Her burning cheek was laid close to his, and he patted her shoulder lovingly.
"Do I think you can do it, Pearlie, that I do—you can do whatever you go at—I always knew that."
"Pearl, child," cried her mother, "don't be hugging your Pa like that, and you with your good dress on; don't you see the dust and dirt on him—you will ruin your clothes child."
Pearl kissed him again, and gave him one more hug, before she said, "It is clean dirt, Ma, and it will brush off, and I just couldn't wait; but sure and it's clean dirt anyway."
"It is gettin' colder," said John Watson, as he hung up his smock behind the door, "our Spring is over for awhile, I think. I saw two geese leggin' it back as fast as they could go, and each one scoldin' the other one—we'll have a good spell or winter yet, I am afraid, in spite of our two warm days and all the signs of Spring."
"Weather like you is too good to last," said Mrs. Watson complacently,
"I knew it wasn't the Spring, it was too good to last."
Pearl went to the window and looked out—already there was a threat of snow in the whining wind, and as she watched, a stray flake struck the window in front of her.
"It was too good to last," she said with a sigh which broke into a sob in the middle, "It was too good to be true!"