d what was the
matter. She rattled along, talking with even more vivacity than usual,
to cover his silence, and walked fast to keep within speaking distance
of several others who were going down their road. They all walked Indian
file, the path beaten through the snow was so narrow. Jack had started
much earlier, as he was taking old Captain Doane's niece home. The
cottage was in sight when the others turned off into another road, and
Pink and Mary were left crunching through the snow alone.

Then Pink suddenly found his voice. Clearing his throat he began
diffidently, "Mary, I want to ask you something. I want to ask a favor
of you."

His tone was so ominous that Mary's heart gave a thump like a startled
rabbit's.

"I wish you wouldn't call me 'Pink' like everybody else does. I wish
you'd call me a name that no one would use but you. Just when we're by
ourselves, you know. I wouldn't want you to any other time. I'd love for
you to have your own special name for me just as I have for you."

"What's that?" asked Mary, crunching steadily on ahead, determined to
laugh him out of his serious tone if possible. "What name do you have
for me? 'Polly-put-the-kettle-on? 'That's my usual nickname. It used to
be 'Mother-bunch' and 'Gordo' when I was little and fat."

"I didn't mean a nickname," answered Pink a little stiffly. He was in no
humor for joking, and he rather resented her light reply. Her rapid pace
had quickened almost into a dog-trot. With a few long strides he put
himself even with her, walking along in the deep snow beside the narrow
path. Evidently he felt the witchery of the still winter night, with the
moonlight silvering the snowy world around them, even if Mary did not.
For in spite of the brisk, business-like pace she set, he said
presently:

"I've been making up my mind all evening to tell you this on my way
home. You've never seemed like an ordinary girl to me. You're so much
nicer in every way, that long ago I gave you a name that I always call
you to myself. And I wanted to ask you if you wouldn't do the same for
me. Of course I couldn't expect you to give me the same sort of a name
that I have for you, but I'd be content if you'd just call me by my
first name, _Philip_."

"_Philip!_" repeated Mary blankly, turning short in the narrow path to
stare at him. "Why, I didn't know that that was _your_ name. It's a name
that has always seemed to belong especially to just one person in the
world. I never