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 seemed 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.

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