“And what are your valentines like now?” asked Davie.

“You’ll find them rather heavy, I’m afraid,” said his mother merrily; “you see, Davie, I have found out that Love has something else to do besides playing with silver hearts and cupids, though that’s all right too.  There are some poor and tired and lonely people in the world who don’t want you to give them money, or to offer them help on most days of the year; it hurts their feelings.  But on love-days, like Christmas, and Thanksgiving, and Valentine’s Day, you can give them a love gift, and they are pleased.  I have some like that for you to carry around to-morrow.”

When Davie came downstairs early the next morning, he brought with him one of his cherished “Peter Rabbit” books.  “Mother,” he said, “I want to begin to keep Valentine Day like you do.”

So “Peter Rabbit” found himself tucked in Mrs. Tobin’s bundle for Jack Tobin, who had never had that sort of valentine, or indeed any sort, in his life.  And it was queer how all day long the thought of that new sort of valentine he had sent out made Davie smile to himself!

* * * * *

VALENTINES.

    The wind was blowing down our street,
      And it was snowing some;
    But I watched from the chilly porch
      To see the postman come.

    Across the street to Elsie’s door;
      And then I meant to run
    Before she got the valentine—­
      I knew that she’d get one.

    I knew it would be beautiful,
      With lace and hearts and things,
    And pretty verses on the leaves,
      And tied with ribbon strings.

    I knew the verses all by heart;
      I knew the bows were pink;
    The hearts were gold; the lace was white—­
      Oh, what would Elsie think!

    I saw the postman come at last,
      And Elsie at the door;
    She got a valentine, sure ’nough—­
      I knew she would before.

    And then I hid inside our hall;
      And, when his whistle blew,
    The postman called:  “Hello! hello!—­
      A valentine for you!”

    Sure ’nough, I got a valentine,
      With lace and hearts and things,
    And pretty verses on the leaves,
      And tied with ribbon strings.

    And I have wondered, ever since,
      And guessed if Elsie knew
    For sure I’d get a valentine,
      Before the postman blew,

    Just like I knew that she’d get one
      And knew her verses, too. 
    I never s’posed that I’d get one—­
      Do you guess Elsie knew?
    —­Written for Dew Drops by Ellen D. Masters.

* * * * *

A TREE TALK.

What a wonderful thing a tree is!  A live thing, a useful thing, a beautiful thing, and so common that we scarcely think of it as a wonder at all.