"Oh! there is nothing funny about it—not a bit of laugh; all cry."
"Land! a crying valentine."
"Yes, a baby."
"Squire Sloughman!" said Miss Henrietta, with severe dignity.
"Yes, my dear, Miss Henrietta; I'll tell you all about it. You remember my niece, who treated me so shamefully by running away and marrying. Well, poor girl, she died a few days ago, and left her baby for me, begging I would do for her little girl as kindly as I did by its mother."
"Shall you keep it?" asked Miss Henrietta.
"I can't tell; that will depend on some one else. I may have to send it off to the poorhouse!"
"I'll take it myself first," said his listener.
"Not so, my dear, without you take me, too. Hey, what say you, now? I tell you, I've a notion to be kind and good to this little one; but a man must have some one to help him do right. Now, it depends on you to help me be a better or a worse man. I've been thinking of you for a half-dozen years past, but I thought your whole heart was in little Etta, and maybe you wouldn't take me, and I did not like to deal with uncertainties. Now, Etta's provided for with a valentine, I'm here offering myself and my valentine to you. Say yes or no; I'm in a hurry now."
"Pity but you had been so years ago," thought Miss Henrietta; but she said: