Blue and Pink, A Valentine Story

BLUE AND PINK: A Valentine Story By Susan Coolidge.

       Two valentines lay together in the pillar post-box. One was pink and one was blue. Pink lay a-top, and they crackled to each other softly in the paper-language, invented long since by Papyrus, the father of Manuscript, and used by all written and printed sheets unto this day. Listen hard, next time you visit the reading-room at the Public Library, and you will hear the newspapers exchanging remarks across the table in this language.
       Said the pink valentine: "I am prettier than you, much prettier. Miss Blue."
       Blue was modester. "That may be true, my dear Miss Pink; still, some folks like blue best, I think," she replied.
       "I wonder they should," went on Pink, talking in prose now, for valentines can speak in prose and in rhyme equally well. "You are such a chilly color. Now I warm people. They smile when they see me. I like that. It is sweet to give pleasure."
       "I like to give pleasure, too," said Blue, modestly. "And I hope I may, for something beautiful is written inside me."
       "What? oh! what?" cried Pink.
       "I cannot say," sighed Blue. "How can one tell what is inside one? But I know it is something sweet, because

"She who sent me here,
Is so very fair and dear."

Valentine from Christian Card Ministry.

       Blue was running into rhyme again, as valentines will.

       "I don't believe a word of it," said Pink, digging her sharp elbow into Blue's smooth side. "Nothing is written inside me, and I'm glad of it. I am too beautiful to be written on. In the middle of my page is a picture, Cupid, with roses and doves. Oh, so fine! There is a border too, wreaths of flowers, flowers of all colors, and a motto, 'Be mine.' Be mine! What can be better than that? Have you got flowers and 'Be mine,' inside, you conceited thing? If not, say so, and be ashamed, as you deserve to be.''

       Again the pink elbow dented Blue's smooth envelope.

       But Blue only shook her head softly, and made no answer. Pink grew angry at this. She caught Blue with her little teeth of mucilage and shook her viciously.

       ''Speak,'' she said. ''I hate your stuck-up, shut-up people. Speak!''

       But Blue only smiled, and again shook her head.

       Just then, the pillar-post opened with a click. The postman was come. He scooped up Pink, Blue, and all the other letters, and threw them into his wallet. A fat yellow envelope of law-papers separated the two valentines, and they had no further talk.

       Half-an-hour later. Pink was left at the door of a grand house, almost the finest in the town. Charles, the waiter, carried her into the parlor, and Pink said to herself: ''What a thing it is to have a mission. My mission is to give pleasure!''

       ''A letter for you. Miss Eva.'' said Charles. He did not smile. Well-behaved waiters never smile; besides, Charles did not like Eva.

       ''Where is your tray?'' demanded Eva, crossly. ''You are always forgetting what mamma told you. Go and get it.'' But when she saw Pink in her beautiful envelope, unmistakably a valentine, she decided not to wait. ''Never mind this time,'' she said; ''but don't let it happen again.''

       ''Who's your letter from, Evy?'' asked grandmamma.

       ''I have not opened it yet, and I wish you would not call me Evy; it sounds so back-woodsy.'' replied Eva, who, for some mysterious reason, had waked that morning very much out of temper.

       ''Eva!'' said' her father, sternly.

       Eva had forgotten that papa was there. To hide her confusion, she opened the pink envelope so hastily as to tear it all across.

       ''O dear!'' she complained. ''Everything goes wrong.''

       Then she unfolded the valentine. Pink, who had felt as if a sword were thrust through her heart when her envelope was torn, brightened up.

       ''Now,'' she thought, ''when she sees the flowers, Cupid and doves, she will ho. pleased.''

       But it was not pleasure which shone on Eva's countenance.

       ''What's the matter?'' asked papa, seeing her face swell and angry tears filling her eyes.

       ''That horrid Jim Slack!'' cried Eva. ''He said he'd send me a valentine just like Pauline's, and he has not. Hers was all birds and butterflies, and had verses.''

