"Why, Rosa, it's your s'prise," explained Fay—"your vantaline," at which Rosa's astonishment and delight knew no bounds.
"Altogether it's been the nicest Valentine's Day we've ever had," Lilla and Margie agreed, as they were getting ready for bed, and Fay said, drowsily, from her crib, "I shouldn't think you'd care, now, if Madge Hammond"—and then the words came slower and slower, "should bring—twenty—rubbers—in—a—ditch."
Jane came into the nursery next morning, saying, "There is a valentine at each of your plates this morning;" but not another word would she say about them.
You may be sure no one was late to breakfast that morning, and I wish you could have seen how three expectant faces lit up as each spied a tiny basket of flowers at her plate.
"When did they come?" "Who could have sent them?" "Will they keep fresh till Monday?"
"Wait a minute," said papa, feeling for his pencil. "I must write down all these questions. Now I'm ready for number four."
"Don't tease us, papa," pleaded Margie. "Just answer what we've asked already."
"Agreed: firstly, they came last night, and mamma thought it best not to wake you; secondly, Mr. Brooks sent them."
"Mr. Brooks!" all in chorus.
"Yes, he's a kind of bear, I heard yesterday," said papa.