rowd.

Polly, hearing and seeing all this, wondered what a valentine could be.
She did not ask anybody the question, however, just then; but when the
postman came around at noon, and she saw the same scene repeated, her
curiosity could not be restrained any longer, and she started off to
find Jane McClane,--for Jane was fourteen years old and knew everything,
Polly thought.

Jane was in the linen-room mending a sheet when Polly found her, and
being rather lonesome was quite willing to enter into conversation with
any one who came along. But Polly's question made her open her eyes with
surprise.

"A valentine?" she exclaimed. "You don't mean to say, Polly, you never
heard of a valentine before?"

"No, never," answered Polly, feeling very small and ignorant.

"Well, to be sure," said Jane, "you're very little, and ain't 'round
much, but I _should_ have thought you'd have heard _somebody_ say
something about valentines before this; but you ain't much for listening
and asking, I know."

"No," echoed Polly; "but I'm listening now."

Jane laughed. "Yes, I see you are. Well, a valentine is just a piece of
poetry, with a picture to it, that anybody sends to a person on
Valentine's Day."

"What's Valentine's Day?"

"Why, it's the day you send valentines, to be sure,--the 14th of
February."

"Is it like Christmas? Was Valentine very good, and is it his birthday
as Christmas is Christ's birthday?"

"Mercy, no! What queer things you do ask when you get going, Polly!
Valentine's Day is just Valentine's Day, when folks send these poetry
and picture things for fun, and don't sign their own names, only 'Your
Valentine,' and that means somebody who has chosen--chosen to be
your--well, your beau, maybe."

"What's a beau?" asked innocent Polly.

"Polly, you don't know _anything_!" cried Jane, in an exasperated tone.
"A beau is--is somebody who likes you better 'n anybody else."

"Oh, I wish I had one!"

"Had one--what?" asked Jane.

"A beau to like me like that; to send me a valentine."

"Oh, oh! you are such a baby," laughed Jane.

"I ain't a baby!" cried Polly, indignantly; and then her lip quivered,
and she began to cry.

"Hush, hush!" said Jane; "if Mrs. Banks hears you, she'll send you out
of here quicker 'n a wink."

But Polly could not "hush" all at once, and continued to sob and sniff
behind her apron; Jane trying in the mean time to soothe her, but not
succeeding very well, until she thought to say,--