A Flock of Girls and Boys Part 15

"Yes, I guess so," replied Jane, smiling.

"I love you better 'n anybody in the world, Jane."

"And you'd choose me to be your valentine, then, wouldn't you?" laughed Jane.

"Oh, yes, yes; and if I could only send you one of those po'try picture things, I'd send you the most bewt'f'lest I could find. Don't you wish I could, Jane?"

"Yes, of course I do."

"Did you ever have a valentine, Jane?"

"No, never."

"Those girls 'cross the street had 'em, and Martha had one. Why don't you and I have 'em, Jane?"

"You 'n' I? Those girls across the street know girls and boys who have fathers and mothers to give them money to buy valentines with."

"Why don't we know such girls and boys?"

"'Cause we don't. We're poor, and live in an Orphans' Home. Those girls only know folks that live like themselves."

"But Martha lives right here, just where we do, and Martha had a valentine."

"Martha's different. She's only paid for staying here to work. She's got folks outside that she belongs to. It was a cousin of hers sent her that valentine."

"Oh," and Polly gave a soft sigh, "I wish _we_ had folks that we belonged to! Don't you, Jane?"

"_Don't_ I!" and as Jane said this, she dropped down upon Polly's little bed, and covered her face with her hands.

"Oh, Jane, Janey! what's the matter? Has somebody hurted your feelings?"

"No, no," answered Jane, brokenly; "n.o.body in particular. I--I felt lonesome. I do sometimes when I get to thinking I don't belong to anybody and n.o.body belongs to me."

"Janey, _I_ belongs to you, don't I?" And around Jane's neck two little arms pressed lovingly.

"You don't belong to me as a relation does. You ain't a sister or a cousin, you know."

"Can't you 'dopt me, Jane?"

Jane laughed through her tears. "What do you know about adopting?" she asked.

"Martha tole me 'bout it. She said folks of'n 'dopted children to be their very own, and that mebbe some time somebody'd 'dopt me; and I tole her then I didn' want anybody to 'dopt me, but--I'd like you to 'dopt me, Jane. Couldn't you?" with great earnestness.

"Of course not, Polly. Folks who adopt children are older 'n I am, and have money to take care of 'em. But I do wish some nice lady would adopt you,--some nice lady with a nice home."

"But I'd rather stay here 'long o' you, Jane. I don't want to go 'way from you; I'd be lonesome. But mebbe they'd 'dopt you too. Would you like to be 'dopted, Jane?"

"I don't know's I would. I'm too old now; I couldn't get to feel as if they were own folks, as if I really belonged to them, as you could.

But, Polly," suddenly sitting up and looking very seriously at Polly, "you mustn't think I'm finding fault with the Home here. It's a very comfortable place, and we are treated well. I only feel kind of lonesome sometimes when I see girls like those across the street, who have mother-and-father homes."

"And valentines," cried Polly.

"Oh, Polly, Polly! you'll dream of valentines to-night," laughed Jane; "and mind you send me one in your dream, and the very prettiest you can find."

"I will, I will!" exclaimed Polly, flinging her arms again about Jane's neck, and giving her a good-night hug and kiss. "The very prettiest I can find! the very prettiest I can find!" And saying this over and over, Polly drifted away into the land of sleep.

CHAPTER II.

And sure enough, when it was well on towards morning, she did dream of valentines,--piles and piles of them, and out of them all she was hunting for the prettiest, when she heard a strangely familiar voice, calling,--

"Come, come, Polly! It's time to get up if you want any breakfast."

Polly opened her eyes to see Martha looking down at her. "Oh, Martha, Martha," she cried, "if you hadn't waked me, I should have got it. I'd _almost_ found it, and in a little minute I'd 'a' had it sure."

"Had what?" asked Martha.

"Janey's valentine;" and, sitting up, Polly told her dream.

Martha laughed till the tears came. "You _are_ the funniest young one we ever had here," was her comment, when she caught her breath. "Some time you'll dream you're an heiress, and wake up counting out your money to buy valentines with."

