Madame would permit. Luncheon and dinner went precisely by tae clock,
year in and year out.

Too happy to sleep and yearning to be outdoors, Rose dressed quietly and
tiptoed down-stairs. She smiled whimsically as the heavy front door
slammed behind her, wondering if it would wake the others and if they,
too, would know that it was Spring.

Tips of green showed now and then where the bulbs were planted, and,
down in the wild garden, when she brushed aside the snow, Rose found a
blushing hepatica in full bloom. "How indiscreet," she thought, then
added, to herself, "but what sublime courage it must take to blossom
now!"

The plump robin, whose winter had evidently been pleasant, hopped about
the garden after her, occasionally seeking shelter on the lower bough of
a tree if she turned, or came too near. "Don't be afraid," she called,
aloud, then laughed, as with a farewell chirp and a flutter of wings,
the robin took himself beyond the reach of further conversational
liberties.

Her pulses leaped with abundant life; the wet road lured her eager feet.
She went out, leaving the gate open, and turned toward the woods, where
a flock of wild geese, breasting the chill winds far above the river,
was steadily cleaving a passage to the friendly North.

When she reached the woods, where the white birches stood like shy
dryads among the oaks, she heard once more the robin's flutelike call.
It was answered by another, exactly upon the same notes, yet wholly
different as to quality. Presently, among the trees, she caught a