"She hasn't any mother. She's one of the children at the Orphans' Home," replied the clerk in a lower tone.
"Oh!" And the lady started and looked at Polly with new interest, and then insisted still more earnestly that she should be attended to at once, at the same time beckoning Polly to come forward.
Polly obeyed her; but as she glanced at the cheap little five-cent valentines the clerk put before her, she shook her head disdainfully. "I want a bigger one; I want the bewt'f'lest there is," she informed him.
The young man laughed. "How much money have you got?" he asked.
Polly produced her bank, and triumphantly shook out its contents.
"Oh,"—laughing again,—"all that? How much is it?"
"I don't know jus' exac'ly. I can count up to ten, and there's two ten piles, and—and—five cents more."
"Oh, two tens and five. Yes, I see,"—running his fingers over the little heap,—"that makes twenty-five. You've got twenty-five cents. Here are the twenty-five-cent valentines;" and he uncovered another box, and left her to make her choice.
"Twenty-five cents!" echoed Polly. Why, why, why, that was enough to buy the little paint-box! She glanced down at the twenty-five-cent valentines. They presented a dazzling sight of cherubs' heads and wings and flowery garlands. She lifted her chin a little higher, and there, staring her in the face, was the very little paint-box, with its two brushes and porcelain color plate, and it seemed to say to her: "Come, buy me now; come, buy me now. If you don't, somebody else will get me." And she could buy it now, if only—she gave up the valentine—Jane's valentine; and—why shouldn't she? She hadn't told Jane anything about it; Jane didn't expect it; Jane wouldn't ever know about it. Why shouldn't she? And Polly drew a deep sigh of perplexity as she asked herself this question.
"What is it?" a soft voice said to her here. "What is it that troubles you? Tell me. Perhaps I can help you."