A Story of St. Valentine's Day.
BY MRS. JOHN LILLIE.
"Mr. North!—please, Mr. North!"
The voice, a delicate, childish one, seemed to be almost caught up and whirled away in the snow-flakes. The speaker—a little boy of about twelve years, scantily clad, and carrying a heavy basket—was running as well as he could along the dreary country road, while he tried to make himself heard by the invisible occupant of a wagon lumbering ahead of him.
It was a covered wagon, and to the boy's eyes it seemed to be the embodiment of comfort and warmth. He was chilled to the bone, thoroughly tired, and disheartened. What could he do if Mr. North failed to hear him?
But he did not. Suddenly he pulled up his horses, and peered around him in the gloomy twilight.
"Be some one a-calling?" he said, loudly.
"Yes, sir, please." The boy's voice was just audible.
"Why," said Mr. North to himself, "derned if that bean't Miss Holsover's boy!"
It was Miss Holsover's nephew, Jesse Grey, and he was soon at the side of the wagon, looking up into the driver's kindly weather-beaten face.