“Well, I guess you better get to work right away, if you've such a lot to do,” advised mother, “and I had better begin on the poetry.”
It was fun to find the pictures, for there were such a lot to select from, and by supper time Arthur had a nice pile all ready to paint next morning.
Two days before Valentine's day they were all done—prettily colored and pasted on note paper with a little verse that mother had written, printed in Arthur's very best writing.
“Aren't they bee-u-ti-ful,” he exclaimed as he laid them in a row on the dining-room table.
“They are very nice, dear,” mother said, “and which do you think are the prettiest ones?”
Arthur looked a long time at the row of little valentines and then he said, “These two.” One had a little curly-haired child carrying a big bunch of flowers in her hand, and the verse read:
“This bunch of roses I'm bringing,
Is a valentine for you,
To show that in storm or in sunshine
My love is always true.”
And the other valentine had a picture of two little boys carrying a big basket between them, and this was the little verse:
“What do you s'pose our basket holds?
Give guess one and two.
You'll never think, so I must tell:
It's full of love for you.”