The little story
looked all around to see that no one else was there, and then it
cuddled down beside the sleeping child and whispered itself into her
ear. It was so exciting, so charming, that the little girl awoke, and
thought she had dreamed it all, and ran to tell her mother the
beautiful dream. When she saw her mother, she cried out, "Mother!
mother!" and was just about to tell the little story, when suddenly she
forgot it all, and now the little story can never be told, but it still
comes to good children in their dreams.
* * * * *
A little girl, eleven years old, sends these verses of her own
composition to the "Letter-Box":
VALENTINE.
I am a little Cupid,
And I come to visit thee,
To tell you that I love you,
And to know if you love me.
And if you'll be my little wife,
And come along with me,
I'll take you to a lovely place,
And pretty flowers you'll see.
And when you have been there a day,
You'll be a little Cupid,
With no hard lesson-books to learn,
That are so dull and stupid.
But, if you will not come and be
My pretty little wife,
You'll go straight back to school again,
With lessons all your life.
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