h friend, Frank Morse, would take care of them for her. Among the
valentines she had already received was one addressed in his handwriting,
and she looked at it as she walked along.

"It's the handsomest one I ever saw," she thought, lifting a rose here, and
a group of cupids there, and reading the tender messages thus disclosed.

"I know what I'll do!" she exclaimed aloud. "I'll send it to Alma. Frank
won't care," and covering the valentine in its box, she started to run, and
turned a corner at such speed that she bumped into somebody coming at equal
or greater speed, from the opposite direction. A passer-by just then would
have been amused to see a boy and girl sitting flat on the sidewalk,
rubbing their heads and staring at one another.

"Lucy Berry!"

"Frank Morse!"

"What's up?"

"Nothing. Something's down, and it's me."

"Well, excuse me; but I guess you haven't seen any more stars than I have.
I don't care anything for the Fourth now, I've seen enough fireworks to
last me a year."

Both children laughed. "You've got grit, Lucy," added Frank, jumping up and
coming to help her. "Most girls would have boo-hooed over that."

"Oh, I wouldn't," returned the little girl, springing to her feet. "I'm too
excited."

"Well, what _is_ up?" persisted Frank. "I skipped out of the side door to
try to meet you."

"Well, you did," laughed Lucy. "Oh, Frank, I don't know how I can laugh,"
she pursued, sobering. "I don't deserve to, ever again."

"What is it? Something about that Driscoll kid? She was crying. I was back
there and I didn't hear what Miss Joslyn said; but I saw her leave, and
then you, and I thought _I_'d go to the fire, too, if there was one."

"Oh, there is," returned Lucy, "right in here." She grasped the waist of
her dress over where her heart was beating hard.

Frank Morse was older than herself and Ada, and she knew that he was one of
the few of their friends whose good opinion Ada cared for. To enlist him on
Alma's side would mean something.

"Is Ada still there?" she added.

"Yes, she took charge of the valentine box after Miss Joslyn left."

"Oh, Frank, do you suppose she could have sent Alma the 'comic'?" Genuine
grief made Lucy's voice unsteady.

"Supposing she did," returned Frank stoutly. "Is that what Big-Eyes was
crying about? I hate people to be touchy and blubber over a thing like
that."

"You don't know. Her mother works in the factory, and this was a horrid
picture making fun