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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/39748-h.zip b/39748-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..574667a --- /dev/null +++ b/39748-h.zip diff --git a/39748-h/39748-h.htm b/39748-h/39748-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0b771e6 --- /dev/null +++ b/39748-h/39748-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5038 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Four Winds Farm, by Mrs. Molesworth. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} +.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} +.p6 {margin-top: 6em;} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +hr.sm {width: 25%} +hr.tb {width: 45%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Four Winds Farm, by Mrs. Molesworth + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Four Winds Farm + +Author: Mrs. Molesworth + +Illustrator: Walter Crane + +Release Date: May 21, 2012 [EBook #39748] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR WINDS FARM *** + + + + +Produced by Annie McGuire. This book was produced from +scanned images of public domain material from the Internet +Archive. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 394px;"> +<img src="images/ill_001.jpg" width="394" height="600" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<h2>FOUR WINDS FARM</h2> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<blockquote><p>"In ... his dream he saw a child moving, and could divide the main +streams, at least, of the winds that had played on him, and study +so the first stage in that mental journey."</p></blockquote> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;"><i>The Child in the House.</i>—<span class="smcap">Walter H. Pater</span></span><br /> +</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 319px;"><a name="ILL_002" id="ILL_002"></a> +<img src="images/ill_002.jpg" width="319" height="500" alt="" /> +<span class="caption">And thus she led him out of the large, cold hall.—<i>Front.</i></span> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 315px;"> +<img src="images/ill_003.jpg" width="315" height="500" alt="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<h4><i>TO</i></h4> + +<h4>MY YOUNGEST DAUGHTER</h4> + +<h4>OLIVE</h4> + +<h4>I INSCRIBE THIS LITTLE STORY</h4> + +<h4>WHICH WE THOUGHT OF TOGETHER</h4> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><span class="smcap">London</span>, <i>June</i> 1886.</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER I.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_I"><span class="smcap">The Voices in the Chimney</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER II.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_II"><span class="smcap">At School</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER III.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_III"><span class="smcap">Flying Visits</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER IV.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><span class="smcap">A Rainbow Dance</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER V.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_V"><span class="smcap">Good for Evil</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VI.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI"><span class="smcap">Organ Tones</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII"><span class="smcap">The Big House and the Lady</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER VIII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"><span class="smcap">Little Fergus</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER IX.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX"><span class="smcap">Music and Counsel</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER X.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_X"><span class="smcap">The Story of the Sea-Gull</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XI.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI"><span class="smcap">Drawn Two Ways</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHAPTER XII.</td><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII"><span class="smcap">Learning to Wait</span></a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ILL_002"><span class="smcap">And thus she led him out of the large, cold hall</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ILL_004"><span class="smcap">Was it fancy that he had seen a waving, fluttering form beside him</span>?</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ILL_005">"<span class="smcap">Now for our dance—our rainbow dance, sisters—no need to wake him roughly. We need only kiss his eyelids</span>"</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ILL_006">"<span class="smcap">Look here, Dolly," and he held out to her the poor copy-book which he had already taken out of his satchel</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ILL_007"><span class="smcap">And when she sat down to play the light sparkled and glowed on her fair hair, making it look like gold</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ILL_008">"<span class="smcap">Are you not well, mother?" he said gently</span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><a href="#ILL_009"><span class="smcap">It was Fergus, little lame Fergus, mounted on a tiny rough-coated pony, coming towards him</span></a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></h2> + +<h3>THE VOICES IN THE CHIMNEY</h3> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">"Wherefore and whence we are ye cannot know."</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;">"The Winds' Song," <i>Light of Asia.</i>—<span class="smcap">Edwin Arnold</span></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>The first thing that little Gratian Conyfer could remember in his life +was hearing the wind blow. It had hushed him to sleep, it had scolded +him when he was naughty, it had laughed with him at merry times, it had +wailed and sobbed when he was in sorrow.</p> + +<p>For the wind has many ways of blowing, and no one knew this better than +Gratian, and no one had more right to boast an intimate acquaintance +with the wind than he. You would be sure to say so yourself if you could +see the place where the boy was born and bred—"Four Winds Farm."</p> + +<p>It had not come by this name without reason, though no one still living +when Gratian was a boy, could tell how long it had borne it, or by whom +it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> had been bestowed. I wish I could take you there—were it but for +five minutes, were it even in a dream. I wish I could make you <i>feel</i> +what I can fancy I feel myself when I think of it—the wonderful fresh +breath on one's face even on a calm day standing at the door of the +farm-house, the sense of life and mischief and wild force about you, +though held in check for the moment, the knowledge that the wind—the +winds rather, all four of them, are there somewhere, hidden or +pretending to be asleep, maybe, but ready all the same to burst out at a +moment's notice. And when they do burst out—on a blowy day that is to +say—ah then, I wouldn't advise you to stand at the farm-house door, +unless you want to be hurled out of the way more unceremoniously than +you bargained for.</p> + +<p>It was a queer site perhaps to have chosen for a dwelling-place. Up +among the moors that stretched for miles and miles on all sides, on such +lofty ground that it was no wonder the trees refused to grow high, for +it was hard work enough to grow at all, poor things, and to keep their +footing when they had done so. They did look battered about and +storm-tossed—all except the pines, who are used to that kind of life, I +suppose, and did their duty manfully<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> as sentinels on guard round the +old brown house, in which, as I said, the boy Gratian first opened his +baby eyes to the light.</p> + +<p>Since that day nine winters and summers had passed. He was called a big +boy now. He slept alone in a room away up a little stair by itself in a +corner—an outside corner—of the farm-house. He walked, three miles +there and three miles back, to school every day, carrying his books and +his dinner in a satchel, along a road that would have seemed lonely and +dreary to any but a moorland child—a road indeed that was little but a +sheep-track the best part of the way. He spent his evenings in a corner +of the large straggling kitchen, so quiet that no one would have guessed +a child, above all a boy, was there; his holidays, the fine weather ones +at least, out on the moor among the heather for the most part, in the +company of Jonas the old shepherd, and Watch the collie dog. But he +never thought his life lonely, though he had neither brother nor sister, +and no one schoolfellow among the score or so at the village school that +was more to him than another; he never thought about himself at all in +that sort of way; he took for granted that all about him was as it +should be, and if things seemed wrong sometimes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> he had the good sense +to think it was very probably his own fault.</p> + +<p>But he found things puzzling; he was a child who thought a great deal +more than he spoke; he would not have been so puzzled if he had had more +of the habit of putting his thoughts into words. Hitherto it had not +seemed to matter much, life had been a simple affair, and what he did +not understand he forgot about. But lately, quite lately, he had +changed; his soul was beginning to grow, perhaps that was it, and felt +now and then as if it wanted new clothes, and the feeling was strange. +And then it isn't everybody who is born and bred where the four winds of +heaven meet!</p> + +<p>What was Gratian thinking of one Sunday evening when, quiet as usual, he +sat in his corner? He had been at church and at the Sunday School; but I +am afraid he could not have told you much about the sermon, and in his +class he had been mildly reproved for inattention.</p> + +<p>"You must go to bed," said his mother; "it is quite time, and you seem +sleepy."</p> + +<p>The boy rose and came round to the table at which sat his father and +mother, each with a big book which Gratian knew well by sight—for it +was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> only on Sunday evenings that the farmer and his wife had time for +reading, and their books lasted them a good while. In fact they had been +reading them fifty-two evenings of each year ever since the boy could +recollect, and the marks, of perforated cardboard on green ribbon—his +father's bore the words "Remember me," and his mother's "Forget me +not"—which once, before he could read, he had regarded with mysterious +awe, did not seem to him to have moved on many pages.</p> + +<p>He stood at the table for a moment before his mother looked up; he was +vaguely wondering to himself if he too would have a big book with a +green ribbon-marker when he should be as old as his father and mother; +did everybody? he felt half-inclined to ask his mother, but before he +had decided if he should, she scattered his thoughts by glancing up at +him quickly. She was quick and alert in everything she said and did, +except perhaps in reading.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Gratian. Get quickly to bed, my boy."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, mother, good-night, father," he said, as his mother kissed +him, and his father laid his hand on the child's curly head with a +kindly gesture which he only used on Sunday evenings.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Gratian is in one of his dreams again," said the mother, when the +little figure had disappeared.</p> + +<p>"Ay," said her husband, "it's to be hoped he'll grow out of it, but he's +young yet."</p> + +<p>Gratian had stopped a moment on his way across the red-tiled passage, at +one end of which was the white stone staircase; he stopped at the front +door which stood slightly ajar, and stepped out into the porch. It was +autumn, but early autumn only. Something of the fragrance of a summer +night was still about, but there was not the calm and restfulness of the +summer; on the contrary, there was a stirring and a murmuring, and the +clouds overhead were scudding hurriedly before the moon, as if she were +scolding them and they in a hurry to escape, thought Gratian; for there +was a certain fretfulness in her air—a disquiet and unsettledness which +struck him.</p> + +<p>"Either she is angry and they are running away, or—perhaps that is +it—she is sending them messages as fast as they can take them, like the +rooks after they have been having a long talk together," he said to +himself. Then as a figure came round the side of the house on its way to +what was really the kitchen—though the big room which Gratian had just +left<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> went by the name—"Jonas," said the child aloud, "is there +anything the matter up in the sky to-night?"</p> + +<p>The old shepherd stood still; he rested the empty milkpail he was +carrying on the ground, and gazed up to where Gratian was pointing.</p> + +<p>"I cannot say," he answered, "but the summer is gone, little master. Up +here the winter comes betimes, we must look for the storms and the +tempests again before long."</p> + +<p>"But not yet, oh not just yet, Jonas; I can't think why they don't get +tired of fighting and rushing about and tearing each other—the winds +and the rain and the clouds and all of them up there. Listen, Jonas, +what is that?"</p> + +<p>For a faint, low breath came round the end of the house like a long +drawn sigh, yet with something of menace in its tone.</p> + +<p>"Ah yes, Master Gratian. It's the winter spirit looking round a bit as I +said. They'll be at it to-night, I fancy—just a spree to keep their +hands in as it were. But go to bed, little master, and dream of the +summer. There'll be some fine days yet awhile," and old Jonas lifted the +pail again. "Madge must give this a scalding before milking time +to-morrow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> morning, careless wench that she is," he said in a +half-grumbling tone as he disappeared.</p> + +<p>And Gratian climbed upstairs to bed.</p> + +<p>He had a candle, and matches to light it with, in his room, but the +moonlight was so bright, though fitful, that he thought it better than +any candle. He undressed, not quickly as his mother had told him, I +fear, standing at the curtainless window and staring out, up rather, +where the clouds were still fussing about "as if they were dusting the +moon's face," said Gratian to himself, laughing softly at this new +fancy. And even after he was in bed he peeped out from time to time to +watch the queer shadows and gleams, the quickly following light and +darkness that flitted across the white walls of his little room. It was +only an attic, but I think almost any little boy would have thought it a +nice room. Mrs. Conyfer kept it beautifully clean to begin with, and +there was a fireplace, and a good cupboard in the wall, and a splendid +view of moor and sky from the window. Gratian was very proud of his +room; he had only had it a short time, only since the day he was nine +years old, and it made him feel he was really growing a big boy. But +to-night he was hardly in his usual good spirits. It weighed on his +mind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> that the teacher at the Sunday School had been displeased with +him; for he knew him to be kind and patient, and Gratian liked to win +his smile of approval.</p> + +<p>"It is always the same with me," thought the little boy, "at school +every day too I am the stupidest. I wish there were no lessons in the +world. I wish there were only birds, and lambs, and hills, and moors, +and the wind—most of all the wind, and no books—no books, and——"</p> + +<p>But here he fell asleep!</p> + +<p>When he woke the room was quite dark; the clouds had hung their dusters +over the moon's face by mistake perhaps, or else she had got tired of +shining and had turned in for a nap, thought Gratian sleepily. He shut +his eyes again, and curled himself round the other way, and would have +been asleep again in half a minute, but for a sound which suddenly +reached his ears. Some one was talking near him! Gratian opened his eyes +again, forgetting that that could not help him to hear, and listened. +Yes, it was a voice—two voices; he heard one stop and the other reply, +and now and then they seemed to be talking together, and gradually as he +listened he discovered that they came from the direction of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> the +fireplace. Could it be the voices of his father and mother coming up +from below, through the chimney, somehow? No, their voices were not so +strangely soft and sadly sweet; besides their room was not under his, +nor did they ever talk in the middle of the night.</p> + +<p>"They are too sleepy for that," thought Gratian with a little smile. For +the farmer and his wife were very hard-working, and even on Sunday they +were tired. It was a long walk to church, and unless the weather were +very bad they always went twice.</p> + +<p>Gratian listened again, more intently than ever. The voices went on; he +could distinguish the different tones—more than two he began to fancy. +But how provoking it was; he <i>could</i> not catch the words. And from the +strain of listening he almost began to fall asleep again, when at +last—yes, there was no doubt of it now—he caught the sound of his own +name.</p> + +<p>"Gratian, Gra—tian," in a very soft inquiring tone; "ye—es, he is a +good boy on the whole, but he is foolish too. He is wasting his time."</p> + +<p>"Sadly so—sad—ly so—o," hummed back the second voice. "He only +dreams—dreams are very well in their way, they are a beginning +sometimes, so—me—ti—imes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> But he will never do anything even with +his dreams unless he works too—wo—orks too."</p> + +<p>"Ah no—no—o. All must work save the will-o'-the-wisps, and what good +are they? What good are the—ey?"</p> + +<p>Then the two, or the three, maybe even the four, Gratian could not be +sure but that there were perhaps four, voices seemed all to hum +together, "What good are the—ey?" Till with a sudden rushing call one +broke in with a new cry.</p> + +<p>"Sisters," it said, "we must be off. Our work awai—aits us, awai—aits +us."</p> + +<p>And softly they all faded away, or was it perhaps that Gratian fell +asleep?</p> + +<p>He woke the next morning with a confused remembrance of what he had +heard, and for some little time he could not distinguish how much he had +dreamt from what had reached his ears before he fell asleep. For all +through the night a vague feeling had haunted him of the soft, humming +murmur, and two or three times when he half woke and turned on his side, +he seemed to hear again the last echoes of the voices in the chimney.</p> + +<p>"But it couldn't have been them," he said to himself as he sat up in his +little bed, his hands clasped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> round his knees, as he was very fond of +sitting; "they said they were going away to their work. What work could +they have—voices, just voices in the chimney? And they said I was +wasting my time. What did they mean? <i>I'm</i> not like a will-o'-the-wisp; +I don't dance about and lead people into bogs. I——"</p> + +<p>But just then his mother's voice sounded up the stairs.</p> + +<p>"Gratian—aren't you up yet? Father is out, and the breakfast will be +ready in ten minutes. Quick, quick, my boy."