ten in, for there were young bards in
those days who struggled over birthday and valentine verses, and who
would have scorned second-hand protestations.

Though Margaret didn't get any valentines the little girl received three
that were extremely pretty. She asked Steve if he didn't send one.

"Oh, dear," he answered, as if he were amazed at the question, "I had to
spend all my money buying Dolly one." And Joe pretended to be so
surprised. He had spent his money for Margaret's sash and gloves and
bunch of flowers. Even John would not own up to the soft impeachment
and declared, "Your lovers sent them."

"But I haven't any lovers," said the little girl, in all innocence.

She used to read them to her mother, and ask her which she thought came
from Steve, which from Joe and John. It was quite funny, though, that
Nora Whitney had one exactly like one of hers. And even Mr. Theodore
declared he didn't send them.

Margaret looked like an angel, the little girl thought. Her white
cashmere frock was simply made, with a lace frill about the neck and at
the edge of the short sleeves. Her broad blue satin sash was elegant.
Miss Cynthia came and plaited her beautiful hair in a marvellous
openwork sort of braid, and she had two white roses and a silver arrow
in it. Her slippers were white kid, her gloves had just a cream tint,
and Miss Cynthia brought her own opera cloak, which was light brocaded
silk, wadded and edged with swans-down.

Joe looked just splendid, the little girl decided. If she could only
have seen Dolly!

The Beekman coach was sent up for Margaret, who kissed her little sister
and went off like Cinderella!

"Oh, do you suppose she will meet the king's son?" asked Hanny, all
excitement.

"Oh, child, what nonsense!" exclaimed her mother.

It wasn't the king's son; but young Doctor Hoffman was there, and
Margaret danced several times with him. They talked so much about Joe
that Margaret felt very friendly with him.

After that the world ran on in snow, in sunshine, and in rain. The days
grew longer. March was rough and blowy. Mother Underhill had to go up in
the country for a week, for Grandfather Van Kortlandt died. He had been
out of health and paralyzed for a year or two. Aunt Katrina had been
staying there, and they would go on in the old house until spring. She
was grandmother's sister. Of course no one could feel very sorry about
poor old Uncle Nickie, as he was called. He had always been rather
que