This short story, aimed at young readers, appeared in the West Virginia Argus on February 27, 1885. The credit line attributes this tale to Frances B. Currie, and the story was reprinted from the N. Y. Examiner. She appears to have been a frequent contributor to Frank Leslie's publications, but unlike J. L. Harbour, no biography has been found yet to shed more light on her life and output.
Since this story should also be out of copyright in the US, we have reprinted the entire story for your enjoyment.
A PEACE-OFFERING.
A Valentine Story with a Moral, for Young Readers.
Margery Wright was not a beauty. Even the most charitable person in the world could not admit that she had the smallest claim to such a title. The boys in the Delving Seminary said that Margery had a "squat” figure and a “pug" nose. They also alluded to her mouth in a way that brought angry tears into her eyes. They said it opened like a pair of oyster-tongs. These young gentlemen had lived for twelve or fourteen years, and had not yet acquired good manners.
As I said before, Margery was not remarkable for her good looks. Her mouth was too large and her nose was ridiculously small; but she had a pair of honest, tender, brown eyes, and a heart great enough to forgive the worst tormentor in the school. She had a very lonesome life in that grim-looking building. She felt out of place there among all those grave Professors and those mischievous boys. She was eleven years old, and she was the only girl in the world who had ever been taught to read and write and cipher in Delving Seminary.
When she was six years old, her father and mother died, leaving her a little helpless creature, without a friend in the world. Margery had not the least idea what was to become of her. She had cried because of her forlorn condition until her heart and eyes had ached. She cried so bitterly that her grief had appealed to the sympathies of old Dr. Delving, the Principal of the Seminary, and he had taken her home with him, promising that if she was a good girl he would educate her and give her a home.
Margery was very grateful to the doctor, and she had done all in her power to be useful to him. She did a great deal for the boys, too, though they did half worry the life out of her. She counted their clothes when they came from the laundry: she patiently mended their socks until they were past all renovation; she dusted their rooms, and did a thousand little kindnesses which no one noticed nor appreciated. And with all these duties she had her regular hours of study, and she improved them, too. She intended to be a teacher some day and keep a school of her own.
She had her play-time, also, for the good doctor had insisted that all work and no play was as bad for a girl as for a boy. But Margery had never in her life had any playthings. She had scarcely missed them until her eyes happened one day to fall upon a pair of silver-plated skates. She wanted them.
If she had been educated in a select seminary for young ladies, instead of this school for rough boys, her taste might have been more refined. Under those different circumstances she might have craved a doll, or a baby-house, but Maggery[sic] knew nothing of girl's amusements. When she dusted the boys' rooms she discovered their toys, and she often puzzled her little head trying to guess what they were for. She examined and admired them, and sometimes came to grief through her curiosity.
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| "Expert Skates," from Barney and Berry’s catalogue of ice skates [1889-90] : Springfield, Mass. p 23. Full catalogue at archive.org. |
But the skates! These were after her own heart. She said nothing about them, but she wished and wished for them until she was near being unhappy as such a cheerful little soul could be. Whenever she went to the village on an errand for the housekeeper, poor Margery flattened her absent little nose against the shop-window, behind which the tempting skates were exhibited.
Once she had ventured inside the store and timidly asked the price of them, but the shop keeper had not given her a satisfactory answer. He had glanced at her shabby little figure, and decided that she had not enough money to buy an ice-pick, to say nothing of purchasing a pair of silver-plated skates. So he had only said that he "reckoned that they wouldn't cost a hundred dollars," and Margery was still in doubt about them. A hundred dollars! She gave a great sigh at the mention of so large a sum. To her childish vision it appeared like a great fortune. She wondered how the shop-keeper could speak of it in that glib unconcerned manner, just as she might have mentioned a dandelion, or something even less pretentious.
Nevertheless, she looked at the coveted pair of skates every time she passed the window in which they were displayed, and one day she noticed a ticket fastened to them on which was printed the price. She read that eight dollars could buy the best pair of skates in the window. Now Margery had some money in a bank. Not a great building with iron-barred windows, mysterious vaults and safes, and a crowd of silent, attentive and well-dressed clerks behind its desks.
Margery's bank was a tin one, which she had bought for ten cents at a toy-shop. It had a door which never opened, and a chimney with a little slit in the center through which a penny might be dropped. The bank, which was no larger then a good-sized apple-dumpling, contained Margery's entire fortune. She had been dropping her pennies into it for some time, and she determined at last to pry the roof off this "Institution" and count its contents. It was the only way to get at the money, for a penny entering that bank was in about the same position as the foolish fly in the spider’s parlor. It “could ne’er come out again.”
And so the roof had to come off.
