very much depressed, and not once, to Pinkey’s knowledge, did she even glance in his direction. But her solemnity could not temper his elation as he thought of the great, beautiful valentine peacefully reposing at the bottom of the box.
When school was dismissed and Red Feather, with unbending dignity, began distributing the valentines, Pinkey felt his heart beating away like a steam-hammer. At last his name was called, and he marched boldly up to the platform. He opened the envelop, and found, to his disgust, that he had received a “comic,” a terrible caricature of an artist, no doubt suggested to the donor by Pinkey’s habit of drawing pictures on his slate.
This raised his ire to the boiling-point. He was thinking deep threats of revenge, if he ever found out who sent it, when his name was called a second time.
This time he received a real valentine. It was a very small edition of the kind he had mailed to his Affinity! He studied the address critically, It had been printed by an unpractised hand, and at first he could obtain no clue whatever to the sender. Then he recognized the “J.” Nobody on earth but his Affinity could make a “J.” like that. Instantly he forgot his “comic” and the thoughts it had aroused in him, and a feeling of peace and general good will pervaded his entire being. When Red Feather announced that the last valentine had been distributed, Pinkey’s heart sank in him like a stone. What had become of the offering for his Affinity? He turned and whispered savagely to Bunny Morris, who was standing beside him and the only person there whom he would dare take into his confidence:
“‘Miss Harriet Warren,’ she read.”
Bunny did as he was bid. Red Feather searched the box carefully, and there, snugly filling the whole bottom, was the large, flat package which, in the shadows, she had overlooked.
“Miss Harriet Warren,’” she read; and as