They assured themselves that their school-mate showed no sign of being the sort of girl who tried to be mannish and to forsake her natural vocation for a profession.  She did not look strong-minded; besides she had no need to work for her living, this ward of a rich man, who was altogether the most brilliant and beautiful girl in school.  Yet everybody knew that she had a strange tenacity of purpose, and there was a lack of pretension, and a simplicity that scorned the deceits of school-girl existence.  Everybody knew too that she was not a commonplace girl, and her younger friends made her the heroine of their fondest anticipations and dreams.  But after all, it seemed as if everybody, even the girl herself, had lost sight of the once familiar idea.  It was a natural thing enough that she should have become expert in rendering various minor services to the patients in Dr. Leslie’s absence, and sometimes assist him when no other person was at hand.  Marilla became insensible at the sight of the least dangerous of wounds, and could not be trusted to suggest the most familiar household remedy, after all her years of association with the practice of medicine, and it was considered lucky that Nan had some aptness for such services.  In her childhood she had been nicknamed “the little doctor,” by the household and even a few familiar friends, but this was apparently outgrown, though her guardian had more than once announced in sudden outbursts of enthusiasm that she already knew more than most of the people who tried to practice medicine.  They once in a while talked about some suggestion or discovery which was attracting Dr. Leslie’s attention, but the girl seemed hardly to have gained much interest even for this, and became a little shy of being found with one of the medical books in her hand, as she tried to fancy herself in sympathy with the conventional world of school and of the every-day ideas of society.  And yet her inward sympathy with a doctor’s and a surgeon’s work grew stronger and stronger, though she dismissed reluctantly the possibility of following her bent in any formal way, since, after all, her world had seemed to forbid it.  As the time drew near for her school-days to be ended, she tried to believe that she should be satisfied with her Oldfields life.  She was fond of reading, and she had never lacked employment, besides, she wished to prove herself an intelligent companion to Dr. Leslie, whom she loved more and more dearly as the years went by.  There had been a long time of reserve between her childish freedom of intercourse with him and the last year or two when they had begun to speak freely to each other as friend to friend.  It was a constant surprise and pleasure to the doctor when he discovered that his former plaything was growing into a charming companion who often looked upon life from the same standpoint as himself, and who had her own outlooks upon the world, from whence she was able to give him by no means worthless intelligence; and