Mower County Transcript

CHILDREN'S CORNER

Little Nobody,—A Valentine Story,

BY FRANK R. STOCKTON,

There was a little girl once, a young thing, ten or eleven, or more or less, and she lived in a house which was not a palace. But it had a garden in front of it and trees about it, and she might have been happy if it had not been for the holidays coming round so often in the year. People were generally very happy in those days when the holidays came around, but it was different with her. She worked and sewed through all common week-days, but it seemed wrong to work and sew on holidays. And yet that was all she had to do. And it so happened that Valentine's Day was coming around, and it made her sad to think of it. And so she sat by the window and looked out over the bare garden, and sang, and sang the same little song. And the song was nothing but this:

No valentine ever will come to me,
Hi, ho! Hi, ho! Hi-diddle-ty! Ho!
For I am a poor little nobody,
Hi, ho! Hi, ho! Hi-diddle-ty! Ho!

It was a very mild and beautiful February, and the air was so soft and pleasant just about Valentine's Day, that she would leave the front-door open a little, and so her song did not stay altogether in the house. To be sure her voice was not very loud, and the words of her song scarcely ever went further than the garden, but the Hi, ho! Hi, ho, Hi-diddle-de, Ho! used to go way off among the trees, and sometimes over the fence into the pasture where the sheep came in summer-time. In the garden close to the path which led to the front-door, there was a little crocus, and it was all covered up in the ground, but it wasn't very deep down. There was just a thin sod over it. And every day it used to hear the girl sing the same song over and over and over again. So, after a while it began to get tired of it. Even a crocus will get tired of the one thing over and over again, no matter how nice it is. And this song wasn't so very nice in itself. It might have been improved if the girl had had a better tune to it, and sung it better, but she did not know much about music. So it was no wonder the crocus became a little restless on account of the monotony of the thing, and it said to itself, "I wish that girl knew some other song. For a few days I might stand the one she does know, but no one can tell how long it may last. And yet I pity her, too. I have no doubt it is all true. Where is she to get a Valentine? Suppose, now, that I were to come up and blossom and be her Valentine! But it is almost too early for that. And yet it must be quite warm and pleasant above there. I can feel the warm air coming down among the roots of the grass. I have a great mind to do it. I shall make the girl happy, and if it does get cold after a few days and freeze me to death, there will be an end to that doleful song at any rate."

So the crocus, he came up on Valentine's eve, and he blossomed out bright and yellow and beautiful, right by the side of the path that led to the front-door. And when the girl sat down to her sewing on Valentine's Day, and commenced to sing her song, which she sang more dolefully than ever, now that the holiday had really come, she looked out of the window, and there was the loveliest crocus in all the world, shining yellow and beautiful out there in the sun. She dropped her sewing down on the floor and rushed out, and fell down upon her knees, close by the flower. She knew just what it was. She had a feeling, which told her everything. The crocus knew she should have it. And she said, "O you lovely Valentine! There never was such a beautiful Valentine, and you're mine, I know! all mine!" And she bowed down her head, and she touched the crocus with her lips, and clasped her hands, and her eyes glistened more brightly than the violets that were going to come up, after a while.

The crocus was very happy, but he trembled a little, and he said to himself, "It's all charming indeed, but I hope she won't pick me. If there is anything in this world that I should dislike just now, it would be to be picked."

But the girl never dreamed of picking him. She knew it was too early for crocuses, and so she went and got a pot and she took him up carefully, root and all; with ever so much earth, and she planted him in the pot, and never was such a happy girl! Or so beautiful a Valentine! "What were cut paper, and silk and satin, and wonderfully-painted Cupids and roses, to her yellow crocus? She put him in the window, where the warm sun shone on him, and she sang to him, over and over again:

"The best of all valentines came to me,
Hi, ho! Hi, ho! Hi-diddle-ty! Ho!
And now I am sure I am somebody,
Hi, ho! Hi, ho! Hi-diddle-ty! Ho!"

And the crocus, he stood there in the sun and enjoyed it very much. And yet it was pretty much the same old song, and exactly the same old tune. But now it seemed very different to him, someway or other.