"To see me?" cried Polly.
"Yes,—don't stop to bother,—run along." And Polly ran along as fast as her feet could carry her, wondering as she went who had come to see her, who had never in her life had a visitor before. At the foot of the stairs she stopped in shy alarm. Then she tiptoed across the hallway to the parlor threshold, and there she saw the lady who had been so kind to her in the shop.
"Oh, it's you!" exclaimed Polly, joyfully.
The lady laughed, and held out her hand. "Yes, it's I," she said. "Did Jane get the valentine all right, and did she like it?"
Polly nodded, and then burst out with the story of her own valentine,—"Jus' like Janey's!"
"And who d' you s'pose sent it?" she asked confidingly, nestling against the lady's knee.
"I think it must have been one of the good Saint Valentine's messengers," answered the lady.
Polly's eyes opened very wide. "Saint Valentine! Tell me 'bout him," she said.
"A very wise man has told about him,—a man by the name of Wheatley,—and he says that this Valentine was a good bishop who lived long ago, and so famous for his love and charity that after he died he was called Saint Valentine, and a festival was held on his birthday, when all the people would send love tokens to their friends."
Polly's face was radiant. "Oh, I thought Valentine was a somebody very good, and that Valentine's Day was his birthday. I asked Jane if 't wasn't. Oh, Janey, Janey!" running to the foot of the stairs in her excitement, "come down and hear 'bout Saint Valentine!"