Pauline. Why, he had always sent her one, every year, since they were children, but that year he was mad about something, and he didn’t send her any. That is, she has always thought he didn’t, but I believe he did, and that that’s the letter I found to-day.
Amos. And where did you find a letter forty years old, that had never been mailed? It may cause strange misunderstandings now, child. Perhaps it would have been better to have asked my advice before you mailed it.
Pauline. I’m asking it now. Mr. Hill, did you send Aunt Polly a valentine forty years ago? Think back carefully, and see if you can remember.
Amos. I can remember quite distinctly, my dear. I did send your aunt one that day—the last one I ever sent her. I have reason to remember it quite plainly, my dear, on account of the answer I received.
Pauline. The answer? But you couldn’t have got any answer, for she thinks the last one you sent her was forty-one years ago. She never got that other one, so how could she answer it?
Amos. I certainly thought she did, and negatively, at that. But—my dear, do you mean that you think you have found that letter—that valentine, which I never knew had been lost? Where, and how?
Pauline. Why, Auntie let me see her old valentines, and when I’d put them away, I found I had dropped one. And the drawer stuck when I tried to open it, and I jerked it, and somehow knocked down a little drawer that must have been above it, and in it lay the letter I told you of. It was addressed to Aunt Polly, and sealed, and had a three-cent stamp on it, but it had never been opened.
Amos. Because she didn’t care to open it, my dear. I happen to know that she got it, for her grandmother took it from my hand that morning, and said she would give it into her own hand. And you see, she must have had it, for it was in her own secret drawer.
Pauline. I don’t think she knew about the drawer. And I know she didn’t get it, for she told me so to-day, and her eyes were full of tears.