       ''Yours seems pretty enough,'' said papa, consolingly.

       ''It's not pretty enough,'' responded Eva, passionately. ''It's a stupid, ugly thing. I hate it. I won't have it.''

       And, horrible to state, she flung Pink, actually flung her, into the middle of the fire. There was time for but one crackling gasp; then the yellow flame seized and devoured all - Cupid, doves, flowers! Another second, they were gone. A black scroll edged with fiery sparkles reared itself up in the midst of the glow; then an air-current seized it, it rose, and the soul of Pink flew up the chimney.

       Blue, meantime, was lying on the lap of a little girl of twelve, a mile or more from this scene of tragedy. Two plump hands caressed her softly.

       ''Sister, may I read it to you just once more?'' begged a coaxing voice.

       ''Yes, Pet, once more. That'll make five times, and they say there is luck in odd numbers,'' said another voice, kind and happy.

       So Pet read:

"My dear is like a dewy rose
All in the early morn;
But never on her stem there grows
A single wounding thorn.

My dear is like a violet shy,
Who hides her in the grass,
And holds a fragrant cup on high
To bless all men who pass.

My dear is like a merry bird.
My dear is like a rill.
Like all sweet things or seen or heard,
Only she's sweeter still.

And while she blooms beside my door,
Or sings beneath my sky,
My heart with happiness runs o'er.
Content and glad am I.

So, sweetheart, read me as I run,
Smile on this simple rhyme.
And choose me out to be your one
And only Valentine."

       "Isn't it lovely?'' said Pet, her blue eyes dancing as she looked up.
       "Yes, it's very nice," replied sister.
       "I wish everybody in the world had such a nice valentine,'' went on Pet. ''How pleased they'd be. Do you suppose anybody has sent Lotty one? Only that about the bird would n't be true, because Lotty's so sick, you know, and always stays in bed.''
       ''But Lotty sings,'' said sister. ''She's always singing and cheerful, so she's like a bird in that.''

Birdies with broken wings
Hide from each other;
But babies in trouble
Can run home to mother,

