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.