Miss Wilde and Goldilocks had become fast friends since the little teacher had come to live on the hill. With the interest Gray Lady had shown in the children and school, the dreary, lonely days had passed away, and she no longer looked pale and nervous, but was bright-eyed, with a lovely soft colour in her cheeks, so that, as Goldilocks told her one day, her name could be written in two ways, Rose Wilde, and Wild Rose, which, of course, made her blush with pleasure, and look all the more like that radiant June flower. Goldilocks would have liked to go to school at Foxes Corners with the others, but the doctor shook his head and said something to her mother about “unwholesome stove heat, fresh air but not draughts,” but Gray Lady smiled at Goldilocks with a mysterious sort of glance that always hid a surprise and said, “Be content to grow strong this winter and wait and see what will happen.” “Yes, but Miss Wilde may go to a better school next year, if she is well, for you know that Sarah Barnes’ grandmother heard that she had two chances, one at the Bridgeton High School and one to teach the eighth grade at the Centre. Besides, the children I like best—Sarah, and Tommy, and Dave, and Eliza—won’t be at Foxes Corners next year. If their parents can take turns in lending them a horse, they will have to go to the Centre School for the eighth grade, because no one can go from Foxes Corners straight into the High School, and they do _so_ want to learn.” “Of course it is quite possible that Rose Wilde may go to another school, and we would not wish to keep her back, I’m sure, little daughter.” Something in Gray Lady’s voice made Goldilocks look at her quickly. “I can’t guess what it is, motherkin, but I simply _know_ that you have a secret and a plan in your head that I may not know until summer.” Then Goldilocks smiled to herself, as she remembered that she also had, or rather was a part of, a secret of Miss Wilde’s that her mother could not know until summer; and this secret had many things in it,—girls and boys, needles and thread and bits of coloured cloth, long walks into the far-away hemlock woods, axes, and many other things! * * * * * It was now the last week in February. Every one was on the lookout for the first spring migrants, and the children were beginning to bring news of birds that they had seen imperfectly and yet were sure were new arrivals from the South. It was impossible that most of these birds should have been in the vicinity, but the pictures on the charts, mixed with equal portions of imagination and hope, caused the children to _think_ they saw the bird that they wished to be the first to report, rather than the one that was actually there.