       hummed Pet, who knew the St. Nicholas jingles by heart.  ''But poor Lotty hasn't any mamma to run to,'' she added, softly.
       ''No; and that's a reason why it would be so specially nice to give her the pleasure of a valentine like yours.''
       ''I wish somebody had sent her one,'' said Pet, thoughtfully.
       ''I don't suppose there is another in the world just like yours,'' said sister, smiling at Pet.
       ''Then she can't have one. What a pity.''
       ''She might have this of yours,'' suggested sister.
       ''But‚ then‚ I shouldn't have any,'' cried Pet.
       ''O yes, you would, and I'll tell you how,'' said sister. ''You've had all the pleasure of getting it, and opening and reading it, already. That's yours to keep. Now, if I copy the verses for you on plain white paper, you can read them over as often as you like, till, by and by, you learn them by heart. When you have done that they will be yours for always; and, meanwhile, Lotty will have the pleasure of getting the valentine, opening, reading, learning, just as you have done‚ so you will get a double pleasure instead of one. Don't you see?''
       ''That will be splendid,'' cried Pet, joyously. ''Poor Lotty, how glad she will be! And I shall have two pleasures instead of one, shan't I?''
       ''How nice,'' thought Blue, ''to have given two pleasures already!''
       Sister copied the verses, a fresh envelope was found, and Blue was sent on her way. When she was carried upstairs to Lotty's room, she thought it the pleasantest place she had ever seen. Sunshine was there‚ on the wall, on the plants in the window, most of all in Lotty's face, as she sat up in bed, knitting with red worsted and big needles. When Blue was put into her hands, she laughed with astonishment.
       ''For me!'' she cried. ''Who could have sent it? How pretty it is, how pretty! A great deal too pretty, for me. Oh, what a kind, dear somebody there is in the world!''
       Everybody in the house was glad because Lotty was glad. Grandmamma came in to hear the valentine; so did papa, and Jack, Lotty's big brother, and Fred, her little one. Even the cook made up an excuse about the pudding, and stole upstairs to hear the ''fine verses which somebody had sent to Miss Lotty. It's swate as roses she is, any day,'' said cook; ''and good luck to him for sinding it, whoiver he is.''
       By and by, Lotty's tender heart began to busy itself with a new plan.
       ''Grandma,'' she said, ''I'm thinking about little Mary Riley. She works so hard, and she hardly ever has anything nice happen to her. Don't you think I might send her my valentine‚ in a different envelope, you know, with her name on it and all? She'd be so pleased.''
       ''But I thought you liked it so much yourself, dear,'' replied grandmamma, unwilling to have her darling spare one bit of brightness out of her sickroom life.
       ''Oh, I do; that's the reason I want to give it away,'' said Lotty, simply, and stroking Blue, who, had she known how, would gladly have purred under the soft touch. ''But I shall go on liking it all the same if Mary has it, and she'll like it too. Don't you see, grandmamma? I've copied the verses in my book, so that I can keep them.''
       Grandmamma consented. The new envelope was found, Mary's address was written upon it, and away went happy Blue to give pleasure to a fresh friend.
       ''This is best of all,'' she said to herself, as Mary laid aside her weary sewing to read over and over again the wonderful verses, which seemed to have dropped out of fairy-land. She almost cried with pleasure that they should be sent to her.
       ''I wish I could buy a frame for 'em‚ a beautiful gold frame,'' she whispered to herself.
       Pink would have been vain had she heard this; but Blue glowed with a purer feeling‚ ''the happiness of giving happiness.''
       Mary read the verses over a dozen times at least before putting them aside; but she did put them aside, for she had work to finish, and daylight was precious. The work was a birthday frock. When the last stitch was set, she folded it carefully, put on cloak and bonnet, and prepared to carry the frock home. Last of all, she dropped Blue into her pocket. She did not like to leave it behind. Something might happen, she thought.
       It was quite a grand house to which the birthday frock went. In fact, it was next door but one to the house in which Pink met with her melancholy fate. The little girl who was to wear the frock was very glad to see Mary, and her mamma came upstairs to pay for the work.
       ''Have you any change?'' she said. ''Come nearer to the fire. It is cold to-night.''
       Mary was confused by this kindness. Her fingers trembled as she searched for her porte-monnaie, which was at the bottom of her pocket, underneath her handkerchief. She twitched out the handkerchief hastily, and with it, alas! came Blue. They were close to the grate, and Blue was flung into the fire. Mary gave a scream and made a snatch. It was too late ! Already the flames had seized it; her beloved valentine was gone, vanished into ashes!
       "Was it anything valuable?" asked the lady, as Mary gave a little sob.
       ''Oh, n-o, yes, ma'am; that is, it was verses. I never had any before. And they were s-o beautiful!" replied poor Mary, half-crying.
       The lady gave her an extra dollar for the sewing, but this did not console Mary.
       Meantime, the ghost of Blue flew up the chimney. Upon the roof hovered a dim gray shade. It was the ghost of Pink, wind-blown for a little space.
       ''How sad life is!'' sighed Pink's ghost. -

       ''I was young, I was fair,
       And now I'm in the air,
       As ugly gray ashes as ever were.''

       ''How sweet life is!'' murmured the ghost of Blue -

       ''I've only lived a little while.
       But I have made three people smile.''

       A chickadee who heard the two ghosts discoursing now flew down from the roof-peak. He gathered Blue's ashes up into his beak, flew down into the garden, and strewed them about the root of a rose-tree.
       ''In the spring you''ll be a rose,'' he said.
       Then he flew back, took up Pink's ashes, bore them into another garden, and laid them in the midst of a bed of chickweed.
       ''Make that chickweed crop a little richer, if you can,'' he chirped. All the better for the dickybirds if you do; and a good thing for you too, to be of use for once in your life.''
       Then the chickadee flew away. Ghosts have to get accustomed to plain speaking.
       This was the end of Blue and Pink.