“I was going to make you guess for about an hour,” said Virginia, “but it is so nice I can’t wait that long to tell you.  We are going to have a valentine party to-morrow night.  Aunt Allison planned it all a week ago, and bought the things for it while we were in town to-day.  Everything on the table is to be cut in heart shape,—­the bread and butter and sandwiches and cheese; and the ice-cream will be moulded in hearts, and the two big frosted cakes are hearts, one pink and one white, with candy arrows sticking in them.  Then there will be peppermint candy hearts with mottoes printed on them, and lace-paper napkins with verses on them, so that the table itself will look like a lovely big valentine.  The games are lovely, too.  One is parlour archery, with a red heart in the middle of the target, and two prizes, one for the boys and one for the girls.”

“Who are invited?” asked Malcolm, as Virginia stopped for breath.

“Oh, the Carrington boys, and the Edmunds, and Sally Fairfax, and Julia Ferris,—­I can’t remember them all.  There will be twenty-four, counting us.  There is the list on the table.”

Keith reached for it, and began slowly spelling out the names.  “Who is this?” he asked, reading the name that headed the list. “’The Little Colonel!’ I never heard of him,”

“Oh, he’s a girl!” laughed Virginia.  Little Lloyd Sherman,—­don’t you know?  She lives up at ‘The Locusts,’ that lovely place with the long avenue of trees leading up to the house.  You’ve surely seen her with her grandfather, old Colonel Lloyd, riding by on the horse that he calls Maggie Boy.”

“Has he only one arm?” asked Malcolm.

“Yes, the other was shot off in the war years ago.  Well, when Lloyd was younger, she had a temper so much like his, and wore such a dear little Napoleon hat, that everybody took to calling her the Little Colonel.”

“How old is she now?” asked Malcolm.

“About Keith’s age, isn’t she, Aunt Allison?” asked Virginia.

“Yes,” was the answer.  “She is nearly eight, I believe.  She has outgrown most of her naughtiness now.”

“I love to hear her talk,” said Virginia.  “She leaves out all of her r’s in such a soft, sweet way.”

“All Southerners do that,” said Malcolm, pompously, “and I think it sounds lots better than the way Yankees talk.”

“You boys don’t talk like the Little Colonel,” retorted Virginia, who had often been teased by them for not being a Southerner.  “You’re all mixed up every which way.  Some things you say like darkeys, and some things like English people, and it doesn’t sound a bit like the Little Colonel.”

“Oh, well, that’s because we’ve travelled abroad so much, don’t you know,” drawled Malcolm, “and we’ve been in so many different countries, and had an English tutor, and all that sort of a thing.  We couldn’t help picking up a bit of an accent, don’t you know.”  His superior tone made Virginia long to slap him.