IT did n't seem as if anybody in the world would be less likely to receive a valentine than Mrs. Bridget O'Flanigan. It was no wonder that she laughed when 'Nezer asked her if she expected to have one -laughed until her chair threatened to give way under her, and her stand shook so that the apples and oranges began to roll off, and the pea-nuts and chestnuts hopped almost out of their baskets; for Mrs. Bridget O'Flanigan's laughter had the effect of a small earthquake.

"Is it til the loikes av me that annybody would be afther sindin' a foine bit av paper, wid flowers on it and shmall little b'ys widout a stitch til their backs barrin' wings? Sure, is it a swateheart ye think I have, an' me a dacent widdy tin years agin May? Go 'long wid'ye now, ye spalpeen!"

And the "widdy" was again overcome by mirth at the thought, and 'Nezer had to go to work again at picking up the apples and oranges. 'Nezer was sitting at what Ben Mudgett called the "leeward side" of Mrs. O'Flanigan's apple-stand, eating a turnover and drinking a cup of hot coffee.

A thrifty and hard-working woman was Mrs. O'Flanigan, with a trading-bump equal to any Yankee's; but for all that she tolerated some unprofitable customers. "If it was n't for the softhairtedness in her she'd be rowllin' in gowld be this time," her neighbors said.

It was in vain for her to try to harden her heart against a cold and hungry child, who looked wistfully at her tempting stores; and it was very often indeed that an orange or a stick of striped candy found its way into a penniless little pocket.

But she had to restrain her generous impulses to a considerable extent, or her stand would have become so popular, not only among the children who had no pennies, but among those who wanted to try the extraordinary and delightful experiment of getting their candy and keeping their pennies, that the customers who filled the money-box would have been crowded off. Now she had learned from long experience to attend to her unprofitable customers slyly, exacting from them promises of secrecy.

'Nezer was one of the unprofitable customers. He was thin and hungry-looking, and Mrs. O'Flanigan had invited him to breakfast at her stand whenever he was in town.

In the autumn he came into the city from Scrambleton about once a week, with Ben Mudgett. Ben worked on a large farm, and brought wagonloads of vegetables and poultry and butter and eggs to market. 'Nezer was an orphan from the poor-house. He had been "bound out" to the Widow Scrimpings, who did n't live on a farm, but who raised poultry and sent it, with a few eggs and some very small pats of butter, to market.

She tried to raise the poultry on the same principles by which she was raising 'Nezer-very short commons and very hard work; but the chickens and geese and turkeys were all so lean and tough that 'Nezer could get for them only about half as much as Ben Mudgett got for his nice plump ones, and they would n't lay half as many eggs as Ben's did. And the Widow Scrimpings thought 'Nezer was to blame. In fact, she thought 'Nezer was to blame for almost everything.

She blamed him because he had a very good appetite, and because he grew fast. And he always had to go hungry, and his legs were almost a quarter of a yard longer than his trousers, and his sleeves came only a little ways below his elbows, and he had to wear the Widow Scrimpings's uncle Plunkett's old hats, and Uncle Plunkett was the biggest man in Scrambleton, and 'Nezer had hard work to keep the hats from completely extinguishing his head. The rest of him grew and grew, but it did seem to 'Nezer as if his head would never grow to fit Uncle Plunkett's hats.

Almost the only good times 'Nezer had were when he went to market with Ben Mudgett, and those good times came very seldom now that it was winter. Ben had saved a few barrels of apples and squashes, to sell when prices were higher than they were in autumn, and he had a few fat chickens and turkeys that had survived the Thanksgiving and Christmas feasting, and the Widow Scrimpings was glad of an opportunity to send 'Nezer along with a few meager fowls that looked as if they must have died of starvation, some eggs that she had saved with care until prices were as high as they were ever likely to be, and some cranberries half spoiled by being kept too long.