</p> + +<p>Gratian started; he put one pink foot out of bed and looked at it as if +he had never seen five toes before, then he put out the other, and at +last found himself altogether on the floor. It was rather a chilly +morning, and he was only allowed cold water in a queer old tub that he +could remember being dreadfully afraid of when he was a <i>very</i> little +boy—it had seemed so big to him then. But he was not so babyish now; he +plunged bravely into the old tub, and the shock of the cold completely +awakened him, so that he looked quite bright and rosy when he came into +the kitchen a few minutes later.</p> + +<p>His mother looked up from the pot of oatmeal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> porridge she was ladling +out into little bowls for the breakfast.</p> + +<p>"That's right," she said; "you look better than you did last night. Try +and have a good day at school to-day, Gratian. Monday's always the best +day for a fresh start."</p> + +<p>Gratian listened, but did not answer. It generally took him a good while +to get his speeches ready, except perhaps when he was alone with Jonas +and Watch. It seemed easier to him to speak to Jonas than to anybody +else. He began eating his porridge—slowly, porridge and milk spoonfuls +turn about, staring before him as he did so.</p> + +<p>"Mother," he said at last, "is it naughty to dream?"</p> + +<p>"Naughty to dream," repeated his mother, "what do you mean? To dream +when you're asleep?"</p> + +<p>"No—I don't think it's that kind," began the child, but his mother +interrupted him. Her own words of the night before returned to her mind. +Could Gratian have overheard them?</p> + +<p>"You mean dreaming when you should be working, perhaps?" she said. +"Well, yes—without saying it's naughty, it's certainly not good. It's +wasting one's time. Everybody's got work to do in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> world, and it +needs all one's attention. You'll find it out for yourself, but it's a +good thing to find it out young. Most things are harder to learn old +than young, Gratian."</p> + +<p>Gratian listened, but again without speaking.</p> + +<p>"It's very queer," he was thinking to himself—"mother says the same +thing."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></h2> + +<h3>AT SCHOOL</h3> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 29em;">"But there all apart,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 29em;">On his little seat</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 27em;">A little figure is set awry."</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;"><span class="smcap">C. C. Fraser Tytler</span></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Gratian shouldered his satchel and set off to school. He had some new +thoughts in his head this morning, but still he was not too busy with +them to forget to look about him. It was evident that old Jonas had been +right; the storm spirits had been about in the night. The fallen autumn +leaves which had been lying in heaps the day before were scattered +everywhere, the little pools of water left by yesterday's rain had +almost disappeared, overhead the clouds were gradually settling down in +quiet masses as if tired and sleepy with the rushing about of the night +before.</p> + +<p>It was always fresh up at Four Winds Farm, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> to-day there was a +particularly brisk and inspiriting feeling in the air; and as Gratian +ran down the bit of steep hill between the gate and the road which he +partially followed to school, he laughed to himself as a little wind +came kissing him on the cheek.</p> + +<p>"Good morning, wind," he said aloud. "Which of them are you, I wonder?" +And some old verses he had often heard his mother say came into his +head—</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 26em;">"North winds send hail,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 27em;">South winds bring rain,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 26em;">East winds we bewail,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 27em;">West winds, blow amain."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>"I think you must be west wind, but you're not blowing amain this +morning. Never mind; you can when you like, I know. <i>You</i> can work with +a will. There now—how funny—I'm saying it myself; I wonder if that's +what the voices meant I should do—work with a will, work with a will," +and Gratian sang the words over softly to himself as he ran along.</p> + +<p>As I said, his road to school was great part of the way nothing but a +sheep-track. It was not that there did not exist a proper road, but this +proper road, naturally enough, went winding about a good deal, for it +was meant for carts and horses as well as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> or more than for little boys, +and no carts or horses could ever have got along it had the road run in +a direct line from the Farm to the village. For the village lay low and +the Farm very high. Gratian followed the road for the first half-mile or +so, that is to say as long as he could have gained nothing by quitting +it, but then came a corner at which he left it to meander gradually down +the high ground, while he scrambled over a low wall of loose stones and +found himself on what he always considered his own particular path. At +this point began the enjoyment of his walk, for a few minutes carried +him round the brow of the hill, out of sight of the road and of +everything save the sky above and the great stretching moorland beneath. +And this was what Gratian loved. He used to throw himself on the short +tufty grass, his elbows on the ground, and his chin in his hands—his +satchel wherever it liked, and lie there gazing and dreaming and wishing +he could stay thus always.</p> + +<p>He did the same this morning, but somehow his dreams were not quite so +undisturbed. He was no longer sure that he would like to lie there +always doing nothing but dreaming, and now that he had got this idea +into his head everything about him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> seemed to be repeating it. He looked +at the heather, faded and dull now, and remembered how, a while ago, the +bees had been hard at work on the moors gathering their stores. "What a +lot of trouble it must be to make honey!" he thought. He felt his own +little rough coat, and smiled to think that not so very long ago it had +been walking about the hills on a different back. "It isn't much trouble +for the sheep to let their wool grow, certainly," he said to himself, +"but it's a lot of work for lots of people before wool is turned into a +coat for a little boy. Nothing can be done without work, I suppose, and +I'd rather be a bee than a sheep a good deal, though I'd rather be old +Watch than either, and <i>he</i> works hard—yes, he certainly does."</p> + +<p>And then suddenly he remembered that if he didn't bestir himself he +would be late at school, which wouldn't be at all the good start his +mother had advised him to make as it was Monday morning.</p> + +<p>He went on pretty steadily for the rest of the way, only stopping about +six times, and that not for long together, otherwise he certainly would +not have got to school before morning lessons were over. But, as it was, +he got an approving nod from the teacher for being in very good time. +For the teacher could<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> not help liking Gratian, though, as a pupil, he +gave him plenty of trouble, seeming really sometimes as if he <i>could</i> +not learn.</p> + +<p>"And yet," thought the master—for he was a young man who did +think—"one cannot look into the child's face without seeing there are +brains behind it, and brains of no common kind maybe. But I haven't got +the knack of making him use them; for nine years old he is exceedingly +stupid."</p> + +<p>Things went better to-day. Gratian was full of his new ideas and really +meant to try. But even trying with all one's might and main won't build +Rome in a day. Gratian had idled and dreamed through lesson-time too +often to lose the bad habit all at once. He saw himself passed as usual +by children younger than he, who had been a much shorter time at school, +and his face grew very melancholy, and two or three big tears gathered +more than once in his eyes while he began to say in his own mind that +trying was no good.</p> + +<p>Morning school was over at twelve; most of the children lived in the +village, and some but a short way off, so that they could easily run +home for their dinner and be back in time for afternoon lessons; Gratian +Conyfer was the only one whose home was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> too far off for him to go back +in the middle of the day. So he brought his dinner with him and ate it +in winter beside the schoolroom fire, in summer in a corner of the +playground, where, under a tree, stood an old bench. This was the +dining-room he liked best, and though now summer was past and autumn +indeed fast fading into winter, Gratian had not yet deserted his summer +quarters, and here the schoolmaster found him half an hour or so before +it was time for the children's return.</p> + +<p>"Are you not cold there, my boy?" he asked kindly.</p> + +<p>"No, thank you, sir," Gratian answered, and looking more closely at him +the master saw he had been crying.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter, Gratian?" he asked. "You've not been quarrelling or +fighting I'm sure, you never do, and as for lessons they went a bit +better to-day, I think, didn't they?"</p> + +<p>But at these words Gratian only turned his face to the wall and +wept—wiping his eyes from time to time on the cuff of the linen blouse +which he wore at school over his coat.</p> + +<p>The schoolmaster's heart was touched, though he was pretty well used to +tears. But Gratian's seemed different somehow.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What is it, my boy?" he said again.</p> + +<p>"It's—it's just that, sir—lessons, I mean. I did try, sir. I meant to +work with a will, I did indeed."</p> + +<p>"But you did do better. I knew you were trying," said the teacher +quietly.</p> + +<p>Gratian lifted his tear stained face and looked at the master in +surprise.</p> + +<p>"Did you, sir?" he said. "It seemed to me to go worser and worser."</p> + +<p>"No, I didn't think so. And sometimes, Gratian, when we think we are +doing worse, it shows we are really doing better. We're getting up a +little higher, you see, and beginning to look on and to see how far we +have to go, and that we might have got on faster. When we're not +climbing at all, but just staying lazily at the foot of the hill, we +don't know anything about how steep and high it is."</p> + +<p>Gratian had quite left off crying by now and was listening attentively. +The master's words needed no explanation to him; he had caught the sense +and meaning at once.</p> + +<p>"Everybody has to work if they're to do any good, haven't they, sir?" he +asked.</p> + +<p>"<i>Everybody</i>," agreed the master.</p> + +<p>"But wouldn't it be better if everybody <i>liked</i> their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> work—couldn't +they do it better if they did?" he asked. "That's what I'm vexed about, +partly. I don't <i>like</i> lessons, sir," he said in a tone of deep +conviction. "I'm afraid I'm too stupid ever to like them."</p> + +<p>The schoolmaster could scarcely keep from smiling.</p> + +<p>"You're not so very old yet, Gratian," he said. "It's just possible you +may change. Besides, in some ways the beginning's the worst. You can't +read very easily yet—not well enough to enjoy reading to yourself?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir," said the boy, hanging his head again.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, wait a while and see if you don't change about books and +lessons."</p> + +<p>"And if I don't ever change," said Gratian earnestly. "Can people ever +do things well that they don't like doing?"</p> + +<p>The schoolmaster looked at him. It was a curious question for a boy of +nine years old.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "I hope so, indeed," and his mind went back to a time +when he had looked forward to being something very different from a +village schoolmaster, when he could have fancied no employment could be +less to his liking than teaching. "I hope so, indeed," he repeated. "And +if you work with a will you—get to like the work whatever it is."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir," said the boy, and the master turned away. Then a +thought struck him.</p> + +<p>"What do you best like doing, Gratian?"</p> + +<p>The boy hesitated. Then he grew a little red.</p> + +<p>"It isn't doing anything really," he said; "it's what mother calls +dreaming—out on the moors, sir, that's the best of all—with the wind +all about, and nothing but it and the moor and the sky. And the feel of +it keeps in me. Even when I'm at home in the kitchen by the fire, if I +shut my eyes I can fancy it."</p> + +<p>The master nodded his head.</p> + +<p>"Dreaming is no harm in its right place. But if one did nothing but +dream, the dreams would lose their colour, I expect."</p> + +<p>"That's something like what <i>they</i> said, again," thought the boy to +himself.</p> + +<p>The schoolmaster walked away. "A child with something uncommon about +him, I fancy," he said in his mind. "One sees that sometimes in a child +living as much alone with nature as he does. But I scarcely think he's +clever, and then the rough daily life will most likely nip in the bud +any sort of poetry or imagination that there may be germs of."</p> + +<p>He didn't quite understand Gratian, and then,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> too, he didn't take into +account what it is to be born under the protection of the four winds of +heaven.</p> + +<p>But Gratian felt much happier after his talk with the master, and +afternoon lessons went better. They were generally easier than the +morning ones, and often more interesting. This afternoon it was a +geography lesson. The master drew out the great frame with the big maps +hanging on it, and explained to the children as he went along. It was +about the north to-day, far away up in the north, where the ice-fields +spread for hundreds of miles and everything is in a sleep of whiteness +and silence. And Gratian listened with parted lips and earnest eyes. He +seemed to see it all. "I wish I knew as much as he does," he thought. "I +wish I could read it in books to myself."</p> + +<p>And for the first time there came home to him a faint, shadowy feeling +of what books are—of the treasures buried in the rows and rows of +little black letters that he so often wished had never been invented.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said to himself, "I'll try to learn so that I can read it all +to myself."</p> + +<p>It was growing already a little dusk when he set off on his walk home. +The evenings were beginning "to draw in" as the country folk say.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + +<p>But little cared the merry throng who poured out of the schoolroom gate +as five o'clock rang from the church clock, chattering, racing, tumbling +over each other, pushing, pulling, shouting, but all in play. For they +are a good-natured set, though rough and ready—these hardy moor +children. And they grow into honest and sturdy men and women, hospitable +and kindly, active and thrifty, though they care for little beyond their +own corner of the world, and would scarcely find it out if all the books +and "learning" in existence were suddenly made an end of.</p> + +<p>There are mischievous imps among them, nevertheless, and none was more +so than Tony, the miller's son. He meant no harm, but he loved teasing, +and Gratian, gentle and silent, was often a tempting victim. This +evening, as sometimes happened, a dozen or so of the children whose +homes lay at the end of the village, past which was the road to the +Farm, went on together.</p> + +<p>"We'll run a bit of the road home with thee, Gratian," said Tony.</p> + +<p>And though the boy did not much care for their company, he thought it +would be unfriendly to say so, nor did he like to refuse when Tony +insisted on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> carrying his satchel for him. "There's no books in mine," +he said; "I took them home at dinner-time, and I'm sure your shoulders +will be aching before you get to the Farm with the weight of yours. My +goodness, how many books have you got in it? I say," as he pretended to +examine them, "here's Gratian Conyfer going to be head o' the school, +and put us all to shame with his learning."</p> + +<p>But as Gratian said nothing he seemed satisfied, and after stopping a +minute or two to arrange the satchel again, ran after the others.</p> + +<p>"It's getting dark, Tony," said his sister Dolly, "we mustn't go +farther. Good-night, Gratian, we've brought you a bit of your way—Tony, +and Ralph, and I," for the other children had gradually fallen off.</p> + +<p>"Yes—a good mile of it, thank you, Dolly. And thank you, Tony, for +helping me with my satchel—that's right, thank you," as Tony was +officiously fastening it on.</p> + +<p>"Good-night," said Tony; "you're no coward any way, Gratian. I shouldn't +like to have all that way to go in the dark, for it will be dark soon. +There are queer things to be seen on the moor after sunset, folks say."</p> + +<p>"Ay, so they say," said Ralph.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'll be home in no time," Gratian called back. For he did not know what +fear was.</p> + +<p>But after he had ran awhile, he felt more tired than usual. Was it +perhaps the fit of crying he had had at dinner-time that made him so +weary? He plodded on, however, shifting his satchel from time to time, +it felt so strangely heavy, and queer tales he had heard of the little +mountain man that would jump on your shoulders, and cling on till he had +strangled you, unless you remembered the right spell to force him off +with; or of the brownies who catch children with invisible ropes, and +make them run round and round without their knowing they have left the +straight road, till they drop with fatigue, came into his mind.</p> + +<p>"There must be something wrong with my satchel," he said at last, and he +pulled it round so that he could open it. He drew his hand out with a +cry of vexation and distress. Tony, yes it must have been Tony—though +at first he was half-inclined to think the mountain men or the brownies +had been playing their tricks on him—Tony had filled the satchel with +heavy stones, and had no doubt taken out the books at the time he was +pretending to examine them. It was too bad. And what had he done with +the books?</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He may have taken them home with him, he may have hidden them and get +them as he passes by, or he may have left them on the moor, and if it +rains they'll be spoilt, and the copy-books are sure to blow away."</p> + +<p>For in his new ardour, Gratian had brought home books of all kinds, +meaning to work so well that his master should be quite astonished the +next day, and the poor little fellow sat down on the heather, his arms +and shoulders aching and sore, and let the tears roll down his face.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a slight sound, something between a murmur and a rustle, some +little way from him, made him look round. It was an unusually still +evening; Gratian had scarcely ever known the moorland road so still—it +could not be the wind then! He looked round him curiously, and for a +moment or two forgot his troubles in his wonder as to what it could be. +There it was, again, and the boy started to his feet.