I had better begin on the poetry."

It was fun to find the pictures, for there were such a lot to select
from, and by supper time Arthur had a nice pile all ready to paint
next morning.

Two days before Valentine's day they were all done--prettily colored
and pasted on note paper with a little verse that mother had written,
printed in Arthur's very best writing.

[Illustration: _Arthur decorates the valentines with his new paints
while mother writes the verses_.]

"Aren't they bee-u-ti-ful," he exclaimed as he laid them in a row on
the dining-room table.

"They are very nice, dear," mother said, "and which do you think are
the prettiest ones?"

Arthur looked a long time at the row of little valentines and then he
said, "These two." One had a little curly-haired child carrying a big
bunch of flowers in her hand, and the verse read:

"This bunch of roses I'm bringing,
Is a valentine for you,
To show that in storm or in sunshine
My love is always true."

And the other valentine had a picture of two little boys carrying a
big basket between them, and this was the little verse:

"What do you s'pose our basket holds?
Give guess one and two.
You'll never think, so I must tell:
It's full of love for you."

"And to whom are you going to give the two prettiest ones?" asked
mother.

An earnest look came into Arthur's eyes.

"I fought I'd send the little-girl one to that lame boy at the corner.
I don't know him very well, but he looks kind of lonely, you said,
mother. Don't you s'pose he'd like it?"

Mother nodded. "And who is to have the other?"

A little hand stole into mother's, and two brown eyes full of love
were lifted to mother's face.

"That is for you," he said.

* * * * *

"BOB'S LOST HIS TEMPER."

Uncle Will, visiting in the family, heard this remark quite often. One
day he said to Bob:

"I think it rather a fortunate loss, don't you?"

"What?" asked Bob, in surprise. "It wasn't a very good one, you know.
If I were you I'd try to get a better one, and then never lose it."

Good advice for Bob.

* * * * *

GOING ALONE.

"I'm afraid will have to go alone this morning, Harlis," said mamma.
"My head is getting worse instead of better. You think it will be all
right for Harlis to go, don't you, papa?"

Mrs. Wentworth looked up inquiringly into the face of a tall man who
had just