"Thank you, Bessie" said Pearl, "I am glad to have this." She sat at her desk and began to write. Bessie ran home eagerly to tell her mother how the letter had been received.
Pearl decided to write an acceptance, and to 'phone home to her mother before sending it.
When the letter was written she sat in a pleasant dream, thinking of the new world that had opened before her. "Travelling expenses," had a sweet sound in her young ears—she would go from place to place, meet new people, and all the time be learning something—learning something—and forgetting.
Pearl winced a little when she recalled Mrs. Crock's words when she came through Millford on her way to Purple Springs:
"The doctor should be the candidate, but I guess Miss Keith won't let him. They say he's holdin' off to run for the Dominion House next Fall. You maybe could coax him to run, Pearl. Have you seen him lately? Miss Keith was down twice last week, and he went up for Sunday. It looks as if they were keepin' close company—oh well, he's old enough to know his own mind, and it will be nice to have the Senator's daughter livin' here. It would give a little style to the place, and that's what we're short of. But it's nothing to me—I don't care who he marries!"
Pearl had hurried away without answering. Mrs. Crocks' words seemed to darken the sun, and put the bite of sharp ice in the gentle spring breeze. Instead of forgetting him, every day of silence seemed to lie heavier on her heart; but one thing Pearl had promised herself—she would not mope—she would never cry over it!
She read the letter over and tried to picture what it would mean. A glow of gratitude warmed her heart when she thought of the Normal School Principal and his kindness in recommending her. She would fulfil his hopes of her, too. She would do her work well. She would lose herself in her work, and forget all that had made her lonely and miserable. It was a way of escape—the Lord was going to let her down over the wall in a basket.
There was a very small noise behind her, a faint movement as if a mouse had crossed the threshold.
She turned quickly, and gave a cry of surprise and delight.
At the door, shyly looking in at her, was a little boy of perhaps ten years of age, with starry eyes of such brilliance and beauty she could see no other feature. He looked like a little furry squirrel, who would be frightened by the slightest sound.