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></h2> + +<h3>FLYING VISITS</h3> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 26em;">"I see thee not, I clasp thee not;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 27em;">Yet feel I thou art nigh."</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;"><i>To the Summer Wind.</i>—<span class="smcap">Sir Noel Paton</span></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Yes—he heard it again, and this time it sounded almost like voices +speaking. He turned to the side whence it came, and to his surprise, in +the all but darkness, there glimmered for an instant or two a sudden +light. It was scarcely indeed to be called light; it was more like the +reflection of faint colour on the dark background.</p> + +<p>"It is like a black rainbow," said Gratian to himself. "I wonder if +there are some sorts of rainbows that come in the night. I wonder——" +but suddenly a waft of soft though fresh air on his cheek made him +start. All around him, but an instant before, had been so still that he +could not understand it, and his surprise was not lessened when a voice +sounded close to his ear.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What about your books, Gratian? How are you going to find them?"</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 255px;"><a name="ILL_004" id="ILL_004"></a> +<img src="images/ill_004.jpg" width="255" height="400" alt="" /> +<span class="caption">Was it fancy that he had seen a waving, fluttering form beside him?</span> +</div> + +<p>The boy turned to look who was speaking. His first thought was that one +of his companions, knowing of the trick Tony had played him, had run +after him with the books. But the figure beside him was not that of one +of his companions—was it that of any one at all? Gratian rubbed his +eyes; the faint light that remained,—the last rays of reflected +sunset—were more bewildering than decided night; was it fancy that he +had heard a voice speaking? was it fancy that he had seen a waving, +fluttering form beside him?</p> + +<p>No, there it was again; softly moving garments, with something of a +green radiance on them, a sweet, fair face, like a face in a dream, seen +but for an instant and then hidden again by a wave of mist that seemed +to come between it and him, a gentle yet cheery voice repeating again—</p> + +<p>"What of the books, Gratian? How are you going to find them?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said the boy. "Who are you? How do you know about them, +and can you help me to find them?"</p> + +<p>But the sound of his own voice, rough and sharp,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> and yet thick it +somehow seemed, in comparison with the soft clearness of the tones he +had just heard, fell on his ears strangely. It seemed to awake him.</p> + +<p>"Am I dreaming?" he said to himself. "There is no one there. How silly +of me to speak to nobody! I might as well be speaking to the wind!"</p> + +<p>"Exactly," said the voice, followed this time by a little burst of the +sweetest laughter Gratian had ever heard. "Come, Gratian, don't be so +dull; what's wrong with your eyes? Come, dear, if you do want to find +your books, that's to say. You see me now, don't you?"</p> + +<p>And again the fresh waft passed across his cheeks, and again the flutter +of radiant green and the fair face caught his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "I see you now—or—or I did see you half a second ago," +for even while he said it the vision had seemed to fade.</p> + +<p>"That's right—then come."</p> + +<p>He was opening his lips to ask how and where, but he had not time, nor +did he need to do so. The breeze, slight as it was, seemed to draw him +onwards, and the faint, quivering green light gleamed out from moment to +moment before him. It was evident<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> which way he was to go. Only for an +instant a misgiving came over him and he hesitated.</p> + +<p>"I say," he called out, "you mustn't be offended, but you're not a +will-o'-the-wisp, are you? I don't want to follow one of them. They're +no good."</p> + +<p>Again the soft laughter, but it sounded kind and pleasant, not the least +mocking.</p> + +<p>"That's right. Never have anything to say to will-o'-the-wisps, Gratian. +But I'm not one—see—I keep on my way. I don't dance and jerk from side +to side."</p> + +<p>It was true; it was wonderful how fast she—if it were she, the voice +sounded like a woman's—got over the ground and Gratian after her, +without faltering or stumbling or even getting out of breath.</p> + +<p>"Here we are," she said, "stoop down Gratian—there are your books +hidden beside the furze bush at your feet. And it is going to rain; they +would have been quite spoilt by morning even if I had done my best. It +was an ugly trick of Master Tony's. There now, have you got them?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, thank you," said Gratian, fumbling for his satchel, still hanging +round his shoulders, though to his surprise empty, for he did not +remember having thrown the stones out, "I have got them all now.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> Thank +you <i>very</i> much whoever you are. I would like to kiss you if only I +could see you long enough at a time."</p> + +<p>But a breath like a butterfly's kiss fluttered on to his cheek, and the +gleam of two soft bluey-green eyes seemed for the hundredth part of a +second to dance into his own.</p> + +<p>"I have kissed you," said the voice, now sounding farther away, "and not +for the first nor the thousandth time if you had known it! But you are +waking up a little now; our baby boy is learning to see and to hear and +to feel. Good-bye—good-night, Gratian. Work your best with your books +to-night—get home as fast as you can. By the bye it is late; shall I +speed you on your way? You will know how far that is to-morrow +morning—look for the furze bush on the right of the path when it turns +for the last time, and you will see if I don't know how to help you home +in no time."</p> + +<p>And almost before the last words had faded, Gratian felt himself gently +lifted off his feet—a rush, a soft whiz, and he was standing by the +Farm gate, while before him shone out the warm ruddy glow from the +unshuttered windows of the big kitchen, and his mother's voice, as she +heard the latch click, called out to him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"Is that you, Gratian? You are very late; if it had not been such a very +still, beautiful evening I should really have begun to think you had +been blown away coming over the moor."</p> + +<p>And Gratian rubbed his eyes as he came blinking into the kitchen. His +mother's words puzzled him, though he knew she was only joking. It <i>was</i> +a very still night—that was the funny part of it.</p> + +<p>"Why, you look for all the world as if you'd been having a nap, my boy," +she went on, and Gratian stood rubbing his hands before the fire, +wondering if perhaps he had. He was half-inclined to tell his mother of +Tony's trick and what had come of it. But she might say he had dreamt +it, and then it would seem ill-natured to Tony.</p> + +<p>"And I don't want mother and father to think I'm always dreaming and +fancying," he thought to himself, for just at that moment the farmer's +footsteps were heard as he came in to supper. "Anyway I want them to see +I mean to get on better at school than I have done."</p> + +<p>He did not speak much at table, but he tried to help his mother by +passing to her whatever she wanted, and jumping up to fetch anything +missing. And it was a great pleasure when his father once or twice +nodded and smiled at him approvingly.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He's getting to be quite a handy lad—eh, mother?" he said.</p> + +<p>As soon as supper was over and cleared away, Gratian set to work at his +lessons with a light heart. It was wonderful how much easier and more +interesting they seemed now that he really gave his whole attention, and +especially since he had tried to understand what the teacher had said +about them.</p> + +<p>"If only I had tried like this before, how much further on I should be +now," he could not help saying to himself with a sigh. "And the queer +thing is, that the more I try the more I want to try. My head begins to +feel so much tidier."</p> + +<p>But with all the goodwill in the world, at nine years old a head cannot +do <i>very</i> much at a time. Gratian had finished all the lessons he <i>had</i> +to do for the next day and was going back in his books with the wish to +learn over again, and more thoroughly, much that he had not before +really taken in or understood, when to his distress his poor little head +bumped down on to the volume before him, and he found by the start that +he was going to sleep! Still it wasn't very late—mother had said +nothing yet about bed-time.</p> + +<p>"It is that I have got into such a stupid, lazy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> way of learning, I +suppose," he said to himself, getting up from his seat. "Perhaps the air +will wake me up a bit," and he went through the little entrance hall and +stood in the porch, looking out.</p> + +<p>It was a very different night from the last. All was so still and calm +that for once the name of the Farm did not seem to suit it.</p> + +<p>Gratian leant against the door-post, looking up to the sky, and just +then, like the evening before, old Jonas, followed by Watch, came round +the corner.</p> + +<p>"Good evening, Jonas," said the boy. "How quiet it is to-night! There +wasn't much of a storm after all."</p> + +<p>"No, Master Gratian," replied the shepherd; "I told you they were only +a-knocking about a bit to keep their hands in;" and he too stood still +and looked up at the sky.</p> + +<p>"I don't like it so still as this," said the boy. "It doesn't seem +right. I came out here for a breath of air to wake me up. I've been +working hard at my lessons, Jonas; I'm going always to work hard now. +But I wish I wasn't sleepy."</p> + +<p>"Sign that you've worked enough for to-night, maybe," said Jonas. But as +he spoke, Gratian started.</p> + +<p>"Jonas," he said, "did you see a sort of light<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> down there—across the +grass there in front, a sort of golden-looking flash? ah, there it is +again," and just at the same moment a soft, almost warm waft of air +seemed to float across his face, and Gratian fancied he heard the words, +"good boy, good boy."</p> + +<p>"'Tis a breath of south wind getting up," said old Jonas quietly. "I've +often thought to myself that there's colours in the winds, Master +Gratian, though folk would laugh at me for an old silly if I said so."</p> + +<p>"<i>Colours</i>," repeated Gratian, "do you mean many colours? I wasn't +saying anything about the wind though, Jonas—did you feel it too? It +was over there—look, Jonas—it seemed to come from behind the big +bush."</p> + +<p>"Due south, due south," said Jonas. "And golden yellow is my fancy for +the south."</p> + +<p>"And what for the north, and for the——" began Gratian eagerly, but his +mother's voice interrupted him.</p> + +<p>"Bedtime, Gratian," she called, "come and put away your books. You've +done enough lessons for to-night."</p> + +<p>Gratian gave himself a little shake of impatience.</p> + +<p>"How tiresome," he said. "I am quite awake now. I want you to go on +telling me about the winds, Jonas, and I want to do a lot more lessons.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +I can't go to bed yet," but even while the words were on his lips, he +started and shivered. "Jonas, it can't be south wind. It's as cold as +anything."</p> + +<p>For a sharp keen gust had suddenly come round the corner, rasping the +child's unprotected face almost "like a knife" as people sometimes say, +and Watch, who had been rubbing his nose against Gratian, gave a snort +of disgust.</p> + +<p>"You see Watch feels it too," said the boy. But Jonas only turned a +little and looked about him calmly.</p> + +<p>"I can't say as I felt it, Master Gratian," he said. "But there's no +answering for the winds and their freaks here at the Four Winds Farm, +and it's but natural you should know more about 'em than most. All the +same, I take it as you're feeling cold and chilly-like means as bed is +the best place. You're getting sleepy—to say nothing of the Missus +calling to ye to go."</p> + +<p>And again the mother's voice was heard.</p> + +<p>"Gratian, Gratian, my boy. Don't you hear me?"</p> + +<p>He moved, but slowly. A little imp of opposition had taken up its abode +in the boy. Perhaps he had been feeling too pleased with his own good +resolutions and beginnings!</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Too bad," he muttered to himself, "just when I was getting to +understand my lessons better. Old Jonas is very stupid."</p> + +<p>Again the short, sharp cutting slap of cold air on his face, and in +spite of himself the boy moved more quickly.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Jonas," he said rather grumpily, though he would not let +himself shiver for fear he should again be told it showed he was sleepy, +"I'm going. I'm not at all tired, but I'm going all the same. Only how +you can say it's south wind—!"</p> + +<p>"I don't say so now. I said it <i>was</i> south—that soft feeling as if one +could see the glow of the south in it. Like enough it's east by now; +isn't this where all the winds meet? Well, I'm off too. Good-night, +master."</p> + +<p>"And you'll tell me about all the colours another time, won't you, +Jonas?" said Gratian in a mollified tone.</p> + +<p>"Or you'll tell me, maybe," said the old man. "Never fear—we'll have +some good talks over it. Out on the moor some holiday, with nobody but +the sheep and Watch to hear our fancies—that's the best time—isn't it?"</p> + +<p>And the old shepherd whistled to the dog and disappeared round the +corner of the house.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> + +<p>His mother met Gratian at the kitchen door.</p> + +<p>"I was coming out to look for you," she said. "Put away your books now. +You'd do no more good at them to-night."</p> + +<p>"I wasn't sleepy, mother. I went to the door to wake myself up," he +replied. But his tone was no longer fretful or cross.</p> + +<p>"Feeling you needed waking up was something very like being sleepy," she +answered smiling. "And all the lessons you have to learn are not to be +found in your books, Gratian."</p> + +<p>He did not at once understand, but he kept the words in his mind to +think over.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, mother," and he lifted his soft round face for her kiss.</p> + +<p>"Good-night, my boy. Father has gone out to the stable to speak to one +of the men. I'll say good-night to him for you. Pleasant dreams, and get +up as early as you like if you want to work more."</p> + +<p>"Mother," said Gratian hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Is it a good thing to be born where the four winds meet?"</p> + +<p>She laughed.</p> + +<p>"I can't say," she replied. "It's not done you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> any harm so far. But +don't begin getting your head full of fancies, my boy. Off with you to +bed, and get to sleep as fast as you can. Pleasant dreams."</p> + +<p>"But, mother," said the child as he went upstairs, "dreams are fancies."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but they don't waste our time. There's no harm in dreaming when +we're asleep—we can't be doing aught else then."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Gratian, "it's dreaming in the day that wastes time then."</p> + +<p>He was turning the corner of the stair as he said so, speaking more to +himself than to his mother. Just then a little waft of air came right in +his face. It was not the sharp touch that had made him start at the +door, nor was it the soft warm breath which old Jonas said was the south +wind. Rather did it remind Gratian of the kindly breeze and the +sea-green glimmerings on the moor. He stood still for an instant. Again +it fluttered by him, and he heard the words, "Not always, Gratian; not +always."</p> + +<p>"What was I saying?" he asked himself. "Ah yes—that it is dreaming in +the day that is a waste of time! And now she says 'Not always.' You are +very puzzling people whoever you are," he went on; "you whose voices I +hear in the chimney, and who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> seem to know all I am thinking whether I +say it or not."</p> + +<p>And as he lifted his little face towards the corner whence the sudden +draught had come, there fell on his ears the sound of rippling +laughter—the merriest and yet softest laughter he had ever heard, and +in which several voices seemed to mingle. So near it seemed at first +that he could have fancied it came from the old granary on the other +side of the wooden partition shutting off the staircase, but again, in +an instant, it seemed to dance and flicker itself away, till nothing +remained but a faint ringing echo, which might well be no more than the +slight rattle of the glass in the old casement window.</p> + +<p>Then all was silent, and the boy went on to his own room, and was soon +covered up and fast asleep in his little white bed.</p> + +<p>There were no voices in the chimney that night, or if there were Gratian +did not hear them. But he had a curious dream.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></h2> + +<h3>A RAINBOW DANCE</h3> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 23em;">"Purple and azure, white and green and golden,</span> +</p> + +<hr class="sm" /> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;">and they whirl</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 23em;">Over each other with a thousand motions."</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;"><i>Prometheus Unbound.</i>—<span class="smcap">Shelley</span></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>He dreamt that he awoke, and found himself not in his comfortable bed in +his own room, but in an equally comfortable but much more uncommon bed +in a very different place. Out on the moor! He opened his eyes and +stared about him in surprise; there were the stars, up overhead, all +blinking and winking at him as if asking what business a little boy had +out there among them all in the middle of the night. And when he did +find out where he was, he felt still more surprised at being so warm and +cozy. For he felt perfectly so, even though he had neither blankets nor +sheets nor pillow, but instead<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> of all these a complete nest of the +softest moss all about him. He was lying on it, and it covered him over +as perfectly as a bird is covered by its feathers.</p> + +<p>"Dear me," he said to himself, "this is very funny. How have I got here, +and who has covered me up like this?"</p> + +<p>But still he did not feel so excessively surprised as if he had been +awake; for in dreams, as everybody knows, any surprise one feels quickly +disappears, and one is generally very ready to take things as they come. +So he lay still, just quietly gazing about him. And gradually a murmur +of approaching sound caught his ears. It was like soft voices and +fluttering garments and breezes among trees, all mixed together, till as +it came nearer the voices detached themselves from the other sounds, and +he heard what they were saying.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he deserves a treat, poor child," said one in very gentle +caressing tones; "you have teased him enough, sisters."</p> + +<p>"Teased him!" exclaimed another voice, and this time it seemed a +familiar one to him; "<i>I</i> tease him! Why, as you well know, it is my +mission in life to comfort and console. I don't believe in petting and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +praising to the same extent as you do, perhaps—still you cannot say I +ever tease. Laugh at him a little now and then, I may. But that does no +harm."