It was very cold weather, now, and he had been obliged to set off at four o'clock in the morning, without any breakfast, but there were snug and warm places in Ben's big wagon in which to stow one's self away, and Ben could spin yarns and sing songs that would make you forget all about being cold or hungry or sleepy. Such a big voice as Ben had! He waked all the sleepy farm-houses as they went along. Ben always had his breakfast before he started, and he did n't know that 'Nezer did n't have his; he would have been sure to have brought a lunch with him if he had; but 'Nezer was not the kind of boy to complain. So it happened that 'Nezer, being very faint with hunger, had cast wistful glances at Mrs. O'Flanigan's apple-stand, and that worthy woman, after trying in vain to harden her heart according to the advice of her friends and neighbors, raised her fat and somewhat grimy forefinger and slyly beckoned to him. And every time he came to town after that, 'Nezer found awaiting him a snug seat behind the stand, in the shelter of Mrs. O'Flanigan's capacious person, a doughnut or a turnover, and a cup of hot coffee. Mrs. O'Flanigan and 'Nezer had become great friends. He had been so little used to kindness in his life that a little seemed a great deal to him, and he thought Mrs. O'Flanigan was like an angel. He was always trying to devise a plan for making some return for her kindness, but beyond doing an errand for her occasionally there seemed to be no way. Now he had been looking admiringly at

the valentines with which the shop windows were filled, and he wanted dreadfully to send her a valentine. He had fifteen cents which a man had given him for holding his horse, and he meditated the bold plan of buying a valentine for Mrs. O'Flanigan with it, instead of giving it to the Widow Scrimpings. But when he delicately sounded Mrs. O'Flanigan on the subject of valentines, he received the discouraging response recorded at the beginning of this story. Mrs. O'Flanigan laughed to scorn the idea of her receiving a valentine.

"Sure it's the purty young girls that has valentines, an' not the loikes av me, ye gossoon!" said she. "An' is it Micky O'Rourke, the pea-nut man around the corner-and a chatin' ould rashkil he is, bad 'cess til him! — is it him that ye think would be afther sindin' me a valentine? Or is it me first cousin, Barty Macfarland, the ould widdy man that comes ivery wake askin' the loan av a quarther? Och, an' it's the foine swatehearts I has! It's foolicht enough they are, but not that foolicht to be sindin' bit pictures til the loikes av me! If it was a foine, fat young goose for me dinner-pot, now, or a good shawl wid rid stripes intil it, thim would be valentines that ud suit me, jist!” 'Nezer heaved a deep sigh. That kind of a valentine was altogether beyond his reach.

If she only would have liked one of those at which he had been looking, which could be bought for fifteen cents. There was one that had a red-and-gold heart upon it, two doves and two clasped hands, and some verses, beginning:

"Your eyes are bright, your heart is light; You are my darling dear!"

'Nezer thought it was beautiful, and he could not see why it was not very appropriate indeed for Mrs. O'Flanigan. But it was evident that it would not suit her taste at all. He must try to think of something else. "You'd orter have the very nicest valentine in the world!" he said, gazing at her affectionately, with his mouth full of mince turnover.

"Listen til the blarneyin' tongue av him! Be aff wid ye, now, ye rashkil, and pit thim in your pocket agin ye be hongry go'n' home!"

And Mrs. O'Flanigan thrust two doughnuts into his pocket, and sent him off with a playful push.

'Nezer was silent and sad all the way home. It was queer, but the fact was that he was sad for the first half of the way because he could n't think of anything to send Mrs. O'Flanigan for a valentine, and he was sad the last half because he had thought of something!

It was what she said about a "foine fat goose for her dinner-pot" that made him think of it.

There are very few people so poor that they have n't some one possession that is very precious

to them. 'Nezer, although he was bound out to the Widow Scrimpings, had one, and it was a goose!

Not a "fine, fat young goose," but a lean, old, lame goose, but still, for a dinner-pot, better than no goose at all, and for a valentine-well, 'Nezer had a vague idea that if he should send the most precious thing he had that would be just what a valentine ought to be. It would show his real feeling for Mrs. O'Flanigan.

But he had another feeling that complicated matters, and made him very unhappy. He was so fond of Peg-leg that he could n't bear the thought of her being put into a dinner-pot.

You may think it strange that anybody should be fond of a goose, but 'Nezer was a very affectionate boy, and he had never had much in his life to be fond of. Nobody had ever petted him, and he had never had anything to pet. And so, though Peg-leg was n't, even for a goose, very amiable or interesting, 'Nezer had set his affections upon her.

In appearance she was a most unprepossessing goose. She was not only so lame that she could scarcely waddle, but her neck and head were almost bare of feathers, and she had but one good eye. And she had a queer little drooping and ragged bunch of tail-feathers, that gave her a dejected look. But without the misfortunes that had given her her ungainly appearance she would never have been 'Nezer's goose.

At a very tender age she had fallen into the clutches of a big dog, and been so badly treated that the Widow Scrimpings gave her up as dead, and ordered 'Nezer to give her to the cat. But 'Nezer discovered that the breath of life was still in her, and by careful and tender nursing he had brought her up to comparatively vigorous goosehood. But he had built a little house for her on Ben's farm, and took care to keep her there, and the Widow Scrimpings never knew that her cat had not made a meal off her.