"What's an heiress?" inquired Polly.

"Oh, a girl that has a bankful of money," replied Martha, carelessly.

Polly gave one of her long-drawn "O--hs," then slipped out of bed, and began to dress so slowly that Martha said to her,--

"What are you dreaming about now, Polly?"

But Polly didn't answer. She was too busy pulling on her stockings, and thinking of something else that Martha had said, and this "something"

was "a girl with a bankful of money." Martha little suspected what effect her words had had, little thought what a fine scheme she had set going. If she had, the scheme would certainly never have been carried out, or never have been carried out as Polly planned it. And Polly knew this perfectly well, and kept as still as a mouse all through breakfast,--so still that the matron, Mrs. Banks, asked, "Don't you feel well, Polly?" whereat Polly choked over her oatmeal as she confusedly answered, "Yes, 'm."

If it had been any other child, Mrs. Banks would have suspected that there was some mischief brewing behind this stillness; but Polly had never been given to mischief, so she was not further questioned or observed, and thus left to herself she scampered back to the dormitory after the chamber-work was done, and, going straight to a small bureau that stood between Jane's bed and her own, she cautiously pulled out the lower drawer, and took from it a little toy house. This pretty toy house was nothing more nor less than a child's bank that had been given to Polly one Christmas, and into which she had dropped the pennies that had been bestowed upon her from time to time. Polly had long yearned for a paint-box; and whenever she went out, she used to stop at a certain shop-window where these tempting things were displayed, and wonder how much they cost. One day she summoned up courage to go in and ask the price of the smallest.

"Twenty-five cents," the clerk told her. Polly at first was dismayed.

Twenty-five cents seemed a vast sum to her. But it was a long time yet to next Christmas, and perhaps by then she _might_ find even as much as that in her bank. This hope had warmed her heart for weeks, so that when she was smarting under the first sense of disappointment about the valentines, she consoled herself with the thought of the little paint-box that might soon be hers. But when Martha had said, "Some time you'll dream you're an heiress, and wake up counting your money out,"

and had told her an heiress meant a girl with a bankful of money, like a flash of lightning came another thought into Polly's mind,--the thought that then and there from _her_ little bank she might count the money to buy a valentine for her dear Jane; and once this thought had entered Polly's head there was no putting it out. Over and above everything it kept gaining, until it sent her to tugging at that red chimney. Then suddenly the chimney that had stuck so fast gave way.

Polly nearly fell backward, it was so sudden; but righting herself, she shook the treasure into her lap, and fell to counting it. She counted up to ten; that was as far as her knowledge of arithmetic went. Putting aside the ten pennies into a little pile, she began to count the rest.

"One, two, three," she went on until--why, there was another pile of ten, and more yet; and the "more yet" counted up to five. Polly couldn't "do sums." She couldn't add these two piles of ten and the "more yet,"

and she couldn't ask Jane or any one else in the house to do it for her.

But what she _could_ do, what she _would_ do, was to slip the whole treasure back into the bank, and take it around to the shop on the corner, the shop where she had seen the paint-boxes, and where she was sure she should also find plenty of valentines. So getting into her little coat and hood, she scampered out and off, unseen and unheard by any of the household. It was rather terrifying to find several other customers in the shop, but she had no time to wait until they had left, and, going bravely forward, she called out, "Please, I want a valentine." But the clerk was busy, and paid no attention to her; so she pressed a little nearer, and piped out again in a louder tone, "Please, I want a valentine."

But even this did not succeed in getting his attention. Oh, what _should_ she do! Perhaps in another minute Jane or Martha or Mrs. Banks would have missed her, and be hunting for her; perhaps they would be sending a policeman after her. Oh dear! oh dear! And summoning up all her courage, she cried out in a voice full of sobs and tears, "Oh, please, _please_, I want a valentine right off now this minute!"