  A robin hopped upon the window sill of School-house Number Fifteen and peered cautiously into the room. He had no business there during lesson hours and the arrival of Mary's little lamb could not have been more disturbing. The children whispered, fidgeted, shuffled their feet and banged their slates. "Perhaps they do not know it is spring," thought the robin and ruffling his red breast and swelling his throat he began to tell them. "It is spring! It is spring! It is spring!" The effect was electrical. Even the tall young teacher turned from her rows of figures on the blackboard. "Come out! come out! come out!" sang the robin. The teacher tapped sharply for order and the robin flew away. But the mischief was done. It was useless to tell them, "Only ten minutes more." Ten minutes—as well say ten years. The little fat boy in the front seat began to cry. A long sigh passed over the room. Ten minutes? The teacher consulted her watch, hesitated, and was lost. "Close books," she ordered. "Attention. Ready—March." The jostling lines scrambled in some kind of order to the door and then broke into joyous riot. It was spring—and school was out! Their teacher followed more slowly, pausing on the steps to breathe long and deeply the sweet spring air. In a corner by the steps there was still a tiny heap of shrinking snow, but in the open, the grass was green as emerald, violets and wind flowers pushed through the tangle of last year's leaves. The trees seemed shrouded in a fairy mist of green. Robins were everywhere. The girl upon the steps was herself a vision of spring—the embodiment of youth and beautiful life. Coombe folks admitted that Esther Coombe had "got back her looks." Had they been less cautious they might have said much more, for the subtle change which had come to Esther, the change which marks the birth of womanhood, had left her infinitely more lovely. From the pocket of the light coat she wore she brought forth a handful of crumbs and scattered them for the saucy robins and then, unwilling to hasten, sat down upon the steps to watch their cheerful wrangling. Peeling for more crumbs she drew out a letter—a single sheet covered with the crabbed handwriting of Professor Willits. At sight of it a soft flush stole over her face. She forgot the crumbs and the robins for, although her letter was two days old and she knew exactly what it contained, the very sight of the written words was joy to her. Like all Willits' notes it was short and to the point. "Our friend has gone," she read. "We wanted to keep him for a month yet, but the robins called too loudly. He left no word of his destination, only a strange note saying that at last he was up the hill and over. May he find happiness, dear lady, on the other side." One thing I notice—this recovery of his is different from his former recovery. If I were not afraid of lapsing into sentiment, I should say that he has achieved a soul cure. The morbid spot which troubled him so long is healed. A psychologist might explain it, but you and I must accept the result and be thankful. It is as if his subconscious self had removed a barrier and signalled 'Line clear—go ahead.' It is more than I had ever dared to hope. Your friend, "P.S.: Are you ready?" Esther looked at the postscript and smiled—that slow smile which lifted the corner of her lips so deliciously. "May we wait for you, Teacher?" "Not to-day, dears." The children moved regretfully away. Presently the school yard was deserted. The busy robins had finished quarrelling over their crumbs and were holding a caucus around the red pump. In the quietness could be heard the gurgle of the spring rivulets on the hill. Was there another sound on the hill, too? A far off whistling mingled with the gurgling water and twittering birds? Esther's hand tightened upon the letter—she leaned forward, listening intently. How loud the birds were! How confusing the sound of water! But now she caught the whistling again— "From Wimbleton to Wombleton is fifteen miles"— The familiar words formed themselves upon the girl's lips before the message of the tune reached her brain and brought her, breathless, to her feet. He was coming—so soon! Panic seized her. Her hand flew to her heart—she would hide in the school-room, anywhere! Then she remembered Willits' postscript, the postscript which she had thought so needless. Her hand fell to her side. The panic died. Next moment, head high and eyes smiling, she walked down to the gate. He was coming along the road under the budding elms—hatless, carrying a knapsack. His tweeds were splashed with mud from the spring roads, his face was thin, his hair was almost grey. Yet he came on like a conqueror and there was nothing old or tired in the bound wherewith he leaped the gate he would not pause to open. "Esther!" She looked up into his eyes and found them shadowless. Her own eyes veiled themselves, Neither found anything to say. But overhead a robin burst into heavenly song. ******* This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: /1/0/4/3/10438 Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. - You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of receipt of the work. 1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a written explanation to the person you received the work from. 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