grave and earnest as if the hull weight of the President's cares lay on their curly heads. And as we looked up and see 'em, they advanced hand in hand and made two bows, the most stupendious and wonderful bows I ever see or hearn on, why their little noses most grazed the floor, they wuz that deep and impressive, and then they repeated both on 'em in their sweet, fresh little voices:
"The rose is red, the vilets blue,
The pink is pretty, and so are you.
My pen is poor, my ink is pale,
My love for you shall never fail."
And then they made agin them solemn deep bows and walked out of the room still holdin' hands. And Josiah and I kinder smiled a little after they went out, not before them, no, not for a silver dollar would I laughed before them, and I sez, "This is our valentine, Josiah."
"Yes," sez he, "and a prettier one never went through a post office."
"That's so," sez I, "unless it wuz the one you sent me with the roses and forget-me-nots on it the year before we wuz married." And all the time Josiah wuz buildin' the fire, and while I wuz gittin' breakfast I thought of how the blossoms of life are scattered down through all the seasons of the year and of life. The roses that come with that valentine of Josiah's had faded, the frosts of thirty years had stole the pretty pink tinge offen 'em, and the years had gone by, long years, long years, and youth wuz past.
But, good land! could anything be so sweet and beautiful as the valentine that had come to us on this February morning, when the gray hairs lay thick on my own head,
