Sixteen Years Earlier,....

"Race you to the hedges," shouted one eight-year-old to the other. And they were off, Edith's dress flapping against her little legs as she ran across the lawn. Tailing her was Robin. As he overtook her, Edith tried blocking him with her right arm. He thrust it down and sped ahead with a joyful shout. A moment later, just as he reached the hedge and would have slowed himself, a cat ran out, and with another yell, though not the victorious kind, he lurched head-long into the bushy wall. Edith collapsed in a heap of shrieking laughter. Robin extracted himself from the hedge with some effort and sat next to her, grumpily plucking tiny twigs and leaves from his clothes and hair. The hedge showed a fresh, boy-sized cavity which Edith could not lay her eyes on without crowing and flopping back onto the grass in hysterics. 

Once recovered, she quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks and said,

"Do not worry, Mama won't be mad. Oh, you're hurt! Let's get you to Mrs. Hornby. She'll treat those scratches!" Robin had a few lights cuts on his face from the collision. They walked back to house, Edith's arm wrapped around his shoulders. He was smiling again.