People's Pilot, Volume 2, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 February 1893 — BRIDGET'S VALENTINE. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

BRIDGET'S VALENTINE.

FRANK WOOLLETT and his sister Rose were sitting at the table one afternoon busily engaged in cutting and pasting bits of pa-

per of various colors together. It was St. Valentine’s day and the two children were having great fun cutting out pink and blue and yellow hearts and piercing them with arrows or concocting wonderful rhymes designed to melt the heart of the receiver. Frank was staring out of the window thoughtfully biting the end of his lead pencil as he tried to think of a suitable word that would rhyme with love, and Rose was so deeply absorbed in pasting some beautiful green stars upon a pale pink sheet of paper that a ling at the door bell was unheard; so that both the children were much delighted as well as surprised when Daisy Lawler came dancing into the room with a pasteboard box under her arm, from beneath the cover of which protruded gay bits of paper. “Oh, halloo, Daisy!” exclaimed Frank. “Are you going to make valentines, too? That will be jolly.” “Yes, come and sit down here, Daisy,” said Rose, drawing up a chair to the table as she spoke. “Have you made any yet?” “Yes three lovely ones,” was their visitor’s answer, as she seated herself beside Rose and opened the box. “There! Don’t you think those are pretty?” she continued, as she spread out the finished valentines, gorgeous with stars and crescents and hearts. After these were admired and commented upon Frank and Rose displayed theirs, and then the combined wisdom and ingenuity of the three were taxed to the utmost in the making of several new ones. Their little tongues chattered merrily, and the hours sped by until it grew dark almost before they were ready. However, when Bridget came in with the lamp, they had quite a pile of valentines, all sealed and directed, and Daisy was just finishing her last one. “Who is that one for?” asked Rose, with a cheerful disregard for the rules of grammar. “Well, I suppose maybe you’ll laugh at me when I tell you,” began Daisy, “but I'm going to send it to our coachman. He’s real lonesome, I guess, for he lives alone over the stable and keeps house all by himself. Yesterday, when he took me down to school because it was so stormy, he was telling me about it and how all his friends were in 'Old Ireland.’” “Poor fellow!” murmured Bridget as she went about the room putting things

to rights. “It's a hard thing to be so far from your friends,” and she hastily wiped her eyes on a corner of her apron as she spoke. “I don’t know just what to put on this page,” said Daisy. “I haven’t any pretty pictures left and, besides, I’d like to put something on it to remind him of Ireland.” “Indeed now, Miss Daisy,” replied Bridget, “I’ve got what will just suit you if you’ll wait till I go and get it,” and she hurried out of the room and upstairs. A moment after she returned with something in her hand which she placed carefully upon the empty page of the valentine. It proved to be a pretty little leaf cut out of bright green satin and was just the right size for the space it was to occupy. It did look very pretty lying upon the pink paper, and Bridget was greatly pleased at the admiration expressed by the three children. “It’s a shamrock leaf,” she explained, as Daisy carefully gummed it to the paper. “It was given to me in the old country and your coachman will be sure to like it, Miss Daisy, for all who are homesick for Ireland love the dear little shamrock,” and she sighed as she spoke. “Thank you, Bridget, for giving it to me. It’s perfectly lovely, and I know

will he like it,” said Daisy, sympathetically, while Frank rushed up to her and gave her a tremendous hug. “Why, Bridget, I never thought of your being homesick, ”he said. “But I’m sorry if you are. Once I went away for a week when they thought Rose was going to have a fever, and I was homesick and it was awful.” “I wish we had made a valentine for you,” put in Rose. “We would if we had known how homesick you felt, but I don’t believe there’s time now.” “Never you mind about me; I’d rather that poor man had one, for he’s worse off than I am,” replied Bridget, as she went downstairs to her work. “Just think of having all your family away off in Ireland!” exclaimed Rose. “I just couldn’t stand it!” “Dennis was telling me yesterday about coming across the ocean from Ireland and how dreadful it was,” said Daisy. “All the poor people when they come over have to stay in a part of the ship called the steerage, and it is so close and hot and dirty that they often get sick, and they are crowded in so that they can hardly move. There was a girl in Ireland that Dennis wanted to marry, but he was too poor, so he said good-by and came over here to America to try and earn money enough to send for her. At first he couldn’t find much to do, but at last he got a position, and after awhile he managed to save up enough money to send back to Ireland to this girl whom he had left there. She didn’t know how to write, but she got some one to write a letter for her, telling what steamer she would come on, and then he waited for the time to come when he should see her again, and the days seemed very long because he was in such a hurry; but just three or four days before it was time for her to come he was taken sick with a fever. For three weeks he didn’t know anyone he was so sick, and then he was so weak that it was a good while before he could get out, and by that time it was too late to find the girl. He felt dreadfully to think that she should come way over here to this strange country and find no one to meet her, but though he inquired all around no one remembered her and he has never been able to find her. That is why I feel so sorry for him and want to send him a valentine. And now, Frank, will you print on it for me, because you make so much nicer letters than I can?” “All right,” replied Frank, seizing his pen and dipping it in the ink. “Here goes! What do you want written?” “The rose is red, the violet’s blue, the pink is sweet and so are you,” chanted Daisy. “I guess that will do as well as anything,” and Frank soon had the lines neatly printed on the page opposite the shamrock. “Oh, you’ve spelt sweet s-w-e-t-e,” giggled Rose, as she peeped over his shoulder. “Pshaw!” exclaimed Frank, “so I have. Well, Dennis won’t know the difference, will he, Daisy?” “No, indeed. I don’t imagine he knows much about spelling. Hurry up and get your things on and let’s leave our valentines around. It’s plenty dark enough and I can’t come out after supper.” Accordingly, the children hurried on their wraps and soon started out to deliver their valentines, which was always rare sport. One of them would creep stealthily up the steps of a house, and after placing the envelope in a conspicuous position would give the bell a violent pull and than beat a hasty re-

