"Sounds rather brainy, doesn't it?" objected Noreen. "I don't think I'm any hand at poetry!"
"Oh! you can make up something if you try. Valentines are generally doggerel."
"Need it be quite original?" asked Edith.
"Well, if you really can't compose anything, we'll allow quotations."
"Cracker mottoes?" suggested Dulcie.
"Exactly. They're just about in the right style."
"Are you all getting into a sentimental vein?" giggled Bertha. "Remember 'Love' rhymes with 'Dove,' and Cupid with—with—"
"Stupid," supplied Dulcie laconically.
"I'm not going to give my rhymes away beforehand," said Phillida. "Is that shuffling business finished, Gowan? Then bags me first draw."
Each girl, having been apportioned the name of her valentine, set to work to compose a suitable ode in her honor. There was much knitting of brows and nibbling of pencils, and demands for a few minutes longer, when Gowan called "Time!" At last, however, the effusions were all finished, folded, shuffled, and laid in a pile. Gowan, as the originator of the game, was unanimously elected president. She drew one at a venture, opened it, and read: