"Pearl, you take things too light," said her mother severely, "a person never knows when you are in earnest, and I am frightened about you. You should not feel so careless about makin' speeches, it is nothing to joke about. I wish you would be for writin' out what you are goin' to say, and then we could hear you go over it, and some one could hold the paper for you and give you the word if you forget—it would be the safest way!"
"All right, Ma," said Pearl, "I'll be making it up now while I peel the potatoes."
While they were talking there came a knock at the door, and when it was opened, there stood Bertie from the livery stable, with a long green-wrapped box in his hand, which he gave to Mrs. Watson, volunteering without delay, all the information he had regarding it. Bertie never failed to reveal all the truth as he knew it—so, keeping nothing back, he gave the history of the box so far as he had been able to gather it.
"It's for Pearl—and the doctor sent it out. I don't know why he didn't give it to her when she was in, for she was in his office—it's flowers, for it is marked on it—and they came from Hampton."
Bertie would have stayed to see the flowers opened, for he knew that Mrs. Crocks would be much interested to know just what they were, and what Pearl said, and what her mother said—and if there was a note inside—and all the other good stuff he would be able to gather, but Pearl took them, with an air of unconcern, and thanking Bertie, said quite carelessly:
"Don't wait for an answer, Bertie, I can phone if there is any need, and I know you are in a hurry—we must not keep you."
And before Bertie knew what had happened, he found himself walking away from the door.
When the roses had been put in water, and each of the children had been given a smell and a feel of the velvety petals, and Mrs. Watson had partially recovered from the shock that the sight of flowers in the winter, always gave her for they reminded her so of her father's funeral, and the broken pillar which the Oddfellows sent; Pearl read the card:
"To Pearl—eighteen-going-on-nineteen,
Hoping that the years will bring her nothing
but joy."
It was written on one of the doctor's professional cards, and that was all. But looking again into the envelope there was a folded note which she did not read to the assembled and greatly interested group. When she was alone in the little beamed room upstairs, she read it: