"Why?" asked Esther, curious.

But Aunt Amy did not seem to know why--or if she knew she never told.

CHAPTER XXXVII

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 fo