m line to express her
disapproval, Miss Phelps repeated, "Peace Greenfield, you may remain
after school."

The gong rang at that instant, the notes of the piano echoed through the
building, and surprised, dismayed Peace, after one searching look at
her teacher's face and a longing glance out into the bright sunlight,
sank into her seat and watched her comrades march gleefully down the
hall and scatter along the street. It was too bad to be kept in on such
a beautiful day! O, dear, what a queer world it was and how many queer
people in it! There was Miss Phelps for one. She was so strict and stern
and sarcastic,--almost as sharp and harsh as Miss Peyton, who had made
life so miserable for poor Peace in Chestnut School the year before. But
Miss Peyton did begin to understand at last, while Miss Phelps--

"Peace, come here."

Peace roused from her bitter revery with a start. She had not observed
the teacher's noiseless return to the room after conducting her pupils
down the hall, and was astonished to find the stiff figure sitting in
its accustomed place behind the desk which had once more been whisked
into spick and span order for another day.

Peace scuttled spryly down the aisle, casting one final wistful glance
over her shoulder at the doves across the street. How delightful it must
be to be a bird! The teacher saw the glance, and putting on her severest
expression, demanded sternly, "What is the matter with you, child? Have
you lost your wits entirely, or--"

"O, teacher," the eager voice burst forth, as Peace pointed rapturously
out of the window, "isn't this the elegantest day? Seems 's if Winter
had stayed twice as long this year as it ought to, and it's been an
awful trial to everyone, with its blizzards and drifts. I like winter,
too. It's such fun coasting and skating and sleighing and snow-balling.
But I've got enough for once. I'm _glad_ Spring is here at last." Her
voice sent a responding joyous thrill through the woman's cold heart in
spite of herself. "The ice in the river is 'most all gone, the pussy
willows by the boathouse are peeking out their queer little jackets, and
the robins are beginning to build their nests in the trees. Grandpa says
when the birds commence to build, Spring is here to stay; and I'm _so_
glad. I've just been aching to go hunting vi'lets and cowslips and
'nemones. We are going to plant a heap of wild flowers on her grave--"

"Whose grave?" the amazed teacher heard herself ask