</p> + +<p>"I never pet and praise except when it is deserved," murmured the first +voice—and as he heard its soft tones a sort of delicious languor seemed +to creep over Gratian—"never. But I beg your pardon, sister, if I +misjudged you. You can be rigorous sometimes, you know, and——"</p> + +<p>"So much the better—so much the better," broke in with clear cutting +distinctness another voice; "how would the world go round—that is to +say, how would the ships sail and the windmills turn—if we were all +four as sweet and silky as you, my golden-winged sister? But it was <i>I</i> +who teased the child as you call it—I slapped him on the face; yes, and +I am ready to do it again—to sting him sharply, when I think he needs +it."</p> + +<p>"Right, right—quite right," said another voice, not exactly sharp and +clear like the last, yet with a resemblance to it, though deeper and +sterner and with a strange cold strength in its accents. "You are his +true friend in doing so. I for my part shall always be ready to +invigorate and support him—to brace him for the battles he must fight. +But you,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> sister, have a rare gift of correction and of discerning the +weak points which may lead to defeat and failure. Yours is an ungrateful +task truly, but you are a valuable monitor."</p> + +<p>"I must find my satisfaction in such considerations; it is plain I shall +never get any elsewhere," replied the former speaker, rather bitterly. +"What horrid things are said of me, to be sure! Every ache and pain is +laid at my door—I am 'neither good for man nor beast,' I am told! and +yet—I am not all grim and gray, am I, sisters? There is a rosy glow in +the trail of my garments if people were not so short-sighted and +colour-blind."</p> + +<p>"True, indeed, as who knows better than I," said the sweet mellow tones +of the first speaker. "When you come my way and we dance together, +sister, who could be less grim than you?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, indeed," said the cold, stern voice, but it sounded less stern now, +"then her sharp and biting words came from neighbourhood with <i>me</i>. Ah +well—I can bear the reproach."</p> + +<p>"I should think so," said the voice which Gratian had recognised, "for +you know in your heart, you great icy creature, that you love fun as +well as any one. How you do whirl and leap and rush and tear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> about, +once your spirits really get the better of you! And you have such pretty +playthings—your snow-flakes and filigree and icicles—none of us can +boast such treasures, not to speak of your icebergs and crystal palaces, +where you hide heaven knows what. My poor waves and foam, though I allow +they are pretty in their way, are nothing to your possessions."</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 257px;"><a name="ILL_005" id="ILL_005"></a> +<img src="images/ill_005.jpg" width="257" height="400" alt="" /> +<span class="caption">"Now for our dance—our rainbow dance, sisters—no need to wake him roughly. We need only kiss his eyelids."</span> +</div> + +<p>"Never mind all that. <i>I</i> don't grumble, though I might. What can one do +with millions of tons of sand for a toy, I should like to know? And +little else comes in my way that I can play catch-and-toss with! I can +waft my scents about, to be sure—there is some pleasure in that. But +now for our dance—our rainbow dance, sisters—no need to wake him +roughly. We need only kiss his eyelids."</p> + +<p>And Gratian, who had not all this time, strange to say, known that his +eyes were closed again, felt across his lids a breeze so fresh and +sudden that he naturally unclosed them to see whence it came. And once +open he did not feel inclined to shut them again, I can assure you.</p> + +<p>The sight before him was so pretty—and not the sight only. For the +voices had melted into music—far off at first, then by slow degrees +coming nearer; rising, falling, swelling, sinking, bright with +rejoicing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> like the song of the lark, then soft and low as the tones of +a mother hushing her baby to sleep, again wildly triumphant like a +battle strain of victory, and even while you listened changing into the +mournful, solemn cadence of a dirge, till at last all mingled into a +slow, even measure of stately harmony, and the colours which had been +weaving themselves in the distance, like a plaited rainbow before the +boy's eyes, took definite form as they drew near him.</p> + +<p>He saw them then—the four invisible sisters; he saw them, and yet it is +hard to tell what he saw! They were distinct and yet vague, separate and +yet together. But by degrees he distinguished them better. There was his +old friend with the floating sea-green-and-blue mantle, and the +streaming fair hair and loving sad eyes, and next her the sister with +the golden wings and glowing locks and laughing rosy face, and then a +gray shrouded nimble figure, which seemed everywhere at once, whose +features Gratian could scarcely see, though a pair of bright sparkling +eyes flashed out now and then, while sometimes a gleam of radiant red +lighted up the grim robe. And in and out in the meshes of the dance +glided the white form of the genius of the north—cold and stately, +sparkling as she moved,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> though shaded now and then by the steel-blue +veil which covered the dusky head. But as the dance went on, the music +gradually grew faster and the soft regular movements changed into a +quicker measure. In and out the four figures wove and unwove themselves +together, and the more quickly they moved the more varied and brilliant +grew the colours which seemed a part of them, so that each seemed to +have all those of the others as well as her own, and Gratian understood +why they had spoken of the rainbow dance. Golden-wings glowed with every +other shade reflected on her own rich background, the sister from the +sea grew warmer with the red and yellow that shone out among the lapping +folds of her mantle, with its feather-like trimming of foam, the gray of +the East-wind's garments grew ruddier, like the sky before sunrise, and +the cold white of the icy North glimmered and gleamed like an opal. And +faster and faster they danced and glided and whirled about, till Gratian +felt as if his breath were going, and that in another moment he would be +carried away himself by the rush.</p> + +<p>"Stop, stop," he cried at last. "It is beautiful, it is lovely, but my +breath is going. Stop."</p> + +<p>Instantly the four heads turned towards him, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> four pairs of wings +sheathed themselves, the eyes, laughing and gentle, piercing and grave, +seemed all to be gazing at him at once, and eight outstretched arms +seemed as if about to lift him upwards.</p> + +<p>"No—no—" he said, "I don't want—I don't——."</p> + +<p>But with the struggle to speak he awoke. He was in his own bed of +course, and by the light he saw that it must be nearly time to get up.</p> + +<p>He stretched himself sleepily, smiling as he did so.</p> + +<p>"What nice dreams I have had," he said to himself. "I wonder if they +come of working well at my lessons? <i>They</i> said it was to be a treat for +me. I wish I could go to sleep and dream it all over again."</p> + +<p>But just then he heard his mother's voice calling up the stair to him.</p> + +<p>"Are you up, Gratian? You will be late if you are not quick."</p> + +<p>Gratian gave himself a little shake of impatience under the bedclothes; +he glanced at the window—the sky was gray and overcast, with every sign +of a rainy day about it. He tucked himself up again, even though he knew +it was very foolish thus to delay the evil moment.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It's too bad," he thought. "I can <i>never</i> do what I want. Last night I +had to go to bed when I wanted to sit up, and now I have to get up when +I do so want to stay in bed."</p> + +<p>But just at that moment a strange thing happened. The little casement +window burst open with a bang, and a blast of cold sharp wind dashed +into the room, upsetting a chair, scattering Gratian's clothes, neatly +laid together in a little heap, and flinging itself on the bed with a +whirl, so that the coverlet took to playing antics in its turn, and the +blankets no doubt would have followed its example had Gratian not +clutched at them. But all his comfort was destroyed—no possibility of +feeling warm and snug with the window open and all this uproar going on. +Gratian sprang up in a rage, and ran to the window. He shut it again +easily enough.</p> + +<p>"I can't think what made it fly open," he said to himself; "there was no +wind in the night, and it never burst open before."</p> + +<p>He stood shivering and undecided. Now that the window was shut, bed +looked very comfortable again.</p> + +<p>"I'll just get in for five minutes," he said to himself; "I'm so +shivering cold with that wind, I shan't get warm all day."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> + +<p>He turned to the bed, but just as one little foot was raised to get in, +lo and behold, a rattle and bang, and again the window burst open! +Gratian flew back, it shut obediently as before. But he was now +thoroughly awakened and alert. There was no good going back to bed if he +was to be blown out of it in this fashion, and Gratian set to to dress +himself, though in a rather surly mood, and keeping an eye on the +rebellious window the while. But the window behaved quite well—it +showed no signs of bursting open, it did not even rattle! and Gratian +was ready in good time after all.</p> + +<p>"You look cold, my boy," said his mother, when he was seated at table +and eating his breakfast.</p> + +<p>"The wind blew my window open twice, and it made my room very cold," he +replied rather dolefully.</p> + +<p>"Blew your window open? That's strange," said his father. "The wind's +not in the east this morning, and it's only an east wind that could +burst in your window. You can't have shut it properly."</p> + +<p>"Yes, father, I did—the first time I shut it just as well as the +second, and it didn't blow open after the second time. But I <i>know</i> I +shut it well both times. I think it must be in the east, for it felt so +sharp when it blew in."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It must have changed quickly then," said the farmer, eyeing the sky +through the large old-fashioned kitchen window in front of him. "That's +the queer thing hereabouts; many a day if I was put to it to answer, I +couldn't say which way the wind was blowing."</p> + +<p>"Or which way it <i>wasn't</i> blowing, would be more like it," said Mrs. +Conyfer with a smile. "It's to be hoped it'll blow you the right way to +school anyway, Gratian. You don't look sure of it this morning!"</p> + +<p>"I'm cold, mother, and I've always got to do what I don't want. Last +night I didn't want to go to bed, and this morning I didn't want to get +up, and now I don't want to go to school, and I must."</p> + +<p>He got up slowly and unwillingly and began putting his books together. +His mother looked at him with a slight smile on her face.</p> + +<p>"'Must''s a grand word, Gratian," she said. "I don't know what we'd be +without it. You'll feel all right once you're scampering across the +moor."</p> + +<p>"Maybe," he replied. But his tone was rather plaintive still. He was +feeling "sorry for himself" this morning.</p> + +<p>Things in general, however, did seem brighter, as his mother had +prophesied they would, when he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> found himself outside. It was really not +cold after all; it was one of those breezy yet not chilly mornings when, +though there is nothing depressing in the air, there is a curious +feeling of mystery—as if nature were holding secret discussions, which +the winds and the waves, the hills and the clouds, the trees and the +birds even, know all about, but which we—clumsy creatures that we +are—are as yet shut out from.</p> + +<p>"What is it all about, I wonder?" said Gratian to himself, as he became +conscious of this feeling—an <i>autumn</i> feeling it always is, I think. +"Everything seems so grave. Are they planning about the winter coming, +and how the flowers and all the tender little plants are to be taken +care of till it is over? Or is there going to be a great storm up in the +sky? perhaps they are trying to settle it without a battle, but it does +look very gloomy up there."</p> + +<p>For the grayness had the threatening steel-blue shade over it which +betokens disturbance of some kind. Still the child's spirits rose as he +ran; there was something reviving in the little gusts of moorland breeze +that met him every now and then, and he forgot everything else in the +pleasure of the quick movement and the glow that soon replaced the +chilly feelings with which he had set out.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> + +<p>He had run a good way, when something white, or light-coloured, +fluttering on the ground some little way before him, caught his eye. And +as he drew nearer he saw that it was a book, or papers of some kind, +hooked on to a low-growing furze bush. Suddenly the words of the +mysterious figure of the night before returned to his mind—"Look for +the furze bush on the right of the path where it turns for the last +time," she had said.</p> + +<p>Gratian stopped short. Yes—there in front of him was the landmark—the +path turned here for the last time, as she had said. He looked about him +in astonishment.</p> + +<p>"This was where my books were last night, then," he said to himself. "I +had no idea I had come so far! Why, I was home in half a second—it is +very strange—I could fancy it was a dream, or else that last night and +the rainbow dance <i>wasn't</i> a dream."</p> + +<p>He ran on to where the white thing was still fluttering appealingly, as +if begging him to detach it. Poor white thing! It was or had been an +exercise-book. At first Gratian fancied it must be one of his +copy-books, left behind by mistake after his fairy friend had given him +back the rest of his books. But as soon as he took it in his hands and +saw the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> neat, clear characters, he knew it was not his, and he did not +need to look at the signature, "Anthony Ferris," to guess that it +belonged to the miller's son—for Tony was a clever boy, almost at the +head of the school, and famed for his very good writing.</p> + +<p>"Ah ha," thought Gratian triumphantly, "I have you now, Master Tony."</p> + +<p>He had recognised the book as containing Tony's dictation lessons, for +here and there were the wrongly spelt words—not many of them, for Tony +was a good speller too—marked by the schoolmaster.</p> + +<p>"Tony must have meant to take the book home to copy it out clear, and +correct the wrong spelling," thought Gratian. And he remembered hearing +the teacher telling Tony's class that on the neatness with which this +was done would depend several important good marks. "He'll not be head +of his class, now he's lost this book. Serve him right for the trick he +played me," said Gratian to himself, as he rolled up the tattered book +and slipped it into his satchel. "It's not so badly torn but what he +could have copied it out all right, but it would have been torn to +pieces by this evening, now that the wind's getting up. So it isn't my +fault but his own—nasty spiteful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> fellow. Where would all <i>my</i> poor +books have been by now, thanks to him?"</p> + +<p>The wind was getting up indeed—and a cold biting wind too. For just as +Gratian was thus thinking, there came down such a gust as he had but +seldom felt the force of. For an instant he staggered and all but fell, +so unprepared had he been for the sudden buffet. It took all his +strength and agility to keep his feet during the short remainder of the +moorland path, so sharp and violent were the blasts. And it was with +face and hands tingling and smarting painfully that he entered the +schoolroom.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></h2> + +<h3>GOOD FOR EVIL</h3> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 26em;">"For 'tis sweet to stammer one letter</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 19em;">Of the Eternal's language;—on earth it is called forgiveness!"</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;"><i>The Children of the Lord's Supper.</i>—<span class="smcap">Longfellow</span></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Tony's face was almost the first thing he caught sight of. It was not +late, but several children were already there, and Tony, contrary to his +custom, instead of playing outside till the very last moment, was in the +schoolroom eagerly searching for something among the slates and books +belonging to his class. Gratian understood the reason, and smiled to +himself inwardly—but had he smiled visibly I don't think his face would +have been improved by it. Nor was there real pleasure or rejoicing in +the feeling of triumph which for a moment made him forget his smarting +face and hands.</p> + +<p>"How red you look, Gratian," said Dolly, Tony's sister, "have you been +crying?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Crying—no, nonsense, Dolly," he replied in a tone such as gentle +Gratian seldom used. "Whose face wouldn't be red with such a horrible +wind cutting one to pieces."</p> + +<p>"Wind!" repeated Dolly, "I didn't feel any wind. It must have got up all +of a sudden. Did you get home quickly last night?"</p> + +<p>Gratian looked at her. For half an instant he wondered if there was any +meaning in her question—had Dolly anything to do with the trick that +had been played him? But his glance at her kindly, honest face reassured +him. He was going to answer when Tony interrupted him.</p> + +<p>"Got home quick," he said, looking up with a grin; "of course he did. He +was in such a hurry to get to work. Didn't you see what a lot of books +he took home with him? My! your shoulders must have ached before you got +to the Farm, Gratian. Mine did, I know, though 'twas only a short bit I +carried your satchel."</p> + +<p>"It was pretty heavy," said Gratian, unfastening it as he spoke, and +coolly taking out the books one after another, watching Tony the while, +"but nothing to hurt. And I got all my lessons done nicely. It was kind +of you, Tony, to help me to carry my satchel."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> + +<p>Tony stared—with eyes and mouth wide open.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" said his sister. "You look as if you'd seen a +ghost, Tony."</p> + +<p>The boy turned away, muttering to himself.</p> + +<p>"Tony's put out this morning," said Dolly in a low voice to Gratian, +"and I can't help being sorry too. He's lost his exercise-book that he +was to copy out clear—and the master said it'd have to do with getting +the prize. Tony's in a great taking."</p> + +<p>"How did he lose it?" asked Gratian with a rather queer feeling, as he +wondered what Dolly would say if she knew that at that very moment the +lost book was safely hidden away at the bottom of his satchel, which he +took care not to leave within Tony's reach.</p> + +<p>"He doesn't know," said Dolly dolefully. "He's sure he had it when we +left school last night. We were looking for it all evening, and then he +thought maybe it'd be here after all. But it isn't."