School's out.
I passed through the door—not eagerly, as when I had been a boy, but with feet paced by sober thought—and I felt like one who had “improved his time,” as they used to say.
We rode in silence on our way to Hillsborough, as the dusk fell.
“The end o' good things is better'n the beginning,” said Uncle Eb, as we got out of the carriage.