The winter had gone
by and already a mild wind was blowing through the streets, and the
melting snow was dropping from the roofs.
From the top of a roof a little bird was whistling and singing a song
of delight to the bright blue sky above. Cornelli's school had been
over sooner than the other children's, so she was in no hurry and stood
still to listen. A ray of sunshine was flowing into the street, and
the bird kept on singing and whistling, on and on, a heavenly, familiar
sound.
Suddenly the lovely beech wood at home rose before Cornelli's eyes,
and she saw the trees in their first green leaves, the first violets
under the hedge, her beloved first violets; she saw the yellow crocuses
sparkling beside the bright red primroses in the garden. The birds at
home used to whistle above her in all the trees in just the same way
as these in the city.
Oh, how lovely the coming of the spring had always been at home! How
wonderful it would be to see all these familiar sights again! At that
thought Cornelli ran to the house as fast as she possibly could.
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