</p> + +<p>Then the bell rang for lessons to begin, and Gratian saw no more of +Tony, who was at the other side of the schoolroom in a higher class, and +though Dolly was in the same as himself, she was some places off, so +that there was no chance of any talking or whispering.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gratian's lessons were well learnt and understood. It was not long +before he found himself higher in his class than he had almost ever done +before, and he caught the master's eye looking at him with approval, and +a smile of encouragement on his face. Why was it he could not meet it +with a brightly answering smile as he would have done the day before? +Why did he turn away, his cheeks tingling again as if the wind had been +slapping them, here inside the sheltered schoolroom?</p> + +<p>The master felt a little disappointed.</p> + +<p>"He will never do really well if he is so foolishly shy and bashful," he +said to himself, when Gratian turned away as if ashamed to be grateful +for the few kind words the teacher said to him at the end of the +morning's lessons; and the boy, in a corner of the playground by himself +when the other children had run home for their dinner, felt nearly, if +not quite, as unhappy as the day before.</p> + +<p>"I don't see why I should mind about Tony," he was thinking as he sat +there. "He's a naughty, unkind boy, and he deserves to be punished. If +it hadn't been for <i>her</i> helping me, I wouldn't have known my lessons a +bit this morning, and the master would have thought I was never going to +try. I just<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> hope Tony will lose his place and the prize and everything. +Oh, how cold it is!" for round the wall, <i>through</i> it indeed, it almost +seemed, came sneaking a sharp little gust of air, so cold, so cutting, +that Gratian actually shivered and shook, and the smarting in his face +began again. "I feel cold even in my bones," he said to himself.</p> + +<p>Just then voices reached his ear. The door of the schoolhouse opened and +the master appeared, showing out a lady, who had evidently come to speak +to him about something. She was a very pleasant-looking lady, and +Gratian's eyes rested with satisfaction on her pretty dress and graceful +figure.</p> + +<p>"Then you will not forget about it? You will let me know in a few days +what you think?" Gratian heard her say.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, madam," replied the schoolmaster. "I have already one or two +in my mind who, I think, may be suitable. But I should like to think it +over and to ask the parents' consent."</p> + +<p>"Of course—of course. Good-bye then for the present, and thank you," +said the lady, and then she went out at the little garden-gate and the +schoolmaster returned into his house.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I wonder what they were talking about," thought Gratian. But he soon +forgot about it again—his mind was too full of its own affairs.</p> + +<p>Tony looked vexed and unhappy that afternoon, and Dolly's rosy face bore +traces of tears. She overtook Gratian on his way home in the evening, +and began again talking about the lost book.</p> + +<p>"It's so vexing for Tony, isn't it?" she said, "and do you know, +Gratian, it's even more vexing than we thought. Did you see a lady at +the school to-day? Do you know who she was?"</p> + +<p>Gratian shook his head.</p> + +<p>"She's the lady from the Big House down the road, that's been shut up so +long. It isn't her house, but she's the sister or the cousin of the +gentleman it belongs to, and he's lent it to her because the doctors +said the air hereabouts would be good for her little boy. He's ill +someway, he can scarcely walk. And she came to the school to-day to ask +master if one of the boys—his best boy, she said—might go sometimes to +play with her little boy and read to him a little. And Tony was sure of +being the top of the class if only he had finished copying out those +exercises—he'd put right all the faults the master had marked, and it +only wanted copying. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> now he's no chance; the other boys have theirs +nearly done."</p> + +<p>"How do you know about what the lady said?" Gratian asked.</p> + +<p>"The master told mother. He met her in the village just before afternoon +lessons, and asked her if she'd let Tony go, if so be as he was head of +his class."</p> + +<p>"And would he like to go, d'ye think, Dolly?" asked Gratian.</p> + +<p>"He'd like to be head of his class, anyway," the sister replied. "I +don't know as father can let him go, for we're very busy at the mill, +and Tony's big enough to help when he's not at school. But he'd not like +to see Ben or that conceited Robert put before him. If it were you now, +Gratian, I don't think he'd mind so much."</p> + +<p>Gratian's heart beat fast at her words. Visions of the pleasure of going +to see the pretty lady and her boy, of hearing her soft voice speaking +to him, and of seeing the inside of the Big House, which had always been +a subject of curiosity to the children of the village, rose temptingly +before him. But they soon faded.</p> + +<p>"Me!" he exclaimed, "I'd have no chance—even failing Tony."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Dolly. "You're never a naughty boy, and you can +read very nice when you like. Master always seems to think you read next +best to Tony. I shouldn't wonder if he sent you, if he's vexed with +Tony. And he will be that, for he told him to do out that writing so +very neatly. I think it was to be shown to the gentlemen that come to +see the school sometimes. But I musn't go any farther with you, Gratian. +It'll be dark before I get home. I'm afraid Tony must have dropped the +book out here, and that it blew away. Good-night, Gratian."</p> + +<p>"Good-night, Dolly," he replied. And then after a little hesitation he +added, "I wish—I wish Tony hadn't lost his book."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Gratian," said the little girl as she ran off.</p> + +<p>Gratian stood and looked after her with a queer mixture of feelings. It +was true, as he had said to Dolly, he did wish Tony had not lost his +book, but almost more he wished <i>he</i> had not found it. But just now, +standing there in the softly fading light, with the evening breeze—no +longer the sharp blast of the morning—gently fanning his cheeks, +looking after little Dolly as she ran home, and thinking of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> Tony's +sunburnt troubled face, the angry feelings seemed to grow fainter, till +the wish to see his schoolfellow punished for his mischievous trick died +away altogether. And once he had got to this, it was a quick step to +still better things.</p> + +<p>"I <i>will</i>, I <i>will</i>," he shouted out aloud, though there was no +one—<i>was</i> there no one?—to hear. And as he sprang forward to rush +after Dolly and overtake her, it seemed to him that he was half-lifted +from his feet, and at the same moment another waft of the breeze he had +been feeling, though still softer and with a scent as of spring flowers +about it, blew into his face.</p> + +<p>"Are you kissing me, kind wind?" he said laughing, and in answer, as it +were, he felt himself blown along almost as swiftly as the night before. +At this rate it did not take him long to gain ground on the miller's +daughter.</p> + +<p>"Dolly, Dolly," he called out when he saw himself within a few paces of +her. "Stop, do stop. I have something for you—something to say to you."</p> + +<p>Dolly turned round in astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Gratian!" she exclaimed, "have you been running after me all this time? +I would have waited for you if I'd known."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 248px;"><a name="ILL_006" id="ILL_006"></a> +<img src="images/ill_006.jpg" width="248" height="400" alt="" /> +<span class="caption">"Look here, Dolly," and he held out to her the poor copy-book which he had already taken out of his satchel.</span> +</div> + +<p>"Never mind. I ran very fast," said Gratian. "Look here, Dolly," and he +held out to her the poor copy-book which he had already taken out of his +satchel. "This is what I ran after you for; give it to Tony, and——"</p> + +<p>"Tony's lost exercise-book!" cried Dolly. "Oh Gratian, how glad he will +be. Where did you find it? <i>How</i> good of you! Did you find it just now, +since you said good-night to me?"</p> + +<p>Gratian's face grew red, but it was too dark for Dolly to see.</p> + +<p>"No," he said, "I found it before. But—but—Tony had done me a bad +turn, Dolly, and it wasn't easy—not all at once—to do him a good one +instead. But I've done it now, and you may tell him what I say. I'm +quite in earnest, and I'm glad I've done it. Tell him I hope he'll be +the head of his class now, anyway, and——"</p> + +<p>"Gratian," said Dolly, catching hold of his arm as she spoke, "I don't +know what the trick was that Tony played you, or tried to play you. But +I know he's terrible fond of tricks, though I don't think he's got a bad +heart. And it was too bad of him to play it on you, it was—you that +never does ill turns to none of us."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I've been near it this time, though," said Gratian, feeling, now that +the temptation was over, the comfort of confessing the worst. "I was +very mad with Tony, and I didn't like bringing myself to give back his +book. I don't want you to think me better than I am, Dolly."</p> + +<p>"But I do think you very good all the same, I do," said the little girl +earnestly, "and I'll tell Tony so. And you shan't have any more tricks +played you by him—he's not so bad as that. Thank you very much, +Gratian. If he gets the prize, it'll be all through you."</p> + +<p>"And about going to the Big House," added Gratian, rather sadly. "He'll +be the one for that now. I think that's far before getting a prize. It +was thinking of that made me feel I <i>must</i> give him his book. I'd give a +good deal, I know, to be the one to go the Big House."</p> + +<p>"Would you?" said Dolly, a little surprised, for it was not very often +Gratian spoke so eagerly about anything. "I don't know that I'd care so +much about it. And to be sure you might have been the one if you hadn't +helped Tony now! But I don't know that it would be much fun after +all—just amusing a little boy that's ill."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> + +<p>"You didn't see the lady, Dolly, but <i>I</i> did," said Gratian. "She's not +like any one I ever saw before—she's so beautiful. Her hair's a little +the colour of yours, I think, but her skin's like—like cream, and her +eyes are as kind as forget-me-nots."</p> + +<p>"Was she finely dressed?" asked Dolly, becoming interested.</p> + +<p>"Yes—at least I think so. Her dress was very soft, and a nice sort of +shiny way when she moved, and she spoke so prettily. And oh, Dolly, it'd +be terribly nice to see the Big House. Fancy, I've heard tell there are +beautiful pictures there."</p> + +<p>"Pictures—big ones in gold frames, do you mean?" Dolly inquired.</p> + +<p>"I don't know about gold frames. I've never seen any. But pictures of +all sorts of things—of places far away, I daresay, where the sky is so +blue and the big sea—like what the master tells us sometimes in our +geography. Oh, I'd like more than anything to see pictures, Dolly."</p> + +<p>"I never thought about such things. What a funny boy you are, Gratian," +said Dolly, as she ran off joyfully, with Tony's tattered book in her +hand.</p> + +<p>It did not take Gratian long to make his way home—the feeling of having +done right "adds feather<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> to the heel." But as he sped along the +moorland path he could not help wondering to himself if his soft-voiced +friend of the night before were anywhere near.</p> + +<p>"I think she must be pleased with me," he thought. "It feels like her +kissing me," as just then the evening breeze again met him as he ran. +"Is it you Golden-wings, or you, Spirit of the Waves?" he said, for he +had learnt in his dream to think of them thus. And a little soft +laughter in the air about him told him he was not far wrong. "Perhaps it +is both together," he thought. "I think they are pleased. It is nicer +than when that sharp East-wind comes snapping at one—though after all, +East-wind, I think perhaps I should thank you for having stung me as you +did this morning—I rather think I deserved it."</p> + +<p>Whiz, rush, dash—came a sharp blast as he spoke. Gratian started, and +for half a moment felt almost angry.</p> + +<p>"I didn't deserve it just now, though," he said. But a ripple of +laughter above him made his vexation fade away.</p> + +<p>"You silly boy," came a whisper close to his ear. "Can't you take a +joke?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that I can, as well as any one;" and no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> sooner were the words out +of his mouth than again, with the whir and the swoop now becoming +familiar to him, he was once more raised from the ground, and really, +before he knew where he was, he found himself at the gate of the +farm-house.</p> + +<p>His mother was just coming out to the door.</p> + +<p>"Dear me, child," she said, "how suddenly you have come! I have been out +several times to the gate to look for you, but though it is not yet dark +I didn't see you."</p> + +<p>"I did come very quickly, mother dear," said Gratian, and for a moment +he thought of telling her about his strange new friends. But somehow, +when he was on the point of doing so, the words would not come, and his +feelings grew misty and confused as when one tries to recollect a dream +that one knows was in one's memory but a moment before. And he felt that +the voices of the winds were as little to be told as are the songs of +the birds to those who have not heard them for themselves. So he just +looked up in his mother's face with a smile, and she stooped and kissed +him—which she did not very often do. For the moorland people are not +soft and caressing in their ways, but rather sharp and rugged, though +their hearts are true.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I wonder where you come from, sometimes, Gratian," said his mother +half-laughing. "You don't seem like the other children about."</p> + +<p>"But mother, I'm getting over dreaming at my lessons. I am indeed," said +the child brightly. "I think when you ask the master about me the next +time, he'll tell you he's pleased with me."</p> + +<p>"That's my good boy," said she well pleased.</p> + +<p>So the day ended well for the child of the Four Winds.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></h2> + +<h3>ORGAN TONES</h3> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 26em;">"Music, when soft voices die,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 27em;">Vibrates in the memory."</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;"><span class="smcap">Shelley</span></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>As Gratian was running into school the next morning he felt some one +tugging at his coat, and looking round, there was Tony, his round face +redder than usual, his eyes bright and yet shy.</p> + +<p>"She give it me, Gratian—Doll did—and—and—I've to thank you. I was +awful glad—I was that."</p> + +<p>"Have you got it done? Will it be all right for the prize and all that?" +asked Gratian.</p> + +<p>Tony nodded.</p> + +<p>"I think so. I sat up late last night writing, and I think I'll get it +done to-night. It was awful good of you, Gratian," Tony went on, growing +more at his ease, "for I won't go for to say that it wasn't a mean trick +about the stones. But I meant to go back and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> get the books and keep +them safe for you till the next morning. You did look so funny tramping +along with the bag of stones," and Tony's face screwed itself up as if +he wanted to laugh but dared not.</p> + +<p>"It didn't <i>feel</i> funny," said Gratian. "It felt very horrid. Indeed it +makes me get cross to think of it even now—don't say any more about it, +Tony."</p> + +<p>For it did seem to him as if, after all, the miller's boy was getting +off rather easily! And it felt a little hard that all the good things +should be falling to Tony's share, when he had been so unkind to +another.</p> + +<p>"I want to forget it," he went on; "if the master knew about it, he'd +not let you off without a good scolding. But I'm not going to stand here +shivering—I tell you I don't want to say any more about it, Tony."</p> + +<p>"Shivering," repeated Tony, "why it's a wonderful mild morning for +November. Father was just saying so"—and to tell the truth Gratian +himself had thought it so as he ran across the moor. "But, Gratian, you +needn't be so mad with me now—I know it was a mean trick, and just to +show you that I know it, I promise you the master <i>shall</i> know all about +it," and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> Tony held his head higher as he said the words. "There's only +one thing, Gratian. I do wish you'd tell me where you found my book, and +how you knew where I'd hidden yours? I've been thinking and thinking +about it, and I can't make it out. Folks do say as there's still queer +customers to be met on the moor after nightfall. I wonder if you got the +fairies to help you, Gratian?" added Tony laughing.</p> + +<p>Gratian laughed too.</p> + +<p>"No, Tony, it wasn't the fairies," he said, his good-humour returning. +And it was quite restored by a sweet soft whisper at that moment +breathed into his ear—"no, not the fairies—but who it was is our +secret—eh, Gratian?" And Gratian laughed again softly in return.</p> + +<p>"Who was it then?" persisted Tony. But just then the school-bell rang, +and there was no time for more talking.</p> + +<p>Tony was kept very busy for the next day or two with his writing-out, +which took him longer than he expected. Gratian too was working hard to +make up for lost time, but he felt happy. He saw that the master was +pleased, and that his companions were beginning to look up to him as +they had never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> done before. But he missed his new friends. The weather +was very still—for some days he had heard scarcely a rustle among the +trees and bushes, and though he had lain awake at night, no murmuring +voices in the chimney had reached his ears.</p> + +<p>"Have they gone away already? Was it all a dream?" the child asked +himself sadly.</p> + +<p>Sunday came round again, and Gratian set off to church with his father +and mother. Going to church was one of his pleasures—of late +especially, for the owner of the Big House, though seldom there himself, +was generous and rich, and he had spent money in restoring the church +and giving a beautiful organ. And on Sunday mornings an organist came +from a distance to play on it, but in the afternoon its great voice was +silent, for no one in the village—not even the schoolmaster, who was +supposed to know most things—knew how to play on it. For this reason +Gratian never cared to go to church the second time—he would much +rather have stayed out on the moor with Jonas and Watch, and sometimes, +in the fine summer weather, when the walk was hot and tiring even for +big people, his mother had allowed him to do so. But now, with winter at +hand, it was not fit for sauntering about or lying on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> heather, +especially with Sunday clothes on, so the child knew it was no use +asking to stay at home.