treat to where the other two were secreted behind a convenient tree or a neighboring stoop. Once or twice they were pounced upon and nearly caught by children on the watch just within the door, but they managed to escape and fled laughing down the street At last all the valentines had been disposed of except the one designed for Dennis, and the children made their way to the narrow street in the rear of Daisy’s house, where the stable was situated over which Dennis lived. “He’ll have to come all the way downstairs, so let’s all go up to the door and knock as loud as we can and then run,” proposed Daisy, gleefully. So the three stepped on the broad doorsill and knocked with all their might and then ran as fast as ever they could go—straight into the arms of a big, broad-shouldered man. For a moment they were frightened, and Rose screamed right out, but then Daisy recognized him and laughed: “Why, it’s Dennis himself.” “Yes, now I’ve caught you, you young rogues,” he said. “And what is this you are leaving on the doorstep?” and he stooped and picked up the white envelope, which could be plainly seen by the light of the street lamp. “It’s a valentine Daisy sent you, be-

cause she thought you were lonesome living here all alone," said Frank, as Daisy looked bashfully down at the sidewalk and said nothing. “Take it out and see if you don’t think it is a pretty one.” So Dennis drew out the dainty valentine and held it in his big, clumsy fingers while he gazed at the pink heart transfixed with a silver arrow, as if lost in admiration. “Open it,” said Daisy, “and see how you like the inside. Bridget sent you that.” At the name Dennis gave a little start, and then he slowly opened the valentine, but as he saw the pretty green shamrock the paper dropped from his hands and fluttered down to the muddy sidewalk, while he took no notice, but stared at the children as if he was crazy. “Where did you get it?” he asked, in a whisper. “Tell me quick where you got it.” “Why, I made it, if you mean "the valentine,” stammered Daisy, half frightened and wondering what made him act so strange. “Where did you get the shamrock?’ he asked, eagerly. “How did you come to have that?’? “Why, Bridget Murphy gave it to her, and I don’t think you are very polite to act so when Daisy gave you such a pretty valentine,” said Rose severely. But Dennis paid no attention to this rebuke, for his mind seemed full of something else. “Where does Bridget Murphy live?” was his next question. “Why, she lives with us,” said Frank. “She is our upstairs girl. Why, do you know her?” “Miss Daisy, do you remember what I told you? I’m sure she’s the girl I’ve been looking for all this time. Her name was Bridget Murphy, and I gave her that shamrock.” When they heard this the children were almost as excited as Dennis, and they hurried him off up the street to Mr. Woollett’s house. Then they led him up the back steps on to the piazza, and bidding him to stand back in the shadow, they ran off to tell Bridget that some one wanted to see her. Just as she appeared in the doorway Dennis stepped forward so that the light fell full upon his face. At sight of him Bridget stopped, stared a moment and then turned so pale that the children thought she was going to faint. “Oh, Bridget, don’t!” they cried. “That’s Dennis, who has been looking all over for you.” Then Bridget smiled and Dennis came nearer. “Dennis!” “Oh, Bridget!" and for a few minutes the children felt that they were quite forgotten. Then Bridget turned and hugged and kissed them each in turn, while the glad tears stood in her eyes as she smiled and said: “Well, children, you thought you wouldn’t have any valentine for me, but you’ve given me the best of the lot.”—N. Y. World.

“OPEN IT,” SAID DAISY.