"'The rose is red,
The violet's blue,
Sugar's sweet,
And so are you!'"

Davie laughed aloud at the idea of his mother ever having been such a
little girl.

"And then, when I was in my teens," she went on, "I saved my dimes and
bought fine valentines made of silver paper cut into hearts and
cupids, with what I thought beautiful 'poetry' printed on them."

"And what are your valentines like now?" asked Davie.

"You'll find them rather heavy, I'm afraid," said his mother merrily;
"you see, Davie, I have found out that Love has something else to do
besides playing with silver hearts and cupids, though that's all right
too. There are some poor and tired and lonely people in the world who
don't want you to give them money, or to offer them help on most days
of the year; it hurts their feelings. But on love-days, like
Christmas, and Thanksgiving, and Valentine's Day, you can give them a
love gift, and they are pleased. I have some like that for you to
carry around to-morrow."

When Davie came downstairs early the next morning, he brought with
him one of his cherished "Peter Rabbit" books. "Mother," he said, "I
want to begin to keep Valentine Day like you do."

So "Peter Rabbit" found himself tucked in Mrs. Tobin's bundle for Jack
Tobin, who had never had that sort of valentine, or indeed any sort,