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Updated: May 29, 2025
On Valentine's day, Jupiter's cage was decked round with ivy leaves, making quite a pretty wreath on the wicker work; and to one of them was pinned a slip of paper, with these words, written in Libbie's best round hand: "From your faithful Valentine. Please take notice his name is Peter, and he'll come if you call him, after a bit."
The canary was placed for the night between the little bed and window; and when Libbie rose once, to take her accustomed peep, she saw the little arm put fondly round the cage, as if embracing his new treasure even in his sleep. How Jupiter slept this first night is quite another thing. So ended the first day in Libbie's three eras in last year.
Esther's bed, madly tumbled, and Libbie's, evidently occupied that night, but now empty, were revealed. Esther dropped down on the floor, wrapping her kimono about her, and regarded Betty trustfully. She was sure her friend would straighten things out. "Where is Libbie?" demanded Betty. "What is she doing?" "I don't know," admitted Esther unhappily.
So, thought Betty, Bobby, too, had noticed Libbie's unnatural behavior. "Oh, it isn't that," sobbed Libbie. "I can't explain but if we go through the woods, I'm sure I shall go crazy." "Well, then, that settles it," said Bob comfortably. "Better to be drowned than to go crazy. Can you turn up your sweater collars, girls? I wish we'd brought some raincoats along."
Valentine's day, with the donor's name unknown, and, of course, the mystery constitutes half the enjoyment. The fourteenth of February was Libbie's birthday too, and many a year, in the happy days of old, had her mother delighted to surprise her with some little gift, of which she more than half-guessed the giver, although each Valentine's day the manner of its arrival was varied.
Betty's and Libbie's acquaintance with it was confined solely to the glimpses they had had from the street, but Louise and Bobby had attended several New Year's receptions and had shaken hands with the President. The party spent a delightful morning, visiting the famous East Room, admiring the full length portraits of George and Martha Washington, about which latter the story is told that Mrs.
She had come full of another and a different subject; but the sight of Libbie's sad, weeping face, and the quiet, subdued tone of her manner, made her feel it awkward to begin on any other theme than the one which filled up her companion's mind. To her last speech Libbie answered sorrowfully
"Listen, all of you," begged Teddy. "Now, don't laugh and spoil it all, Tom. Listen: "'Lettuce denby uppan doing Widow Hartford N E fate, Still H E ving, still pursuing, Learn to label Aunty Waite." Libbie's voice rose above the general laughter, and she was quite warm. For Libbie's was a loyal soul. "I don't care! I don't believe it. His father is always making fun of Timothy.
But in the light of day and Sarah Libbie's presence, his sonorous philippic would dwindle away into a jargon of garbled phrases too disjointed and meaningless to carry weight with any woman, let alone the peerless Sarah Libbie Lewis.
Thus for more than a quarter of a century Jack Nickerson had silently worshiped at the shrine of his divinity, and in the meantime the roses in Sarah Libbie's cheeks had grown fainter, and tendrils of silver had found their way into the soft curls that shadowed her brow. Still Jack could not speak the words that were on his lips.
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