</p> + +<p>This Sunday afternoon brought a very welcome surprise. Scarcely was the +boy settled in his corner beside his mother, before the rich deep tones +fell on his ear. He started and looked about him, not sure if his fancy +were not playing him false. But no—clearer and stronger grew the +music—there was no mistake, and Gratian gave himself up to the pleasure +of listening. And never had it been to him more beautiful. New fancies +mingled with his enjoyment of it, for it seemed to him that he could +distinguish in it the voices of his friends—the loving, plaintive +breath of the west, telling of the lapping of the waves on some lonely +shore; the sterner, deeper tones of the strong spirit of the north; even +the sharply thrilling blast of the ever-restless east wind seemed to +flash here and there like lightning darts, cutting through and yet +melting again into the harmony. And then from time to time the sweet, +rich glowing song of praise from the lips of Golden-wings, the joyful.</p> + +<p>"Yes, they are all there," said Gratian to himself in an ecstasy of +completest pleasure. "I hear them all. That is perhaps why they have not +come to me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> lately—it was to be a surprise! But I have found you out, +you see. Ah, if I could play on the organ you could never hide +yourselves from me for long, my friends. Perhaps the organ is one of +their real homes. I wonder if it can be."</p> + +<p>And his face looked so bright and yet absorbed that his mother could not +help smiling at him, as they sat waiting for a moment after the last +notes had died away.</p> + +<p>"Are you so pleased to have music in the afternoon too?" she said. "It +is thanks to the stranger lady—the squire's cousin, who has come to the +Big House. There—you can see her. She is just closing the organ."</p> + +<p>Gratian stood up on his tiptoes and bent forward as far as he could. He +caught but one glimpse of the fair face, but it was enough. It was the +same—the lady with the forget-me-not eyes; and his own eyes beamed with +fresh delight.</p> + +<p>"They must be friends of hers too," was the first thought that darted +through his brain; "she must know them, else she couldn't make their +voices come like that. Oh dear, if I could but go to the Big House, +perhaps she would tell me about how she knows them."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> + +<p>But even to think of the possibility was very nice. Gratian mused on it, +turning it over and over in his mind, as was his wont, all the way home. +And that evening, while he sat in his corner reading over the verses +which the master always liked his scholars to say on the Monday +morning—his father and mother with their big Sunday books open on the +table before them as usual—a strange feeling came over him that he was +again in the church, again listening to the organ; and so absorbing grew +the feeling that, fearful of its vanishing, he closed his eyes and +leaned his curly head on the wooden rail of the old chair and listened. +Yes, clearer and fuller grew the tones—he was curled up in a corner of +the chancel by this time, in his dream—and gradually in front, as it +were, of the background of sound, grew out the voices he had learnt to +know so well. They all seemed to be singing together at first, but by +degrees the singing turned into soft speaking, the sound of the organ +had faded into silence, and opening his eyes, by a faint ray of +moonlight creeping in through the window, he saw he was in his own bed +in his own room.</p> + +<p>How had he come there? Had his mother carried him up and undressed him +without awaking him as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> she had sometimes done when he was a very tiny +boy?</p> + +<p>"No—she couldn't. I'm too big and heavy," he thought sleepily. "But +hush! the voices again."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I carried him up. He was so sleepy—he never knew—nobody knew. +The mother looked round and thought he had gone off himself. And +Golden-wings undressed him. He will notice the scent on his little shirt +when he puts it on in the morning."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" replied a second voice, in a rather surly tone, "you are +spoiling the child, you and our sister of the south. Snow-wings and I +must take him in hand a while—a whi—ile."</p> + +<p>For the East-wind was evidently in a hurry. Her voice grew fainter as if +she were flying away.</p> + +<p>"Stop a moment," said the softest voice of all. "It's not fair of you to +say we are spoiling the child—Sea-breezes and I—we're doing nothing of +the kind. We never pet or comfort him save when he deserves it—we keep +strictly to our compact. You and our icy sister have been free to +interfere when you thought right. Do you hear, Gray-wings! do you +he—ar?"</p> + +<p>And far off, from the very top of the chimney, came Gray-wings's reply.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> + +<p>"All right—all right, but I haven't time to wait. +Good-night—go—od-ni—ght," and for once East-wind's voice sounded soft +and musical.</p> + +<p>Then the two gentle sisters went on murmuring together, and what they +said was very pleasant to Gratian to hear.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> say," said Golden-wings—"<i>I</i> say he has been a very good boy. He +is doing credit to his training, little though he suspects how long he +has been under our charge."</p> + +<p>"He is awaking to that and to other things now," replied she whom the +others called the Spirit of the Sea. "It is sad to think that some day +our guardianship must come to an end."</p> + +<p>"Well, don't think of it, then. <i>I</i> never think of disagreeable things," +replied the bright voice.</p> + +<p>"But how can one help it? Think how tiny he was—the queer little +red-faced solemn-eyed baby, when we first sang our lullabies to him, and +how we looked forward to the time when he should hear more in our voices +than any one but a godchild of ours <i>can</i> hear. And now——"</p> + +<p>"Now that time has come, and we must take care what we say—he may be +awake at this very moment. But listen, sister—I think we must do +something—you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> and I. Our sterner sisters are all very well in their +places, but all work and no play is not <i>my</i> idea of education. Now +listen to my plan;" but here the murmuring grew so soft and vague that +Gratian could no longer distinguish the syllables. He tried to strain +his ears, but it was useless, and he grew sleepy through the trying to +keep awake. The last sound he was conscious of was a flapping of wings +and a murmured "Good-night, Gratian. Good-night, little +godson—good-ni—ight," and then he fell asleep and slept till morning.</p> + +<p>He would have forgotten it all perhaps, or remembered it only with the +indistinctness of a dream that is past, had it not been for something +unusual in the look of the little heap of clothes which lay on the chair +beside his bed. They were so <i>very</i> neatly folded—though Gratian +prided himself rather on his own neat folding—and the shirt was so +snow-white and smooth that the boy thought at first his mother had +laid out a fresh one while he was asleep. But no—yesterday was Sunday. +Mrs. Conyfer would have thought another clean one on Monday very +extravagant—besides, not even from her linen drawers, scented with +lavender, could have come that delicious fragrance! Gratian snuffed and +sniffed with ever-increasing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> satisfaction, as the words he had +overheard in the night returned to his memory. And his stockings—they +too were scented! What it was like I could not tell you, unless it be +true, as old travellers say, that miles and miles away from the +far-famed Spice Islands their fragrance may be perceived, wafted out to +sea by the breeze. That, I think, may give you a faint idea of the +perfume left by the South-wind on her godson's garments.</p> + +<p>"So it's true—I wasn't dreaming," thought the boy. "I wonder what the +plot was that I couldn't hear about. I shall know before long, I +daresay."</p> + +<p>At breakfast he noticed his mother looking at him curiously.</p> + +<p>"What is it, mother?" he said; "is my hair not neat?"</p> + +<p>"No, child. On the contrary, I was thinking how very tidy you look this +morning. Your collar is so smooth and clean. Can it be the one you wore +yesterday?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother," he replied, "just look how nice it is. And hasn't it a +nice scent?"</p> + +<p>He got up as he spoke and stood beside her. She smoothed his collar with +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"It is certainly very well starched and ironed,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> she said. "Madge is +improving; I must tell her so. That new soap too has quite a pleasant +smell about it—like new-mown hay. It's partly the lavender in the +drawers, I daresay."</p> + +<p>But Gratian smiled to himself—thinking he knew better!</p> + +<p>"Gratian," said his mother, two mornings later, as he was starting for +school, "I had a message from the master yesterday. He wants to see me +about you, but he is very busy, and he says if father or I should be in +the village to-day or to-morrow, he would take it kindly if we would +look in. I must call at the mill for father to-day—he's too busy to go +himself—so I think I'll go on to school, and then we can walk back +together. So don't start home this afternoon till I come."</p> + +<p>"No, mother, I won't," said Gratian. But he still hung about as if he +had more to say.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asked his mother. "You're not afraid the master's going to +give a bad account of you?"</p> + +<p>"No, mother—not since I've cured myself of dreaming," he answered. "I +was only wondering if I knew what it was he was going to ask you."</p> + +<p>"Better wait and know for sure," said his mother. So Gratian set off.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> + +<p>But he found it impossible not to keep thinking and wondering about it +to himself. Could it be anything about the Big House? Had Tony kept his +promise, and told the master of the trick he had played, so that +Gratian, and not he, should be chosen?</p> + +<p>"He didn't seem to care about it much," thought Gratian, "not near so +much as I should—oh, dear no! Still it wouldn't be very nice for him to +have to tell against himself, whether he cared about it or not."</p> + +<p>But as his mother had said, it was best to wait a while and know, +instead of wasting time in fruitless guessing.</p> + +<p>Tony seemed quite cheerful and merry, and little Dolly was as friendly +as possible. After the morning lessons were over and the other children +dispersed, the schoolmaster called Gratian in again.</p> + +<p>"It is too cold now for you to eat your dinner in the playground, my +boy," he said. "After you have run about a little, come in and find a +warmer dining-room inside. But I have something else to say to you. I +had a talk with Anthony Ferris yesterday."</p> + +<p>Gratian felt himself growing red, but he did not speak.</p> + +<p>"He told me of the trick he'd played you. A very unkind and silly trick +it was, and so I said to him; but as he told it himself I won't punish +him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> He told me more, Gratian—of your finding his book and giving it +back to him, when you might have done him an ill turn by keeping it."</p> + +<p>"I did keep it all one day, sir," said Gratian humbly.</p> + +<p>"Ah well, you did give it him in the end," said the master smiling. "I +am pleased to see that you did the right thing in face of temptation. +And Tony feels it himself. He's an honest-hearted lad and a clever one. +He has done that piece of work I gave him well, and no doubt he stands +as the head boy"—here the master stopped and seemed to be thinking over +something. Then he went on again rather abruptly.</p> + +<p>"That was all I wanted to say to you just now, I think. Tony is really +grateful to you, and if he can show it, he will. Did your father or +mother say anything about coming to see me?"</p> + +<p>"Please, sir, mother's coming this afternoon. I'm to wait and go home +with her."</p> + +<p>"Ah well, that's all right."</p> + +<p>But Gratian had plenty to think of while he ate his dinner. He was very +much impressed by Tony's having really told.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," he kept saying to himself, "I do wonder if perhaps——"</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></h2> + +<h3>THE BIG HOUSE AND THE LADY</h3> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">"The light of love, the purity of grace;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">The mind, the music breathing from her face;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">The heart, whose softness harmonised the whole."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Mrs. Conyfer was waiting for Gratian at the gate of the schoolhouse when +he came out.</p> + +<p>"We must make haste," she said; "I think it's going to rain."</p> + +<p>Gratian looked up at the sky, and sniffed the cold evening air.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, "I think it is."</p> + +<p>"It's not so cold quite as it was when I came down," Mrs. Conyfer went +on—the dwellers at Four Winds often spoke of "coming down," when they +meant going to the village—"that's perhaps because the rain is coming. +I don't want to get my bonnet spoilt—I might have known it was going to +rain when father said the wind was in the west."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why does the west wind bring rain?" asked Gratian; "is it because it +comes from the sea?"</p> + +<p>"Nay," said his mother, "I don't know. You should know better about such +things than I—you that's always listening to the winds and hearing what +they've got to say."</p> + +<p>Gratian looked up, a little surprised.</p> + +<p>"What makes you say that, mother?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Conyfer laughed a little.</p> + +<p>"I scarcely know," she said. "We always said of you when you were a baby +that you seemed to hear words in the wind—you were always content to +lie still, no matter how long you were left, if only the wind were +blowing. And it seems to me even now that you're always happiest and +best when there's wind about, though it's maybe only a fancy of mine."</p> + +<p>But Gratian looked pleased.</p> + +<p>"No, mother," he said, "I don't think it's a fancy. I think myself it's +quite true."</p> + +<p>And he pulled off his cap as he spoke and let the wind blow his hair +about, and lifted up his face as if inviting its caresses.</p> + +<p>"It's getting up," he said. "But I think we'll get home before the rain +comes."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + +<p>His mother had not heard the whisper that had reached his ear through +the gust of wind.</p> + +<p>"I will help you home, Gratian, both you and your mother, though she +won't know it."</p> + +<p>He laughed to himself when he felt the gentle, steady way in which they +were blown along—never had the long walk to the Farm seemed so short to +Mrs. Conyfer.</p> + +<p>"Dear me," she said, when they were within a few yards of the gate, "I +couldn't have believed we were home! It makes a difference when the wind +is with us, I suppose."</p> + +<p>Gratian pulled her back a moment, as she was going in.</p> + +<p>"Mother," he said, "what was it the master wanted to say to you? Won't +you tell me?"</p> + +<p>"I must speak first to father," she replied; "it's something which we +must have his leave for first."</p> + +<p>Gratian could not ask any more, and nothing more was said to him till +the next morning when he was starting for school. Then his mother came +to the door with him.</p> + +<p>"I've a message for the master," she said. "Listen, Gratian. You must +tell him from me that father and I have no objection to his doing as he +likes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> about what he spoke to me of yesterday. He said he'd like to tell +you about it himself—so I won't tell you any more. Maybe you'll not +care about it when you hear it."</p> + +<p>"Ah—I don't think that," said the boy, as he ran off.</p> + +<p>He needed no blowing to school that morning. The way seemed short, even +though it was still drizzling—a cold, disagreeable, small rain, which +had succeeded the downpour of the night before. But Gratian cared little +for rain—what true child of the moors could?—he rather liked it than +otherwise, especially when it came drifting over in great sheets, almost +blinding for the moment, and then again dispersed as suddenly, so that +standing on the high ground one could see on the slopes beneath when it +was raining and when it stopped. It gave one a feeling of being "above +the clouds" that Gratian liked. But this morning there was nothing of a +weather panorama of that kind—just sheer, steady, sapping rain, with no +wind to interfere.</p> + +<p>"They are tired, I daresay," thought Gratian; "for they must have been +hard at work last night, getting the clouds together for all this rain. +I expect Golden-wings goes off altogether when it's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> so cold and dreary. +I wonder where she is. I would like to see her home—it must be full of +such beautiful colours and scents."</p> + +<p>"And mine—wouldn't you like to see mine?" whistled a sudden cold breath +in his ear. "Yes, I have made you jump. But I'm not going to bring the +snow just yet—I've just come down for a moment, to see how much rain +Green-wings has got together. She mustn't waste it, you see. I can't +have her interfering with my reservoirs for the winter. I hold with a +good old-fashioned winter—a snowy Christmas and plenty of picture +exhibitions for my pet artist, Jack Frost. A good winter's the +healthiest in the end for all concerned."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think so too," said Gratian. He wished to be civil to +White-wings. It was interesting to have some one to talk to as he went +along, and the North-wind in a mild mood seemed an agreeable companion, +less snappish and jerky than her sister of the east.</p> + +<p>"That's a sensible boy," said the snow-bringer condescendingly; "you've +something of the old northern spirit about you here on the moorlands +still, I fancy. Ah! if you could see the north—the real north—I don't +fancy you would care much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> about the sleepy golden lands you were +dreaming of just now."</p> + +<p>"I'd like to <i>see</i> them," replied the child; "I don't say I'd like to +live in them always. But the scents and the colours—they must be very +beautiful. I seem to know all about them when Golden-wings kisses me."</p> + +<p>"Humph," said the Spirit of the North. Both she and Gray-wings had a +peculiar way of saying "humph" when Gratian praised either of the +gentler sisters—"as for scents I don't say—scent is a stupid sort of +thing. I don't understand anything about it. But <i>colours</i>—you're +mistaken, I assure you, if you think the south can beat me in that. +You've got your head full of the idea of snow—interminable ice-fields +and all the rest of it. Why, my good boy, did you never hear of Arctic +sunsets—not to speak of the Northern Lights? I could show you sunsets +and sunrises such as you have never dreamt of—like rainbows painted on +gold. Ah, it is a pity you cannot come with me!"</p> + +<p>"And why can't I?" asked Gratian. "I'm not afraid of the cold."</p> + +<p>The North-wind gave a whistle of good-natured contempt.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My dear, you'd have no time to be afraid or not afraid—you'd be dead +before you'd even looked about you. Ah—it's a terrible inconvenience, +those bodies of yours—if you were like us, now! But I mustn't waste my +time talking, only as I was passing I thought I'd say a word or two. +When my sisters are all together there's never any getting in a syllable +edgeways. Good-bye, my child. We'll meet again oftener during the next +few months."