“No,” echoed Polly; “but I’m listening now.”

Jane laughed.  “Yes, I see you are.  Well, a valentine is just a piece of poetry, with a picture to it, that anybody sends to a person on Valentine’s Day.”

“What’s Valentine’s Day?”

“Why, it’s the day you send valentines, to be sure,—­the 14th of February.”

“Is it like Christmas?  Was Valentine very good, and is it his birthday as Christmas is Christ’s birthday?”

“Mercy, no!  What queer things you do ask when you get going, Polly!  Valentine’s Day is just Valentine’s Day, when folks send these poetry and picture things for fun, and don’t sign their own names, only ’Your Valentine,’ and that means somebody who has chosen—­chosen to be your—­well, your beau, maybe.”

“What’s a beau?” asked innocent Polly.

“Polly, you don’t know anything!” cried Jane, in an exasperated tone.  “A beau is—­is somebody who likes you better ’n anybody else.”

“Oh, I wish I had one!”

“Had one—­what?” asked Jane.

“A beau to like me like that; to send me a valentine.”

“Oh, oh! you are such a baby,” laughed Jane.

“I ain’t a baby!” cried Polly, indignantly; and then her lip quivered, and she began to cry.

“Hush, hush!” said Jane; “if Mrs. Banks hears you, she’ll send you out of here quicker ’n a wink.”

But Polly could not “hush” all at once, and continued to sob and sniff behind her apron; Jane trying in the mean time to soothe her, but not succeeding very well, until she thought to say,—­

“If you won’t cry any more, Polly, I’ll get Martha”—­Martha was the chambermaid—­“to show you her valentine; it’s a beauty.”

Polly dropped her apron and began to swallow her sobs, while Jane ran to Martha, who was very proud of her valentine, and very glad to show it even to little Polly Price; and the valentine was a beauty, as Jane had said.  Polly, looking through the tears that still hung on her lashes at the group of little cherubs that were dancing out of lily-cups and roses, cried, “Angels, angels!” winding up with, “Oh, I wish somebody ’d send me a valentine!”

“She didn’t know a thing about valentines; never heard of them till just now,” Jane explained to Martha.

“Well, to be sure,” said Martha, “she is the greenest little thing; but then she ain’t never been to school like the rest of ye, and things is very quiet and out-of-the-way like in the Home here, and she’s nothin’ but a baby.”

“I ain’t a baby!  I ain’t, I ain’t!” screamed Polly.

“Polly, Polly!” warned Jane.  But Polly only burst out afresh in loud sobs and cries.  Jane was a good-natured girl, but she could not stand this, and, reaching forward, she gave Polly a little shake, and said, “Now, Polly Price, you just stop and be a good girl, or I’ll never have anything more to do with you.”