For a minute the mother could not reply.  The last letter she had received from her husband had sounded discouraged, and for six weeks now she had heard nothing.  Her anxiety was very great; but it made her position at the factory more than ever important, while it increased the difficulty of performing her work.

“I can’t tell, dearie,” she answered low.  “We must pray and wait.”

As she finished speaking there came a loud knock at the door.  A very unusual sound this, for no one had yet called on them, except Mr. Knapp, once on business.

“I’ll go,” said Mrs. Driscoll.  “Wipe your eyes, Alma.”

To her surprise, when she opened the door no one was there.  Something white on the step caught her eye in the gloom.  It was a box, and when she brought it to the light, she saw that it was addressed to Miss Alma Driscoll.

Her heart was too sore to hand it to the child until she had made certain that its contents were not designed to hurt.  One glimpse of the gold and red interior, however, made her clap on the cover again.  She brought the box to the table and seated herself.

“What’s all this?” she asked, passing it to the child.  “It seems to be for you.  There was nobody there, but I found that on the step.”

Alma’s swollen eyes looked wonderingly at the box as she took off the cover and discovered the elaborate valentine.

“My!  What a beauty!” exclaimed her mother.

The little girl lifted the red roses and looked at the verses.  The catches kept coming in her throat and she smiled faintly.

“Who is this that hasn’t any friend?” asked Mrs. Driscoll cheeringly.

“Somebody was sorry,” returned Alma.  “I wish they didn’t have to be sorry for me.”

“Oh, you can’t be sure.  When I was a little girl all the best part of Valentine’s Day was running around to the houses with them after dark.  How do you know that this wasn’t meant for you all day?”

“Because I remember it.  Miss Joslyn handed it to Lucy Berry out of the school box.  Lucy is the prettiest”—­

Another loud knocking at the door interrupted.

Mrs. Driscoll answered the call.  A big white envelope lay on the step, and it was addressed to Alma.  This time the latter’s smile was a little brighter as she took out a handsome card covered with garlands and swinging cupids and inscribed “To my Valentine.”

“Well, I never saw any prettier ones,” said Mrs. Driscoll.

“But they weren’t bought for me,” returned Alma.

When soon again a knocking sounded on the door and a third valentine appeared, blossoming with violets, above which butterflies hovered, Mrs. Driscoll leaned lovingly toward her little girl.

“Alma,” she said.  “I think you were mistaken in saying that all the children laughed when you received that ‘comic.’  Now,” in a different tone, “let’s have some fun!  Some child or children are giving you the very best they have.  Let’s catch the next one who comes, and find out who your friends are!”