</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, Godmother White-wings," said Gratian, and a gust of wind +rushing past him with a whistle seemed to answer, "Good-bye."</p> + +<p>"I'm very glad to have had a little talk with her," he said to himself; +"she's much nicer than I thought she was, and she makes one feel so +strong and brisk. Dear me—what wonderful places there must be up in the +north where she lives!"</p> + +<p>The master called him aside after morning lessons.</p> + +<p>"Did your mother send any message to me, Gratian?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," and he repeated what Mrs. Conyfer had said.</p> + +<p>The schoolmaster looked pleased.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad she and your father have no objection," he said. "I think it +may be a good thing for you in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> several ways. But I must explain it to +you. You know the Big House as they call it, here? A lady and her son +have come to stay there for a time—relations of the squire's——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, I know," interrupted Gratian; "she plays the organ on Sunday +afternoons, and her little boy is ill."</p> + +<p>"Not exactly ill, but he had a fall, and he mustn't walk about or stand +much. It's dull for him, as at home he was used to companions. His +mother asked me to send him one of my best boys—a boy who could read +well for one thing—as a playmate. At first I thought of Tony Ferris, +and I spoke of him. But Tony has begged me to choose you instead of +him."</p> + +<p>Gratian raised his brown eyes and fixed them on the master's face.</p> + +<p>"Does Tony not want to go?" he asked. "I shouldn't like to take it from +him if he wants to go."</p> + +<p>"I think he would be happier for you to go," said the master, "and +perhaps you may be more suitable. Besides Tony thinks that he owes you +something. He has told me of the trick he played you, as you know—and +certainly you deserve to be chosen more than he. I am not sure that he +would care much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> about it; but still it will give him pleasure to think +he has got it for you, and we may let him have this pleasure."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," said Gratian thoughtfully. And then he added, "it was good +of Tony to ask for it for me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, it was," agreed the master.</p> + +<p>"Then when am I to go?" asked Gratian.</p> + +<p>"This afternoon. I will let you off an hour or so earlier, and you can +stay at the Big House till it is dark. It is no farther home from there +than from here, if you go by the road at the back of it. We shall see +how you get on, and then the lady will tell you about going again."</p> + +<p>Gratian still lingered.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" said the master. "Do you not think you shall like it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no, sir, oh no," exclaimed the child. "I was only wondering. Are +there pictures at the Big House, do you think, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think there are some. Are you fond of pictures?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, sir. I've never seen any real ones. But I've often +thought about them, and fancied them in my mind. There are such lots of +things I'd like to see pictures of that I can't see any other way."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps you will see some at the Big House," said the master with +a smile.</p> + +<p>Out in the playground Gratian ran against Tony.</p> + +<p>"Has he told you?" he asked eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Gratian. "I'm to go this afternoon. It was very good of you, +Tony, to want me to go instead of you."</p> + +<p>Tony got rather red.</p> + +<p>"I don't know that I'd a-cared about it much, Gratian," he said. "It +wasn't that as cost me much. But to tell you the truth, I did want to +get out of telling the master about the trick I'd played you. And I +don't know as I'd have told it, but a mighty queer thing happened—it's +thanks to that I told."</p> + +<p>"What was it?" asked Gratian.</p> + +<p>"It was at night after I was in bed. I'd put off telling, and I thought +maybe it'd all be forgotten. And that night all of a sudden there came +such a storm of wind that it woke me up—the window had burst open, and +I swear to you, Gratian—I've not told any one else—I saw a figure all +in white, and with white wings, leaning over my bed, as if it had +brought the storm with it. I was so frightened I began to think of all +the bad things I had done, and I hollered out, 'I'll tell master first +thing to-morrow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> morning, I will.' And with that the wind seemed to go +down as sudden as it came, and I heard a sort of singing, something like +when the organ plays very low in church, and there was a beautiful sweet +scent of flowers through the room; and I suppose I fell asleep again, +for when I woke it was morning, and I could have fancied it was all a +dream, for nobody else had heard the wind in the night."</p> + +<p>"We hear it most nights up at our place," said Gratian, "but I'm never +frightened of it."</p> + +<p>"You would have been that night—leastways <i>I</i> was. I durstn't go back +from my word, dream or no dream—so now you know, Gratian, how I came to +tell. And I hope you'll enjoy yourself at the Big House."</p> + +<p>"I shall thank you for it if I do, all the same, Tony," Gratian replied.</p> + +<p>"It's more in your way than mine. I'd feel myself such a great silly +going among gentry folk like that," said Tony, as he scampered off to +his dinner.</p> + +<p>About three o'clock that afternoon Gratian found himself at the gates of +the Big House. He had often passed by that way and stood looking in, but +he had never been within the gates, for they were always kept<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> locked; +and there had been a strange, almost sad look of loneliness and +desertedness about the place, even though the gardens had not been +allowed to be untidy or overrun. Now it looked already different; the +padlock and chain were removed, and there were the marks of wheels upon +the gravel. It seemed to Gratian that even if he had not known there +were visitors in the old house he would have guessed it.</p> + +<p>He walked slowly up the avenue which led from the gates to the house. He +was not the least afraid or shy, but he was full of interest and +expectation. He wanted to see everything—to miss nothing, and even the +walk up the avenue seemed to him full of wonder and charm. It <i>had</i> a +charm of its own no doubt, for at each side stood pine-trees like rows +of sentinels keeping guard on all comers, tall, stately, and solemn, +only now and then moving their heads with silent dignity, as if in reply +to observations passing among them up there, too high to be heard. The +pines round Gratian's home were not so tall or straight—naturally, for +they had a great deal of buffeting to do in order to live at all, and +this of course did not help them to grow tall or erect. Gratian looked +up in wonder at the great height.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How I wish I knew what they say to each other up there," he said.</p> + +<p>But just then a drop of something cold falling on his face made him +start. It was beginning to rain.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't like to be wet when I first see the lady and the young +gentleman," he thought. "I must be quick."</p> + +<p>So off he set at a run, which perhaps did not much hasten matters, for +when he got to the hall door he was so out of breath that he had to +stand still for several minutes before venturing to ring.</p> + +<p>The bell, when he did ring it, sounded sharp and hollow, almost like a +bell ringing in an empty house. And when the door was opened, he saw +that the large hall did look bare and empty, and he felt a little +disappointed. But this feeling did not last long. Before he had time to +say anything to the servant, a sweet, bright voice came sounding +clearly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, here he is, Fergus," were the words she said, and in another +instant the owner of the voice appeared. It was the lady of the organ. +She came forward smiling, and holding out her hand, but Gratian gazed at +her for a moment without speaking, nor seeming to understand that she +was speaking to him. He had never seen any one like her before.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> She was +tall and fair, and her face was truly lovely. But what made it so, more +than the delicate features or the pretty soft colours, was its sunny +brightness, which yet from time to time was veiled by a look of pitying +sadness, almost sweeter. And at these times the intense blueness of her +eyes grew paler and fainter, so that they looked almost gray, like the +sea when a cloud comes over the sunny sky above; only as Gratian had +never seen the sea, he could not think this to himself.</p> + +<p>What he did say to himself told it quite as well.</p> + +<p>"She is like Golden-wings and Green-wings mixed together," was his +thought.</p> + +<p>And then having decided this, his mind seemed to grow clearer, the sort +of confused bewilderment he had felt for a moment wafted itself away, +and he distinguished the words she had repeated to him more than once.</p> + +<p>"You are the little boy Mr. Cornelius has kindly sent to see my poor +little boy. It is kind too of you to come. I hope you and Fergus will be +great friends."</p> + +<p>She thought he was shy when at first he did not answer. But looking at +him again she saw that it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> was not shyness which was speaking out of his +big brown eyes.</p> + +<p>"You are not afraid of me, are you?" she said smiling again.</p> + +<p>"Oh no," he replied. "I didn't mean to be rude. I couldn't be frightened +of you. I was only thinking—I never saw anybody so beautiful as you +before," he went on simply, "and it made me think."</p> + +<p>The lady flushed a little—a very little.</p> + +<p>"I am pleased that you like my face," she said. "I like yours too, and I +am sure Fergus will. Will you come and see him now? He is waiting +eagerly for you."</p> + +<p>She held out her hand again, and Gratian this time put his little brown +one into it confidingly. And thus she led him out of the large, cold +hall, down a short passage, rendered light and cheerful by a large +window—here a door stood open, and a glow of warmth seemed to meet them +as they drew near it.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h2> + +<h3>LITTLE FERGUS</h3> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 25em;">"Old portraits round in order set,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 25em;">Carved heavy tables, chairs, buffet</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 29em;">Of dark mahogany."</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Southey</span></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>For there was a bright fire burning in the room, which sent red rays +flickering and dancing in all directions, lighting up the faded tints of +the ancient curtains and covers, and bringing rich crimson shades out of +the shining, old dark mahogany furniture. There were flowers too; a +bouquet of autumn leaves—bronze and copper and olive—with two or three +fragile "last roses" in the middle, on which Gratian's eyes rested with +pleasure for a moment, on their way to the small figure—the most +interesting object of all.</p> + +<p>He was lying on a little sofa, placed so as to be within reach of the +fire's warmth, and yet near<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> enough to the window for him to see out +into the garden, to watch the life of the birds and the plants, the +clouds and the breezes. The autumn afternoon looked later and darker now +to Gratian as he glanced at it from within than when he was himself a +part of it out-of-doors, and his eyes returned with pleasure to the +nearer warmth and colour, though after the first momentary glimpse of +the boy on the sofa a sort of shyness had made him look away.</p> + +<p>For the child was extremely pale and thin—he looked much more ill than +Gratian had been prepared for, and this gave him a feeling of timidity +that nothing else could have caused. But the lady soon put him at his +ease.</p> + +<p>"Fergus, dear," she said, "here is the little friend you have been +hoping for. Come over here near us, my dear boy"—for she had sat down +on a low chair beside the couch, evidently her usual place—"and I will +help you to get over the first few steps of making friends. To begin +with," she said smiling, "do you know we don't know your name? That +seems absurd, doesn't it? And you don't know ours."</p> + +<p>"Yes—I know <i>his</i>," said Gratian, smiling too, and with a little +gesture towards the invalid, so gentle and half-timid that no one could +have called it rude;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> "you have just said it—Fergus. I never heard that +name before."</p> + +<p>"It is a Scotch name," said the lady. "One can almost fancy oneself in +Scotland here. And tell us your name."</p> + +<p>"Gratian," he replied, "Gratian Conyfer."</p> + +<p>"What a nice name," said Fergus, speaking for the first time, "and what +a queer one! I can say the same to you as you said to me, Gratian—I +never heard that name before."</p> + +<p>"How did you come by it?" asked Fergus's mother.</p> + +<p>"I think it was because mother is called Grace, and there were several +baby brothers that died, that were called for father," he replied.</p> + +<p>"And how old are you?" asked Fergus, raising himself a little on his +elbow. "I'm eight and a half. I'm not so very small for my age when I +stand up—am I, mother?"</p> + +<p>"No, dear," she answered with a little shadow over her bright face. "And +you, Gratian?"</p> + +<p>"I am nine," he said; "but they say at school I don't look so much. Tony +is twelve, but he is much, much bigger."</p> + +<p>"Tony—who is Tony?" asked Fergus; "is he your brother?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh no, I have no brothers. He's the head boy at the school."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Fergus's mother, "I remember about him. He was the boy Mr. +Cornelius first thought of sending."</p> + +<p>"And why didn't he come?" asked Fergus.</p> + +<p>Gratian looked up at the lady.</p> + +<p>"Did the master tell you?" he asked. The lady smiled, and nodded her +head.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "I know the story. You may tell it to Fergus, Gratian; +he would like to hear it. Now I am going away, for I have letters to +write. In half an hour or so you shall have your tea. Would you like it +here or in the library, Fergus?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, in the library," he said eagerly. "I haven't been there for two +days, mother. And then Gratian can see the pictures—you told me he +liked pictures?—and best of all, you can play the organ to us, little +mother."</p> + +<p>"Then you feel better to-day, my boy?" she said, stooping to kiss the +white forehead as she was leaving the room. "Some days I can't get him +to like to move about at all," she added to Gratian.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do feel better," he said. "I don't mind it hurting me when I +don't feel that horrible way as if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> I didn't care for <i>anything</i>. Have +you ever been ill, Gratian? Do you know how it feels?"</p> + +<p>Gratian considered.</p> + +<p>"I once had a sore throat," he said, "but I didn't mind very much. It +was winter, and I had a fire in my room, and I liked to see the flames +going dancing up the chimney."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Fergus, "I know how you mean. I'm sure we must have the same +thinkings about things, Gratian. Do you like music too, as much as +pictures? Mother says people who like pictures very much, often like +music too, and—and—there's something else that those kind of people +like too, but I forget what."</p> + +<p>"Flowers," suggested Gratian; "flowers and trees, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"No," said Fergus, looking a little puzzled, "these would count in with +pictures, don't you think? I'll ask mother—she said it so nicely. Don't +you like when anybody says a thing so that it seems to fit in with other +things?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Gratian, "I think I do. But I think things to myself, +mostly—I've not got anybody much to talk to, except sometimes Jonas. +He's got very nice thoughts, only he'd never say them except to Watch +and me."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Who's Watch?" asked Fergus eagerly. "Is he a dog?"</p> + +<p>"He's our sheep-dog, and Jonas is the shepherd," replied Gratian. +"They're sometimes alone with the sheep for days and days—out on the +moors. It's so strange—I've been with them sometimes—it's like another +world—to see the moors all round, ever so far, like the sea, I +suppose—only I've never seen the sea—and not a creature anywhere, +except some wild birds sometimes."</p> + +<p>"Stop," said Fergus, closing his eyes; "yes, I can see it now. Go on, +Gratian—is the sky gray, or blue with little white clouds?"</p> + +<p>"Gray just now," said the boy, "and there's no wind that you can feel +blowing. But it's coming—you know it's coming—now and then Watch +pricks up his ears, for he can tell it much farther off than we can, and +old Jonas pats him a little. Jonas has an old blue round cap—a +shepherd's cap—and his face is browny-red, but his hair is nearly +white, and his eyes are very blue. Can you see him, Fergus? And the +sheep keep on browsing—they make a little scrumping noise when you are +quite, quite close to them. And just before the wind really comes a +great bird gives a cry—up, very high up—and it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> swoops down for a +moment and then goes up again, till it looks just a little black speck +against the sky. And all the time you know the wind is coming. Can you +see it all, Fergus?"</p> + +<p>"All," said the boy; "it's beautiful. You must tell me pictures often, +Gratian, till I can go out again. I never had any one who could make +them come so, except mother's music—they come with that. Haven't you +noticed that they come with music?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," said Gratian. "I've never seen any real +pictures—painted ones in big gold frames."</p> + +<p>"There are some here," said Fergus; "not very many, but some. I like a +few of them—perhaps you will too. But I like the pictures that come and +go in one's fancy best. That's the kind that mother's music brings me."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Gratian, his eyes sparkling, "I understand."</p> + +<p>"I was sure you would," said Fergus, with a tiny touch of patronising in +his tone, which Gratian was too entirely single-minded to see, or rather +perhaps to object to if he did see it. "I knew the minute I saw you, +you'd suit me. I'm very glad that other fellow didn't come instead of +you. But, by the bye, you haven't told me about that—mother said you'd +tell me."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gratian related the story of his satchel of stones. Fergus was boy +enough to laugh a little, though he called it a mean trick; but when +Gratian told of having found his books again, he looked puzzled.