Now came the most lovely moment of the year.

All the trees were putting forth new leaves, leaves so young, so tiny as yet, that one could see the fowls of the air when they lodged in the branches--no small privilege, for now the orange oriole, and the bluebird, and the primrose-coloured finch, were here, there, and everywhere; and more rarely the scarlet tanager.

A few days before and they had not come; a few days more and larger leaves would hide them perfectly.

Just at this time, too, along the roadsides, big hawthorn shrubs and wild plum were in blossom, and in the sheltered fields the mossy sod was pied with white and purple violets, whose flowerets so outstripped their half-grown leaves that blue and milky ways were seen in woodland glades.
With the sense of freedom that comes with the thus sudden advent of the young summer, Winifred Rexford strayed out of the house one morning.
She did not mean to go, and when she went through the front gate she only meant to go as far as the first wild plum-tree, to see if the white bloom was turning purple yet, as Principal Trenholme had told her it would.

When she got to the first plum-tree she went on to the second.
Winifred wore a grey cotton dress; it was short, not yet to her ankles, and her broad hat shaded her from the sun.