightful nobody knows, excepting those who, like Katy, have lain for six months in bed, without a peep at the outside world. Every day she grew brighter and more cheerful.
“How jolly Santa Claus was this year!” she happened to say one day, when she was talking with Cecy. “I wish another Saint would come and pay us a visit. But I don’t know any more, except Cousin Helen, and she can’t.”
“There’s St. Valentine,” suggested Cecy.
“Sure enough. What a bright thought!” cried Katy, clapping her hands. “Oh, Cecy, let’s do something funny on Valentine’s-Day! Such a good idea has just popped into my mind.”
So the two girls put their heads together and held a long, mysterious confabulation. What it was about, we shall see farther on.
Valentine’s-Day was the next Friday. When the children came home from school on Thursday afternoon, Aunt Izzie met them, and, to their great surprise, told them that Cecy was come to drink tea, and they must all go up stairs and be made nice.
“But Cecy comes most every day,” remarked Dorry, who didn’t see the connection between this fact and having his face washed.
“Yes – but to-night you are to take tea in Katy’s room,” said Aunt Izzie; “here are the invitations: one for each of you.”
Sure enough, there was a neat little note for each, requesting the pleasure of their company at “Queen Katharine’s Palace,” that afternoon, at six o’clock.
This put quite a different aspect on the affair. The children scampered up stairs, and pretty soon, all nicely brushed and washed, they were knocking formally at the door of the “Palace.” How fine it sounded!
The room looked bright and inviting. Katy, in her chair, sat close to the fire, Cecy was beside her, and there was a round table all set out with a white cloth and mugs of milk and biscuit, and strawberry-jam and doughnuts. In the middle was a loaf of frosted cake. There was something on the icing which looked like pink letters, and Clover, leaning forward, read aloud, “St. Valentine.”
“What’s that for?” asked Dorry.
“Why, you know this is St. Valentine’s-Eve,” replied Katy. “Debby remembered it, I guess, so she put that on.”
Nothing more was said about St. Valentine just then. But when the last pink letter of his name had been eaten, and the supper had been cleared away, suddenly, as the children sat by the fire, there was a loud rap at the door.
“Who can that be?” said Katy; “please see, Clover!”
So Clover opened the door. There stood Bridget, trying very hard not to laugh, and holding a letter in her hand.
“It’s a note as has come for you, Miss Clover,” she said.
“For me! ” cried Clover, much amazed. Then she shut the door, and brought the note to the table.
“How very funny!” she exclaimed, as she looked at the envelope, which was a green and white one. There was something hard inside. Clover broke the seal. Out tumbled a small green velvet pincushion made in the shape of a clover-leaf, with a tiny stem of wire wound with green silk. Pinned to the cushion was a paper, with these verses:
“Some people love roses well,
Tulips, gayly dressed,
Some love violets blue and sweet, –
I love Clover best.
“Though she has a modest air,
Though no grace she boast,
Though no gardener call her fair,
I love Clover most.
“Butterfly may pass her by,
He is but a rover,
I’m a faithful, loving Bee –
And I stick to Clover.”
This was the first valentine Clover had ever had. She was perfectly enchanted.
“Oh, who do you suppose sent it?” she cried.
But before anybody could answer, there came another loud knock at the door, which made them all jump. Behold, Bridget again, with a second letter!
“It’s for you, Miss Elsie, this time,” she said with a grin.
There was an instant rush from all the children, and the envelope was torn open in the twinkling of an eye. Inside was a little ivory seal with “Elsie” on it in old English letters, and these rhymes:
“I know a little girl,
She is very dear to me,
She is just as sweet as honey
When she chooses so to be,
And her name begins with E, and ends with E.
“She has brown hair which curls,
And black eyes for to see
With, teeth like tiny pearls,
And dimples, one, two – three,
And her name begins with E, and ends with E.
“Her little feet run faster
Than other feet can flee,
As she brushes quickly past, her
Voice hums like a bee,
And her name begins with E, and ends with E.
“Do you ask me why I love her?
Then I shall answer thee,
Because I can’t help loving,
She is so sweet to me,
This little girl whose name begins and ends with ‘E.’”
“It’s just like a fairy story,” said Elsie, whose eyes had grown as big as saucers from surprise, while these verses were being read aloud by Cecy.
Another knock. This time there was a perfect handful of letters. Everybody had one. Katy, to her great surprise, had two.
“Why, what can this be?” she said. But when she peeped into the second one, she saw Cousin Helen’s handwriting, and she put it into her pocket, till the valentines should be read.
Dorry’s was opened first. It had the picture of a pie at the top – I ought to explain that Dorry had lately been having a siege with the dentist.
“Little Jack Horner
Sat in his corner,
Eating his Christmas pie,
When a sudden grimace
Spread over his
