The lessons over, writing time began.  This was a more quiet time; for the master would come and look over the writer’s shoulder, and mildly tell him to observe how such a letter was turned up, in such a copy on the wall, which had been written by their sick companion, and bid him take it as a model.  Then he would stop and tell them what the sick child had said last night, and how he had longed to be among them once again; and such was the poor schoolmaster’s gentle and affectionate manner, that the boys seemed quite remorseful that they had worried him so much, and were absolutely quiet; eating no apples, cutting no names, and making no grimaces for full two minutes afterward.

“I think, boys,” said the schoolmaster, when the clock struck twelve, “that I shall give you an extra half holiday this afternoon.”  At this intelligence, the boys, led on and headed by the tall boy, raised a great shout, in the midst of which the master was seen to speak, but could not be heard.  As he held up his hand, however, in token of his wish that they should be silent, they were considerate enough to leave off, as soon as the longest-winded among them were quite out of breath.  “You must promise me, first,” said the schoolmaster, “that you’ll not be noisy, or at least, if you are, that you’ll go away first, out of the village, I mean.  I’m sure you would n’t disturb your old playmate and companion.”

There was a general murmur (and perhaps a very sincere one, for they were but boys) in the negative; and the tall boy, perhaps as sincerely as any of them, called those about him to witness, that he had only shouted in a whisper.  “Then pray do n’t forget, there’s my dear scholars,” said the schoolmaster, “what I have asked you, and do it as a favor to me.  Be as happy as you can, and do n’t be unmindful that you are blessed with health.  Good-by, all.”

“Thank ’ee, sir,” and “Good-by, sir,” were said a great many times in a great variety of voices, and the boys went out very slowly and softly.  But there was the sun shining and there were birds singing, as the sun only shines and the birds only sing on holidays and half holidays; there were the trees waving to all free boys to climb, and nestle among their leafy branches; the hay, entreating them to come and scatter it to the pure air; the green corn, gently beckoning toward wood and stream; the smooth ground, rendered smoother still by blending lights and shadows, inviting to runs and leaps, and long walks, nobody knows whither.  It was more than boy could bear, and with a joyous whoop, the whole cluster took to their heels, and spread themselves about, shouting and laughing as they went. " ’T is natural, thank Heaven!” said the poor schoolmaster, looking after them, “I am very glad they did n’t mind me.”

Toward night, the schoolmaster walked over to the cottage where his little friend lay sick.  Knocking gently at the cottage door, it was opened without loss of time.  He entered a room where a group of women were gathered about one who was wringing her hands and crying bitterly.  “O dame!” said the schoolmaster, drawing near her chair, “is it so bad as this?” Without replying, she pointed to another room, which the schoolmaster immediately entered; and there lay his little friend, half-dressed, stretched upon a bed.