VALENTINE'S DAY
It was the day after Lincoln's birthday, and Saturday. Edward Watkins
had come out for his weekly visit to Elisabeth and was sitting in Mrs.
Smith's living room surveying her and talking to Miss Merriam. Elisabeth
was walking with a fair degree of steadiness now, and made her way about
all the rooms of the house without assistance. She still preferred to
crawl upstairs and she could do that so fast that the person who was
supposed to watch her had to be faithful or she would disappear while an
eye lingered too long on the page of an interesting book or on the face
of a friend.
Downstairs Edward leaned forward from his chair in front of Gertrude and
picked up the ball from which she was knitting a soldier's scarf. He
paid out the yarn to her as she needed it.
"You're happy here, aren't you?" he asked softly.
"Happy! I should say so! Next to having your very own home I can't
imagine anything lovelier than this, with dear people and a pretty house
and a darling baby. It's beautiful."
"You'd hate to leave it, wouldn't you?"
"Leave it? Why should I leave it? I think they like me. I think they
want me to stay."
She looked at him piercingly, evidently disturbed at the suggestion.
"Want you to stay! I should think they would!" ejaculated the young
physician. "I was just wondering what inducement would make you leave
these dear people and this pretty house and this darling baby. If any
one should--"
"Hullo," cried Ethel Brown, entering at this instant. "Do you know where
Aunt Louise is?"
"She went out," replied Miss Merriam, somewhat nervously.
"Dorothy has gone to Della's this afternoon to help her get ready for
tonight," Ethel said.
"She arrived before I left," admitted Edward--a confession that drew a
long look from Gertrude.
"Where's Ayleesabet?"
"Playing under the table," answered Gertrude in cheerful ignorance that
Ayleesabet had departed to more stimulating regions over the stairs.
Ethel lifted the table cover to investigate.
"She isn't here."
Gertrude jumped up and the doctor followed her into the hall. Ethel
Brown ran into the dining room and then upstairs, with Miss Merriam in
pursuit.
It was a moment of relief for everybody when Ethel gave a shout of
discovery.
"Here she is!" she called, "and O, what will Dorothy say when she comes
back and sees her room!"
"What's the modern way of dealing with that situation?" Edward asked
when Miss Merriam re-appeared with Elisabeth under one arm.
"Do you mean ought she to be punished? Why should she? She was only
following out her instinct to learn. How could she know that that was a
time and place where it would inconvenience somebody else if she did?
I'm the one to be punished for letting her have the opportunity."
"I suppose that's true. She'd never learn much if she didn't
investigate, would she? And, as you say, she isn't yet conscious that
she has any especial duty toward any one else's comfort."
"The Misses Clark are always saying 'No, no,' to her. I should think
she'd think of their house as 'No, no Castle'."
"They love her, though," defended Ethel Brown.
"That's why I let her go there. A baby knows when she's loved and those
two old ladies make her feel it even above the 'No, Nos'."
"I went in there yesterday when I saw Elisabeth's carriage outside their
door," said Ethel, "and I found the older Miss Clark sitting on the
floor clapping her hands and the baby trying to dance and sitting down,
bang, every four or five steps."
Elisabeth was in a coquettish mood and played like a kitten with Edward.
"She is the very sweetest thing I ever saw!" exclaimed Ethel Brown. "I
do wish I could take her to Washington."
"Take her to Washington! What on earth do you mean?" asked Miss Merriam.
"Nothing, only I hate to go away from her for even a few days. I came
over to tell Dorothy that Grandfather Emerson is going to send us all to
Washington with Mr. Wheeler's party for Washington's Birthday. Do you
think Aunt Louise will let her go?"
"I think it will depend on who are going."
"There'll be lots of older people and teachers from our church and both
the other churches, too."
"Any of your mother's particular friends?"
"I shouldn't be a bit surprised if Grandmother and Grandfather went
themselves."
"Then your mother won't have any objection."
"That would settle the question for Dorothy, too, I should think," said
Edward. "Are you taking outsiders along?"
"Outsiders?"
"New Yorkers. Della and Tom, for instance?"
"Oh, is there any chance of Mrs. Watkins's letting them go?"
"I'll suggest it if you think they'd be welcome."
"I don't see why they wouldn't be. Mr. Wheeler wants to have as many as
possible because the more there are the better rates he can make with
the railroad and at the hotel."
"Why don't you stir up the Hancock's?"
"The whole U. S. C.? Why not? It would be just too glorious," and Ethel
proceeded to dance her butterfly dance around the room.
"Talk it over this evening," advised Edward, taking up his hat.
"Going?" inquired Ethel.
"I might as well--I mean, I must go, thank you," responded the doctor
automatically, for she had said nothing to be thanked for.
It was a charming table around which the Club seated itself at the
Watkinses'. Mr. and Mrs. Watkins sat at the head and foot and Della and
Tom in the center of the sides.
"I ran in to see the baby a minute before I left," Ethel Blue explained
to Mrs. Watkins, "and Dr. Watkins was there and he asked me to tell you
that Aunt Louise had invited him to stay to dinner."