But when the pennies were counted there were only seventy-four of them - seven hundred and twenty-six less than was required to buy the skates. Poor Margery buried her face deep into her pillow that night, and cried herself asleep. She had been saving her pennies for a year, and this was the result. She had hoped against hope that the bank contained almost enough for her purpose. She had fancied herself gliding over the smooth ice, her cheeks as red as roses, her head half dizzy from the pleasurable motion, her feet making graceful circles and her heart beating hard and fast from the excitement, the exercise and the fun. And after all her plans and fancies she had not one-tenth of the amount needed to carry them out.
She was inclined to rebel against her fate. There was not a scholar in the Delving Seminary who had not a pair of skates, and not one could skate as well as she. She, the very best skater in the whole building, had to go borrowing when she wanted to skate. It really did not seem to be fair.
She never recited with the boys, but she used to attend the opening exercises of the school. She had a habit of shrinking into the corner where her little desk stood, and never looking at her envied tormentors. On the morning after her bank had burst, she had taken her place its usual, and was surprised to find a number of envelopes on her desk, directed to herself. What did it all mean? Who could have been writing to her?
The hot, angry color came into her face as she remembered that this was the 14th of February—St. Valentine's Day. She had reason to remember it. On this day a year ago she had found the same number of envelopes. She had opened each envelope with a foolish hope that it contained something worth having: and every time she had been disappointed. All of her valentines were hideous caricatures of herself, in which her nose and mouth received particular attention. She had looked at them all, hoping to find one that was not ugly. If she could have found one of those bits of lace paper, decorated with roses, or cupids, or turtle-doves, she would have been happy.
She had not found anything of the sort when she came to her sixth and last envelope. This was directed in Hector Wood's writing. She knew it by the flourishes on his capital letters. He, the best-tempered, best-mannered boy in the whole school, would certainly not send her one of those ugly pictures. She was sure of it. She tore open this last envelope with fingers which trembled a little with eagerness. And what did she find? Another ugly caricature and this verse:
She had burst into tears from disappointment and anger, and she had torn her valentines into a thousand pieces.
When she saw Hector Wood her temper arose afresh. "I'm glad your name is Hector,” she said. "It is a horrid name, and you deserve it for hectoring a girl who never harmed you. I'll never count your collars any more!"
All this had happened a year ago. But Margery was never revengeful. All through the year she had counted the linen as carefully as ever, and when she might have spent her seventy-four cents for ugly valentines to send back to Hector and his companions, she had not done it.
Still it was too bad for them to send her this second lot of valentines. She gathered them up, determining to burn them in the kitchen range. She would not even open them.
As she was about to drop them into the fire her attention was attracted to the envelopes. These were very different from those she had received last year. These were of various colors and designs. There were little vines trailing over them on which might be seen some remarkable birds with very wide tails, and with their beaks opened so far that Margery was sure they must be exquisite singers.
She was too tenderhearted to roast even the picture of a bird, so she determined to keep the envelopes. But when she tore open the first envelope out fell a valentine which made her open her eyes with astonishment. This was no hideous picture of herself, but a delicate little sachet bag of satin and lace -- a valentine worth having. And the next was a card -- and such a card! -- all covered with fat cupids and arrows and hearts and flowers. Was ever anything so beautiful? What a lucky chance had prevented her from dropping them into the roaring fire! She trembled when she thought how narrow had been their escape. And the next valentine -- and the next! There was no ugly ones among them.
She had discovered Hector Wood's writing upon one of the envelopes. There was no mistaking those flourishing capital letters. She saved it until the last, because she was afraid to open it lest all her happiness should vanish. She remembered what she had said to him about his name. She had been sorry for it for a long time, and had told him so.
Was he angry with her yet, in spite of what she had said, and had he sent her a valentine worse even than his last one? Well, she must muster up courage and find out. There was nothing inside his envelope but this letter:
DEAR MARGERY: Last year six of us boys sent you valentine. We meant to tease you, and we hurt your feelings and made you cry. We are ashamed of it. It was very rough in six great bullies to torment one girl. We ask you now to try to forgive and forget what we did. Some of us have seen you looking at the skates in Johnson's window. We know you are awfully fond of skating, and that you have no skates. If you will look in your desk to day you will find a pair that we think will suit you. St. Valentine treated you mean last year, but we intend that he shall do better today.
(Signed) HECTOR WOOD, FRED HALL, TOMMY ADAMS, GEO. ADAMS, ROBERT BURNS, JACK ROBINSON.
Margery was in an ecstasy of delight. She rushed into the school-room at recess time, and pulled out her skates in the presence of the givers. She said she was happy -- very, very happy: and I am sure that she spoke the truth.
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