“She has a right to expect a great deal else,” she returned excitedly, “but we’ve all been so hateful to her it’s a wonder if she did.  I wish I’d been kind to her before,” she continued, her heart aching with the remembrance of the little lonely figure, and the big, hollow dinner-pail; “but I’m going to be her friend now, always, and you can be friends with us or not, just as you please;” and turning from the astonished Ada, Lucy Berry marched out of the schoolroom, fearing she should cry if she stayed, and sure that if there were any more beauties for her in the white box, her stanch friend, Frank Morse, would take care of them for her.  Among the valentines she had already received was one addressed in his handwriting, and she looked at it as she walked along.

“It’s the handsomest one I ever saw,” she thought, lifting a rose here, and a group of cupids there, and reading the tender messages thus disclosed.

“I know what I’ll do!” she exclaimed aloud.  “I’ll send it to Alma.  Frank won’t care,” and covering the valentine in its box, she started to run, and turned a corner at such speed that she bumped into somebody coming at equal or greater speed, from the opposite direction.  A passer-by just then would have been amused to see a boy and girl sitting flat on the sidewalk, rubbing their heads and staring at one another.

“Lucy Berry!”

“Frank Morse!”

“What’s up?”

“Nothing.  Something’s down, and it’s me.”

“Well, excuse me; but I guess you haven’t seen any more stars than I have.  I don’t care anything for the Fourth now, I’ve seen enough fireworks to last me a year.”

Both children laughed.  “You’ve got grit, Lucy,” added Frank, jumping up and coming to help her.  “Most girls would have boo-hooed over that.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t,” returned the little girl, springing to her feet.  “I’m too excited.”

“Well, what is up?” persisted Frank.  “I skipped out of the side door to try to meet you.”

“Well, you did,” laughed Lucy.  “Oh, Frank, I don’t know how I can laugh,” she pursued, sobering.  “I don’t deserve to, ever again.”

“What is it?  Something about that Driscoll kid?  She was crying.  I was back there and I didn’t hear what Miss Joslyn said; but I saw her leave, and then you, and I thought I’d go to the fire, too, if there was one.”

“Oh, there is,” returned Lucy, “right in here.”  She grasped the waist of her dress over where her heart was beating hard.

Frank Morse was older than herself and Ada, and she knew that he was one of the few of their friends whose good opinion Ada cared for.  To enlist him on Alma’s side would mean something.

“Is Ada still there?” she added.

“Yes, she took charge of the valentine box after Miss Joslyn left.”

“Oh, Frank, do you suppose she could have sent Alma the ’comic’?” Genuine grief made Lucy’s voice unsteady.