rag-carpet, sipping and ohing and ahing with supreme satisfaction, Mrs. Blossom broached the subject of valentines.
"It's the first of February, children, and time to begin to make valentines. You're not going to forget the Doctor this year, are you?"
"No, indeed, Martie," said Rose. "He deserves the prettiest we can make. I've been thinking about it, and I'm going to make him a shaving-case, heart-shaped, with birch-bark covers, and if March will decorate it for me, I think it will be lovely; will you, March?"
"Course I will; the Doctor's a brick. I'll tell you what, Martie, I can pen and ink some of those spruces and birches that the Doctor was so fond of last summer; how'll that do?"
"Just the thing," said his mother; "I know it will please him. What are you thinking, Cherry?" for the "other half" of Budd was gazing dreamily into the fire, forgetting her tea in her revery.
"Fudge!" said Cherry, shortly. March and Rose laughed.
"Keep still making fun of Cherry" said Budd, ruffling at the sound; and to emphasize his admonishing words, he dug his sharp elbow so suddenly into March s ribs that some hot molasses tea flew from the cup which his brother had just put to his mouth and spattered on his bare feet.
March deliberately set down his tin cup on the hearth near the fire beside his brother's, and turned upon Budd.
