“Do they want valentines?” asked Helen as she went off with Nan.
“That doesn’t matter, my dear. The thing is for us to sell the valentines, and get the money for the committee; and then, if the sweet missives are never sent, it won’t matter. But, yes, I think the boys in camp would be jolly glad to get nice loving valentine verses. They needn’t know who sends them, of course.”
“I shall put my name on all I send. I’d like to get a letter back.”
“Your mail is full of such letters already! You’re a camp belle, Bumble,—you certainly are!”
“I might make a joke about the camp belles are coming!” laughed Helen, “but I’d scorn to do it!”
“Then don’t. Come on, now, and let’s make lists and all that.”
The night of February twelfth found the Fairfield house bedecked for the Valentine Vendue. Palms and flowers and hearts and darts and ribbon streamers and true-love knots were everywhere. Patty had helped both with advice and with actual work and the result was bewilderingly beautiful. Not only the regulation valentines of lace paper and rhymed lines were for sale, but also small and appropriate gifts, in decorated boxes, fancy bonbonnieres, pots and baskets of flowers and flowering plants, and even jewelled trinkets and curios. For these things had been donated for the cause, and the venders hoped the men would buy them for their sweethearts.
Also there were valentines for the soldiers, and boxes of tobacco and cigarettes, containing sentimental missives.
Nan’s committee was a large one, and all had worked diligently until the result was even more gratifying than they had hoped.
Patty and Helen wore effective and appropriate costumes for they loved to “dress up,” and this was too good a chance to be lost.