er thought of Miss
Joslyn as she always appeared at the long recess: her chair swung about
until her profile only was visible, the white napkin on her desk, the book
in her hand as she read and ate at one and the same time. Little did Alma
suspect what it meant to the kind teacher to give up that precious
half-hour of solitude; but Miss Joslyn saw the child's eyes grow bright at
the dazzling prospect, and noted the color that covered even her forehead
as she murmured thanks and looked over at her mother for sympathy.

The young lady talked on for a few minutes and then said good-night,
leaving an atmosphere of brightness behind her.

"Oh, mother, I don't know what all the children will say," said Alma,
clasping her hands together. "I'm going to eat lunch with Miss Joslyn!"

"It's fine," responded Mrs. Driscoll, glad of the change in her little
girl's expression, and wishing the ache at her own heart could be as easily
comforted. "Do you suppose Valentine's Day is over, dearie, or had I better
stand by the door again?"

"Oh, they wouldn't send me any more!" replied Alma, looking fondly at her
dove. "I think Lucy Berry was so kind to give me her lovely things; but I'd
like to give them back."

"No, indeed, that wouldn't do," replied Mrs. Driscoll. "I'm going to stand
there once more. Perhaps I'll catch somebody else to prove to you that Lucy
isn't the only one thinking about you."

Mrs. Driscoll returned quietly to her post, and Alma could see her smiling
face through the open door.

Alma had very much wanted to send valentines to a few children, herself;
but five cents was all the spending money she could have, and she had
bought with it one valentine which had been addressed to Lucy Berry in the
school box. She was glad it had not come back to her to-night. That would
have been hardest of all to bear.

Just as she was thinking this there did come another knock at the door. The
child looked up eagerly, and swiftly again Mrs. Driscoll's hand flew out,
and grasping a garment, pulled gently and firmly.

"Well, well, ma'am!" exclaimed a bass voice, and this time it was the
hostess's turn to give a little cry, followed by a laugh, as a stout,
elderly man with chin whiskers came deliberately in.

She retreated. "Oh, Mr. Knapp, please excuse me! I thought you were a
valentine!"

"Nobody'd have me, ma'am. Nobody'd have me. Not a mite o' use to try to
stick a pair o' Cupid's wings on these shoulders. It would take an