"Edward is becoming a very uncertain character, like all doctors," said
Edward's mother.
"I think he is," remarked Ethel Brown to Ethel Blue who sat beside her.
"He was just saying 'Good-bye' to Miss Gertrude when I left, and he must
have stayed on after all."
Everybody had contributed something to the table decorations, but no one
had seen them all assembled and they all paid themselves and each other
compliments on the prettiness of the various parts and Della and Dorothy
on the effectiveness of the whole.
In the center was a glowing centerpiece made of three scarlet paper
hearts, each about eight inches high placed with the pointed ends up and
the lower corners touching so that they made a three-sided cage over the
electric light. From the top a tiny Cupid aimed his arrow at the guests
before him. Della and Tom had designed this warm-hearted lantern.
Half way between the centerpiece and the plates a line of dancing
figures ran around the table linked to each other by chains made of wee
golden hearts. Ethel Blue had drawn and painted these paper dolls, so
that each represented one of the Club members and they served as place
cards as well as ornaments.
"I seem to see myself in Miles Standish's armor," said James. "Does that
mean that I'm to sit here where I can admire my warlike appearance?"
"It does," said Della, "and I've put Priscilla next you so that for once
you can cut out John Alden. Here's John Alden--that's you, Roger, and
here's a little Russian for you to take home to Dicky."
"Where am I?"
"And I?"
"And I?" cried one after the other.
"Can't you guess? This is the Muse of History," pointing to a
white-robed figure holding a scroll.
"Helen, of course," they all shouted. "And isn't this Hallowe'en witch
Ethel Brown?"
"It really looks like her!"
"And what do you guess about this songstress?"
"Dorothy, and the young lady knitting is Della."
"Right."
"I hate to think that that's my face looking out of that cabbage,"
protested Margaret, "but Ethel Blue has a wonderful ability to catch
likenesses."
"That's you, Mrs. Stalk of the Cabbage Patch, just as clearly as if it
were your photograph."
"One of these two is mine and the other is for Edward," guessed Tom. "Am
I one of the Great Twin Brethren and is Edward's the Pied Piper?"
"Right again. And this is Ayleesabet herself, and the Guardian Angel is
Miss Merriam."
"She _is_ an angel, isn't she!" exclaimed Della. "Look at these dozens
of tiny hearts. Ethel Brown cut out those and James made them into the
chains."
"Paste, paste," groaned James melodramatically. "My future calling is
that of bill-poster."
Everything that could be was pink at the dinner. The soup was tomato
bisque, the fish was salmon, the roast was beef, rare, the salad, tomato
jelly, the dessert, strawberry ice cream, and with it small cakes
heart-shaped and covered with pink icing.
In the drawing room a Cupid whirling on a card pointed with his arrow to
a number, and the person who took from Mrs. Watkins's hand the envelope
marked with the number indicated was instructed where to look for his
valentine. Helen found hers inside of the piano. The Ethels turned up
diagonal corners of the rug in the northwest corner of the library and
discovered two flat packages. Margaret sought out a small bundle tied to
the electrolier on the right hand side of the hall. So it went.
Each of them had prepared a valentine for every other member of the
Club, so each had nine, for Dicky had sent his in to be distributed with
the rest. Each had made all his nine of the same sort though not all
alike. James, for instance, had made prettily decorated boxes and filled
them with candy. Tom, who had a knack at cutting paper, had cut lacy
designs out of lily white barred paper which he mounted on colored
cardboard, and out of thin colored sheets whose patterns were thrown
into relief by a background of white. Ethel Blue had drawn comical
Cupids, each performing an acrobatic act. Ethel Brown had baked
heart-shaped cookies and tied them into pretty boxes with pink ribbon.
Dorothy's knowledge of basket making led her to experiment with some
little heart-shaped trays, useful for countless purposes. She made them
of different materials and they proved successful. Della stencilled
hearts on to handkerchiefs, decorating some with a border of hearts
touching, some with a corner wreath of interlaced hearts, the boys' with
a single corner heart large enough for an initial. Each one was
different.
Roger's contributions were heart-shaped watch charms of copper, each
with a raised initial and mounted on a stray of colored leather and
furnished with a bar and snapper of gun metal. Margaret's little
heart-shaped pincushions were suitable for boys and girls alike. Some of
them were small, for the pocket or the handbag; others were larger and
were meant to be placed on the bureau. They were of varied colors, the
girls' being of silk to match the colors of their rooms and the boys of
darker hues.
Dicky's offerings were woven paper book marks made like Roger's blotter
corners and intended to keep the place in a book by slipping over the
corner of the leaf. Helen, who had been learning from Dorothy how to
model in clay, had attempted paper weights. The family cat had served as
a model, and each was a cat in a different position. Some were more
successful than others, but, as Roger said, "You'd recognize them as
cats."
When the search was over and every one had admired his own and his
neighbor's valentines, Ethel Brown recited Hood's sonnet, "For the 14th
of February," and Ethel Blue read part of Lamb's essay, "Valentine's
Day," and they all felt that Saint Valentine's star was setting and that
of the Father of his Country was rising resplendent.