"I don't know any verse about birds, do you?"
"No; let's make one up."
"Yes, we could do that. It ought to go some-thing like this: 'The swallows tell that Spring is here, so flies my heart to you, my dear.'"
"Yes, that's nice and valentiny,—but it isn't Spring in February."
"No, but that's poetic. Valentines have to be love-poems, and Spring is 'most always in a love-poem."
"Yes, I s'pose it is. I'd like to do some funny ones. I'm not much good at sentimental poetry. I guess I'll do one for King. Here's a picture of a bird carrying a ring in its beak. Ring rhymes with King, you know."
"Oh, yes, make one of those limerick things: 'There was a young fellow named King,—'"
"That's the kind I mean. Write that down while I paste. Then write: 'Who sent to his lady a ring.' Now what next?"
"Something like this: 'He said, "Sweet Valentine, I pray you be mine."
And she answered him, "No such a thing!"'"
"Oh, that's a good one. Do send that to your brother. But it hasn't much sense to it."