She entered the forest. Far away, shining dimly through the waving branches, was the light of the school-house. She ran. On every side the leaves came fluttering down, and caught on to her hair and shawl. She shook them off, but they still trundled after her. Then she heard music and paused to listen, her senses stolen away by the sweet sounds. Peter was playing his flute in the school-room. She did not know the tune; she had not heard it before. It had a haunting cadence, that returned again and again, coming sadly at the end of a trumpet note. She thought that the music ought to have words; perhaps it had; it sounded like a song. She would ask Peter to play it for her when the school was over. Then the melody ceased abruptly. She opened the door and went in. The dead leaves swirled past her, and began to dance in the middle of the floor, like live things. Timothy Hadwin and Peter were sitting by the fire talking, the latter had his flute still between his fingers. "Just look at the leaves," said Barbara, "there was a sharp frost last night and they are coming down in showers." She fetched a besom from a corner to sweep them up. But Peter stopped her. "Nay," he replied, "they come so eagerly to school it would be a shame to turn them out." Laughing, she put the besom away. "What a bairn you are," she said. "I really believe that you and Timothy think they are little bits of human souls blowing about." "Well," replied the old man triumphantly. "You don't know what they are, any more than you know what Barbara Lynn is." She sat down on a bench, and propped up her chin with both hands. "I admit that I don't know what I am," she answered. "No, nor yet what a leaf is. I daresay a leaf has the power to remove mountains, like faith, but, like human beings, it doesn't know how to use it." "You're a romancer, Timothy," said Peter. "Young man, do you know why of all the leaves in the forest not two are alike? Is it not because there is a spirit of freedom in life however lowly?" "Does anyone understand what life is?" "Ah!" said Timothy, "once men knew more about these things than they do now. Long ago they healed the sick by laying their hands upon them, but here am I spending my time making potions, and electuaries, and powders. Well, good-night, children, I must go. Jake's son Joe has been eating sour apples!" He went away with a laugh. Barbara took her usual seat, and several men came in.