Libbie thought and thought, till at last an idea flashed upon her mind,
that often made a happy smile steal over her face as she stitched away,
and that cheered her through the solitary winter--for solitary it
continued to be, though the Dixons were very good sort of people, never
pressed her for payment, if she had had but little work to do that week;
never grudged her a share of their extravagant meals, which were far
more luxurious than she could have met with anywhere else, for her
previously agreed payment in case of working at home; and they would
fain have taught her to drink rum in her tea, assuring her that she
should have it for nothing and welcome. But they were too touchy, too
prosperous, too much absorbed in themselves, to take off Libbie's
feeling of solitariness; not half as much as the little face by day, and
the shadow by night, of him with whom she had never yet exchanged a
word.

Her idea was this: her mother came from the east of England, where, as
perhaps you know, they have the pretty custom of sending presents on St.
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. Since then the fourteenth of February
had been the dreariest of all the year, because the most haunted by
memory of departed happiness. But now, this year, if she could not have
the old gladness of heart herself, she would try and brighten the life
of another. She would save, and she would screw, but she would buy a
canary and a cage for that poor little laddie opposite, who wore out his
monotonous life with so few pleasures, and so much pain.

I doubt I may not tell you here of the anxieties and the fears, of the
hopes and the self-sacrifices--all, perhaps small in the tangible effect
as the widow's mite, yet not the less marked by the viewless angels who
go about continually among us--which varied Libbie's life before she
accomplished her purpose. It is enough to say it was accomplished. The
very day before the fourteenth she found time to go with her half-guinea
to a barber's who lived near Albemarle Street, and who was famous for
his stock of singing-birds. There are enthusiasts about all sorts of
th