At first, 'Nezer had fed her with food saved from his own scanty meals, and with corn and meal that Ben gave him occasionally, but for a long time now she had supported herself by laying eggs.

I am sorry to say that she had never seemed to return 'Nezer's affection.

She was a very cross goose; she ran her long neck out, and hissed fiercely at everybody; and she hissed only a little less fiercely at 'Nezer than at other people. She always came when he called her, but Ben insisted that it was because he almost always gave her something to eat. 'Nezer thought, however, that it was a proof of affection for him. Ben did n't appreciate her. It was he who had named her Peg-leg.

sending Peg-leg as a valentine to Mrs. O'Flanigan. Ben would be sure to approve of it heartily, and urge him to do it, and he was not quite ready to decide upon the matter yet.

But as St. Valentine's Day drew near, and no stroke of good fortune had come to him to enable him to buy a shawl wid rid stripes," which was the only other valentine that Mrs. O'Flanigan regarded as desirable, 'Nezer came to the decision that Peg-leg must be sacrificed.

He made only one concession to his feelings-he would not mention the dinner-pot, and it was just possible that Mrs. O'Flanigan might think Peg-leg too attractive to be boiled and eaten. There was also a chance that she might think her too lean and scraggy, as she was fond of good eating.

Moreover, she might guess from whom the valentine came, as he had told her about Peg-leg, and refrain from boiling her for the sake of the giver. So it was not without some hope of again beholding Peg-leg in life that 'Nezer boxed her up and sent her, by express, to Mrs. O'Flanigan; the expressman, who was a friend of Ben's, charging but half price, and promising to take the best possible care of her.

In the box with Peg-leg 'Nezer put a card, upon which he had written the verse which he had seen upon the valentine that he especially admired:

"Your eyes are bright, your heart is light;

You are my darling dear!"'

He was afraid she might not understand that Peg-leg was a valentine if there were no verse. On the outside of the box he wrote: "Take care! it bites."

That made it seem very unlike a valentine, but it was absolutely necessary for Mrs. O'Flanigan's protection, for Peg-leg's disposition would not be improved by six hours' confinement in a box.

It was a little past noon on the 14th of February when the expressman set down before Mrs. O'Flanigan's astonished eyes the box with its warning sign, "Take care! it bites."

"Take care! 'Dade, thin, an' I will. Ye can take it back wid ye, whativer it do be!" she screamed after the expressman, who was already a long ways down the street, and did not manifest the slightest intention of turning back.

"What murtherin' rashkil is afther sindin' me a crathur that bites? An' mesilf a dacint, paceable widdy woman, that nivir did no harum till annybody! Sure an' it do be a livin' crathur, for I hears him a-movir,' an' a-rustlin' loike!" And Mrs. O'Flanigan stood at a respectful distance, and gazed with fascinated curiosity at the box.

him. For his legs were no longer "down beyant his trousis." He had on a brand-new suit from top to toe, and his cheeks were almost fat! He held his head up, and his eyes were bright, and he did not look like the same boy. And the man who had carried off the goose was with him!

"He is my nephew, my only sister's son," said the man to Mrs. O'Flanigan. "And if I had n't stopped to see the goose, and you had n't told me his name was 'Nezer, and he lived in Scrambleton, I should, perhaps, never have found him, for I thought he was dead. And I've got him away from the Widow Scrimpings, and as I have a snug bit of property, and nobody but him belonging to me, we 're pretty comfortable together."

'Nezer's face fully confirmed his uncle's story. "And I'm hoping to make some return to you for your kindness to my nephew," said 'Nezer's uncle. And 'Nezer could with great difficulty refrain

from telling her of the plans they had formed for supplying her next summer with the finest fruits from their garden.

But Mrs. O'Flanigan protested that the "bit and the sup" she had given him would make her "niver a bit the poorer"; and he was "that dacint and perlite" that it more than paid her, to say nothing of the "foine valentine" he had sent her. "Peg-leg has lots more feathers growing out on her!" said 'Nezer, proudly. " said

"It's a foine fowl she do be, annyhow! Mrs. O'Flanigan, politely. "And I think her temper is improving," said

'Nezer's uncle.

"She have but the laste bit in life av a timper," said Mrs. O'Flanigan; "and sure what would anny av us be widout it?" By which you will see that Mrs. O'Flanigan understood fashionable manners, if she was only an apple-woman.