The doctor turned his horses and asked if he might drive her home.
"Pearl," he said, with an' unmistakable twinkle in his eye, "I want to see you about Libby Anne. I hope you will humour her in any way you can."
Pearl stared at him in surprise—then suddenly the colour rose in her cheeks as she comprehended his meaning.
"Even if she asks you to do very hard things," he went on.
"She hasn't asked me yet," said Pearl honestly.
"Is it possible that Libby Anne has forgotten me like that? Well, I believe it is better for me to do it myself, anyway. How old are you, Pearl?"
"I was fifteen my last birthday."
"Don't put it that way," he corrected. "That's all right when you're giving your age in school, but just now I'd rather hear you say that you will be sixteen on your next birthday, because sixteen and three make nineteen, and when you're nineteen you will be quite a grown-up young lady."
"Oh, that's a long time ahead," said Pearl.
"Quite a while," he agreed, "but I am going to ask you that question which Libby Anne has overlooked, just three years from to-day. We can easily remember the date, March the first. It may be a cold, dark, wintry day, with the wind from the north, or it may be bright and full of sunshine like to-day. That will just depend on your answer."