ven
seemed to thrill with sound like a great harp. It was one of the first
awakenings of the year. The earth stretched herself, smiling in her
sleep; and everything leapt and pulsed to the stir of the giant's
movement. With us it was a whole holiday; the occasion a birthday--it
matters not whose. Some one of us had had presents, and pretty
conventional speeches, and had glowed with that sense of heroism which
is no less sweet that nothing has been done to deserve it. But the
holiday was for all, the rapture of awakening Nature for all, the
various outdoor joys of puddles and sun and hedge-breaking for all.
Colt-like I ran through the meadows, frisking happy heels in the face of
Nature laughing responsive. Above, the sky was bluest of the blue; wide
pools left by the winter's floods flashed the colour back, true and
brilliant; and the soft air thrilled with the germinating touch that
seems to kindle something in my own small person as well as in the rash
primrose already lurking in sheltered haunts. Out into the brimming
sun-bathed world I sped, free of lessons, free of discipline and
correction, for one day at least. My legs ran of themselves, and though
I heard my name called faint and shrill behind, there was no stopping
for me. It was only Harold, I concluded, and his legs, though shorter
than mine, were good for a longer spurt than this. Then I heard it
called again, but this time more faintly, with a pathetic break in the
middle; and I pulled up short, recognising Charlotte's plaintive note.

[Illustration: '_Out into the brimming sun-bathed world I sped_']

She panted up anon, and dropped on the turf beside me. Neither had any
desire for talk; the glow and the glory of existing on this perfect
morning were satisfaction full and sufficient.

'Where's Harold?' I asked presently.

'Oh, he's just playin' muffin-man, as usual,' said Charlotte with
petulance. 'Fancy wanting to be a muffin-man on a whole holiday!'

It was a strange craze, certainly; but Harold, who invented his own
games and played them without assistance, always stuck staunchly to a
new fad, till he had worn it quite out. Just at present he was a
muffin-man, and day and night he went through passages and up and down
staircases, ringing a noiseless bell and offering phantom muffins to
invisible wayfarers. It sounds a poor sort of sport; and yet--to pass
along busy streets of your own building, for ever ringing an imaginary
bell and offering airy muf