“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; “nobody in particular.  I—­I felt lonesome.  I do sometimes when I get to thinking I don’t belong to anybody and nobody 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.”