Hazel awoke one morning to find it spring. She had seen it beginning, but she had not fully recognized it until now. A mocking bird told her all about it. He sat on a rosebush and chattered so fast and so gaily and as it seemed to Hazel of such a number of happenings, that she hurried through breakfast to learn what it was all about. And then she saw that spring had come. “Granny, look!” she cried excitedly. “Everything is growing. The leaves are jumping out, just as fast, and the flowers are opening and the birds are singing, singing! Why that mocking bird”--she stopped for the highest praise she could command, “Why that mocking bird is lots jollier than any birds we have near Boston.” “Well, sugar,” said Granny, “I’s glad to know once when the South come out on top.” “Why, Granny,” Hazel went on, disregarding the gentle sarcasm, “our teacher used to take us out in the spring to hear the bluebirds and song sparrows, and they just twitter, twitter like little birds, but that mocking bird!” She stopped to listen again to the riot of song that came from the slender bird standing with tilted tail on the top of the rosebush. “He’s talking to his mate, sugar,” said Granny. “Run out and play all the morning. The spring done call you, too.” Hazel accepted spring’s summons, and ran down the road. She had not gone far when a redbird whistled, and she stopped to hear his full rich notes. A Judas tree blossomed across the road. Sweet-smelling blossoms and bright new leaves seemed everywhere. Even the pine showed fresh young shoots at the end of each bough. Truly the world was made new. She had wandered for two hours up and down the road and among the pines until she found herself on the hill just above the Lees’ cabin. She wondered if Scip were very busy, and looking about for him she heard an angry voice, and then a child’s cry of pain. “It’s old man Lee,” she thought, and shrank back trembling. Then remembering what Scip had said of her bravery she walked slowly forward trying to find courage to plead for mercy. A few steps showed her what was happening. It was not old man Lee, however, whom she saw administering discipline, but Scipio flogging his little brother Tom. He was beating him harshly, and as Hazel ran forward, without timidity now, he gave him a kick. The little fellow limped off, sobbing, and Scipio turned to see Hazel coming toward him, her eyes blazing, her hands clenched. “What did you do that for?” she cried out. “He sassed me,” Scipio answered. “You’re a wicked, wicked boy,” Hazel said, her voice shaking with excitement, “and I’ll never speak to you again.” Then she turned and ran down the road, leaving the lad staring speechless after her. [Illustration: She stopped to listen to the riot of song] All the joy had gone out of the spring. It was a commonplace day and the sun made her head ache.