The young man laughed.  “How much money have you got?” he asked.

Polly produced her bank, and triumphantly shook out its contents.

“Oh,”—­laughing again,—­“all that?  How much is it?”

“I don’t know jus’ exac’ly.  I can count up to ten, and there’s two ten piles, and—­and—­five cents more.”

“Oh, two tens and five.  Yes, I see,”—­running his fingers over the little heap,—­“that makes twenty-five.  You’ve got twenty-five cents.  Here are the twenty-five-cent valentines;” and he uncovered another box, and left her to make her choice.

“Twenty-five cents!” echoed Polly.  Why, why, why, that was enough to buy the little paint-box!  She glanced down at the twenty-five-cent valentines.  They presented a dazzling sight of cherubs’ heads and wings and flowery garlands.  She lifted her chin a little higher, and there, staring her in the face, was the very little paint-box, with its two brushes and porcelain color plate, and it seemed to say to her:  “Come, buy me now; come, buy me now.  If you don’t, somebody else will get me.”  And she could buy it now, if only—­she gave up the valentine—­Jane’s valentine; and—­why shouldn’t she?  She hadn’t told Jane anything about it; Jane didn’t expect it; Jane wouldn’t ever know about it.  Why shouldn’t she?  And Polly drew a deep sigh of perplexity as she asked herself this question.

“What is it?” a soft voice said to her here.  “What is it that troubles you?  Tell me.  Perhaps I can help you.”

Polly started, and turned to see the lady who had made way for her standing beside her.  The lady smiled reassuringly as she met Polly’s perplexed glance, and said again,—­

“What is it?  Tell me.”

And Polly, looking up into the kind sweet face, told the whole story,—­all about the long saving for the little paint-box, Jane’s valentine, and everything, winding up eagerly with the appeal,—­“And wouldn’t you buy the paint-box now ’stead of the valentine, ’cos the paint-box mebbe’ll be gone when I get more money?”

“Wouldn’t I?  Well, I don’t know what I should have done when I was a little girl like you.  I dare say, though, that I should have felt just as you do—­have done just as you, I see, are going to do now.”

“Bought the paint-box!” cried Polly.

“Yes, bought the paint-box,” laughed the lady.

Polly beamed with smiles, and gave a rapturous look at the treasure that was so soon to be hers.  But presently the rapture faded, and a new expression came into her face.  The lady was watching her very attentively.

“Well, what now?” she inquired.  “Doesn’t the paint-box suit you?”

Polly gave an emphatic nod.  Perhaps it was that nod that sent two little tears to her eyes.

“Then, if it suits you, shall I speak to the clerk, and tell him you’ve changed your mind about the valentine, and will buy the paint-box?”

Polly shook her head, and two more tears followed the first ones.