</p> + +<p>"How could you find them?" he asked. "It was nearly dark, didn't you +say?"</p> + +<p>"I don't quite know," replied Gratian, and he spoke the truth. It was +always difficult for him to distinguish between real and fancy, dreaming +and waking, in all concerning his four friends, and in some curious way +this difficulty increased so much if he ever thought of talking about +them, that he felt he was not meant to do so. "I have fancies +sometimes—like dreams, perhaps—that I can't explain. And they help me +often—when I am in any trouble they help me."</p> + +<p>"I don't see how fancies can help you to find things that are lost," +said Fergus, who, except in his own particular way, was more practical +than Gratian, "unless you mean that you dream things, and your dreams +come true."</p> + +<p>"It's a little like that," Gratian replied. "I think I had a sort of +dream about coming here. I did so want to come—most of all since I +heard the lady play in church."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," said Fergus, "isn't mother's playing beautiful? I've not heard +her play in church for ever so long, but I'm so glad there's an organ +here. She plays to me every day. I like music best of everything in the +world—don't you?"</p> + +<p>To which Gratian gave his old answer—"I don't know yet."</p> + +<p>Then they began talking of more commonplace things. Each told the other +of his daily life and all his childish interests. Fergus was greatly +struck by the account of Gratian's home—the old house with the queer +name.</p> + +<p>"How I should like to see it," he said, "and to feel the wind blow."</p> + +<p>"The winds," corrected Gratian, "the four winds."</p> + +<p>"The <i>four</i> winds," repeated Fergus. "North, south, east, and west. They +don't blow all together, do they?"</p> + +<p>"I think they do sometimes. Yes, I know they do—at night I'm sure I've +heard them all four together, like tones in music."</p> + +<p>Fergus looked delighted.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you have to come back to music, you see," he said. "There's nothing +tells everything and explains everything as well as music."</p> + +<p>"You must have thought about it a great deal,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> said Gratian admiringly. +"I've only just begun to think about things, and I think it's very +puzzling, though I'm older than you. I don't know if music would explain +things to me."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not as much as to me," said Fergus. "You see it's been my best +thing—ever since I was five years old I've been lying like this. At +home the others are very kind, but they can't quite understand," he +added, shaking his head a little sadly; "they can all run about and jump +and play. And when children can do all that, they don't need to think +much. Still it is very dull without them—that is why I begged mother to +try to get me somebody to play with. But I think you're better than +that, Gratian. I think you understand more—how is it? You've never been +ill or had to lie still."</p> + +<p>"No," said the boy, "but I've had no brothers and sisters to play with +me. And perhaps it's with being born at Four Winds—mother says so +herself."</p> + +<p>"I daresay it is," said Fergus gravely.</p> + +<p>"Won't you get better soon?" asked Gratian, looking at Fergus with +profound sympathy. For, gentle as he was, the idea of having to lie +still, not being able to run about on the moors and feel his dear winds +on his face, having even to call to others<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> to help him before he could +get to the window and look out on the sunshine—it seemed perhaps more +dreadful to Gratian than it would have done to an ordinary, healthy +child like Tony Ferris. "Won't you too be able to walk and run +about—even if it's only a little?"</p> + +<p>"I hope so," Fergus replied. "Mother says I mustn't expect ever to be +quite strong. But they say I'm getting better. That's why mother brought +me here. Do you know I can eat ever so much more than when I came? If I +can get well enough to play—even on a piano—I wouldn't mind so much. I +could make up all sorts of things for myself then—I could make pictures +even of the moorland and Four Winds Farm, I think, Gratian."</p> + +<p>"I'll try to tell you them—I'll try to make some of my fancies into +stories and pictures," said Gratian; "then afterwards, when you get well +and can play, you can make them into music."</p> + +<p>Just then the door opened, and Fergus's mother came in.</p> + +<p>"Tea is ready," she said, "and Andrew is going to carry you into the +library, Fergus."</p> + +<p>She looked at the boy a little anxiously as she spoke, and Gratian saw +that a slight shadow of pain or fear crept over Fergus's face.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Mother," he said, "would it perhaps be better to stay here after all? +You could show Gratian the pictures."</p> + +<p>The lady looked very disappointed.</p> + +<p>"The tea is so nicely set out," she said, "and you know you can't hear +the organ well from here. And Andrew doesn't hurt you—he is very +careful."</p> + +<p>Gratian looked on, anxious too. He understood that it must be good for +Fergus to go into another room, otherwise his mother would not wish it. +Fergus caught sight of the eagerness on Gratian's face, and it carried +the day.</p> + +<p>"I will go," he said; "here, Andrew."</p> + +<p>A man-servant, with a good-humoured face and a strong pair of arms, came +forward and lifted the child carefully.</p> + +<p>"You walk beside me, Gratian, and hold my hand. If it hurts much I will +pinch you a little, but don't let mother know," he said in a whisper; +and thus the little procession moved out of the room right across the +hall and down another corridor.</p> + +<p>"There must be a window open," said Fergus; "don't you feel the air +blowing in? Oh don't shut it, mother," as the lady started forward, +"it's such nice soft air—scented as if they were making hay. Oh, it's +delicious."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> + +<p>His mother seemed a little surprised.</p> + +<p>"There is no window open, dear," she said. "It must be that you feel the +change from the warm room to the hall. Perhaps I should have covered you +up."</p> + +<p>"Oh no, no," repeated Fergus. "I'm not the least cold. It's not a cold +wind at all. Gratian, don't <i>you</i> feel it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Gratian, holding Fergus's hand firmly. But his eyes had a +curious look in them, as if he were smiling inwardly to himself.</p> + +<p>"Golden-wings, you darling," he murmured, "I know you're there—thank +you so much for blowing away his pain."</p> + +<p>In another moment Fergus was settled on a couch in the library—a lofty +room with rows and rows of books on every side, nearly up to the +ceiling. It would have looked gloomy and dull but for the cheerful fire +in one corner and the neat tea-table drawn up before it; as it was, the +sort of solemn mystery about it was very pleasing to Gratian.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it nice here?" said Fergus. "I'm so glad I came. And do you know +it didn't hurt me a bit. The fresh air that came in seemed to blow the +pain away."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I think you really must be getting stronger," said his mother, with a +smile of hopefulness on her face, as she busied herself with the +tea-table; "you have brought us good luck, Gratian."</p> + +<p>"I believe he has," said Fergus. "Mother, do you know what he has been +telling me? He was born where the four winds meet—he <i>must</i> be a lucky +child, mustn't he, mother?"</p> + +<p>"I should say so, certainly," said the lady with a smile. "I wonder if +it is as good as being born on a Sunday."</p> + +<p>"Oh far better, mother," said Fergus; "there are lots of children born +on Sundays, but I never heard of one before that was born at the winds' +meeting-place."</p> + +<p>"Gratian will be able to tell you stories, I daresay," said his +mother—"stories which the winds tell him, perhaps—eh, Gratian?"</p> + +<p>Gratian smiled.</p> + +<p>"He has been telling me some pictures already," said Fergus; "oh, mother +I'm so happy."</p> + +<p>"My darling," said his mother. "Now let me see what a good appetite you +have. You must be hungry too, Gratian, my boy. You have a long walk home +before you."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gratian was hungry, but he hardly felt as if he could eat—there was so +much to look at and to think about. Everything was so dainty and pretty; +though he was well accustomed at the Farm to the most perfect +cleanliness and neatness, it was new to him to see the sparkling silver, +the tea-kettle boiling on the spirit-lamp with a cheerful sound, the +pretty china and glass, and the variety of bread and cakes to tempt poor +Fergus's appetite. And the lady herself—with her forget-me-not eyes and +sweet voice. Gratian felt as if he were in fairyland.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></h2> + +<h3>MUSIC AND COUNSEL</h3> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;">"What is this strange new life, this finer sense,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;">Which lifts me out of self, and bids me</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 33em;">... rise to glorious thought</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;">High hopes, and inarticulate fantasies?"</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;">"Voices."—<i>Songs of Two Worlds</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>After tea Fergus's mother turned to the two boys.</p> + +<p>"Shall I play to you now?" she said, "or shall we first show Gratian the +pictures?"</p> + +<p>"Play the last thing, please," said Fergus. "I like to keep it in my +mind when I go to bed—it makes me sleep better. We can go into the +gallery now and show Gratian the pictures; it would be too dark if we +waited."</p> + +<p>"It is rather dark already," said the lady, "still Gratian can see some, +and the next time he comes he can look at them again."</p> + +<p>She rang the bell, and when Andrew came, she told<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> him to wheel Fergus's +couch into the picture-gallery, which opened into the library where they +were.</p> + +<p>Andrew opened a double door at the other end of the room from that by +which they had come in, and then he gently wheeled forward the couch on +which Fergus was lying, and pushed it through the doorway. The gallery +was scarcely large enough to deserve the name, but to Gratian's eyes it +looked a very wonderful place. It was long and rather narrow, and the +light came from the top, and along the sides and ends were hung a good +many pictures. All down one side were portraits—gentlemen with wigs, +and ladies with powder, and some in queer, fancy dresses, mostly looking +stiff and unnatural, though among them were some beautiful faces, and +two or three portraits of children, which caught Gratian's eye.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of them?" asked Fergus.</p> + +<p>Gratian hesitated.</p> + +<p>"I don't think people long ago could have been as pretty as they are +now," he said at last, "except that lady in the long black dress—oh, +she is very pretty, and so is the red little boy with the dog, and the +two girls blowing soap-bubbles. The big one has got eyes like—like the +lady's," he added half-timidly.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> + +<p>The lady looked pleased.</p> + +<p>"You have a quick eye, Gratian," she said. "The pictures you admire are +the best here, and that little girl is my great-grandmother. Now, look +at the other side. These are pictures of all kinds—not family ones."</p> + +<p>Gratian followed her in silence. The pictures were mostly +landscapes—some so very old and dark that one could scarcely +distinguish what they were. And some of which the colours were brighter, +the boy did not care for any better—they were not like any skies or +trees he had ever seen or even imagined, and he felt disappointed.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he gave a little cry.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I like that—I do like that," he said, and he glanced up at the +lady for approval.</p> + +<p>She smiled again.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "it is a wonderful picture. Quite as much a picture of +the wind as of the sea."</p> + +<p>Gratian gazed at it with delight. The scene was on the coast, on what +one might call a playfully stormy day. The waves came dancing in, their +crests flashing in the sunshine, pursued and tossed by the wind; and up +above, the little clouds were scudding along quite as busy and eager +about <i>their</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> business, whatever it was, as the white-sailed +fishing-boats below.</p> + +<p>"Do you like it so very much?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," the boy replied, "that's like what I fancied pictures were. I've +never seen the sea, but I can feel it must be like that."</p> + +<p>And after this he did not seem to care to see any others.</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 255px;"><a name="ILL_007" id="ILL_007"></a> +<img src="images/ill_007.jpg" width="255" height="400" alt="" /> +<span class="caption">And when she sat down to play the light sparkled and glowed on her fair hair, making it look like gold.</span> +</div> + +<p>Fergus too was getting a little tired of lying alone while his mother +and Gratian made the tour of the gallery. So Andrew was called to wheel +him back again to the other door of the library, from whence he could +best hear the organ. It stood at one side of the large hall, in a recess +which had probably been made on purpose. It was dark in the recess even +at mid-day, and now the dusk was fast increasing, so the lady lit the +candles fixed at each side of the music-desk, and when she sat down to +play the light sparkled and glowed on her fair hair, making it look like +gold.</p> + +<p>Gratian touched Fergus.</p> + +<p>"Doesn't it look pretty?" he said, pointing to the little island of +light in the gloomy hall.</p> + +<p>Fergus nodded.</p> + +<p>"I always think mother turns into an angel when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> she plays," he said. +"Now, let's listen, Gratian, and afterwards you can tell me what +pictures the music makes to you, and I'll tell you what it makes to me."</p> + +<p>The organ was old and rather out of repair, and Andrew was not very well +used to blowing. That made it, I think, all the more wonderful that the +lady could bring such music out of it. It was not so fine and perfect, +doubtless, as what Gratian had heard from her in church on the Sunday +afternoon, but still it was beautiful enough for him to think of nothing +but his delight in listening. She played several pieces—some sad and +plaintive, some joyful and triumphant, and then Gratian begged her to +play the last he had heard at church.</p> + +<p>"That is a good choice for our good-night one," she said. "It is a +favourite of Fergus's too. He calls it his good-night hymn."</p> + +<p>Fergus did not speak—he was lying with his eyes shut, in quiet +happiness, and as the last notes died away, "Don't speak yet, Gratian," +he said, "you don't know what I am seeing—flocks of birds are slowly +flying out of sight, the sun has set, and one hears a bell in the +distance ringing very faintly; one by one the lights are going out in +the cottages that I see at the foot of the hill, and the night is +creeping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> up. That is what <i>I</i> see when mother plays the good-night. +What do you see, Gratian?"</p> + +<p>"The moor, I think," said the boy, "our own moor, up, far up, behind our +house. It must be looking just as I see it now, at this very minute; +only the music is coming from some place—a church, I think, <i>very</i> far +away. The wind is bringing it—the south wind, not the one from the sea. +And you know that when the music is being played in the church there are +lots of people all kneeling so that you can't see their faces, and I +think some are crying softly."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Fergus, "that isn't so bad. I can see it too. You'll soon +get into the way, Gratian," he went on, with his funny little +patronising tone, "of making music-pictures if we practice it together. +That's the best of music, you see. It makes itself and pictures too. Now +pictures never make you music."</p> + +<p>"But they give you feelings—like telling you stories—at least that one +I like so much does. And I suppose there are many pictures like that—as +beautiful as that?" he went on, as if asking the question from the lady, +who had left the organ now and was standing by Fergus, listening to what +they were saying.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "there are many pictures I should like you to see, and +many places too. Places which make one wish one could paint them the +moment one sees them. Perhaps it is pictures you are going to care most +for, little Gratian? If so, they will be music and poetry and everything +to you—they will be your voice."</p> + +<p>"<i>Poetry</i>," repeated Fergus, "that's the other thing—the thing I +couldn't remember the name of, Gratian."</p> + +<p>Gratian looked rather puzzled.</p> + +<p>"I don't know much about poetry," he said. "But I don't know about +anything. I never saw pictures before. There are so many things to know +about," he added with a little sigh.</p> + +<p>"Don't be discouraged," said the lady smiling. "Everybody has to find +out and to learn and to work hard."</p> + +<p>"Has everybody a voice?" asked Gratian.</p> + +<p>"No, a great many haven't, and some who have don't use it well, which is +worse than having none. But don't look so grave; we shall have plenty of +time for talking about all these things. I think you must be going home +now, otherwise your mother will be wondering what has become of you. And +thank her for letting us have you, and say I hope you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> may come again on +Saturday. You don't mind the long walk home—for it is almost dark, you +see?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no, I don't mind the dark or anything like that," said Gratian with +a little smile, which the lady, even though her forget-me-not eyes were +so very clear, could not quite understand.</p> + +<p>For he was thinking to himself, "How could I be afraid, with my four +godmothers to take care of me, wherever I were?"</p> + +<p>Then he turned to say good-bye to Fergus, and the little fellow +stretched up his two thin arms and clasped them round the moorland +child's neck.</p> + +<p>"I love you," he said; "kiss me and come again soon, and let us make +stories to tell each other."</p> + +<p>The lady kissed him too.</p> + +<p>"Thank you for being so good to Fergus," she said.</p> + +<p>And Gratian, looking up in her face, wished he could tell her how much +he had liked all he had seen and heard, but somehow the words would not +come. All he could say was, "Thank you, and good-night."</p> + +<p>Out-of-doors again, especially when he got as far as the well-known road +he passed along every day, it seemed all like a dream. All the way down +the avenue of pines he kept glancing back to see the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> lights in the +windows of the Big House—he liked to think of Fergus and his mother in +there by the fire, talking of the afternoon and making, perhaps, plans +for another.</p> + +<p>"I hope his back won't hurt him to-night when they carry him up to bed," +he said to himself. "It was very good of Golden-wings to come. But I'm +afraid she can't be here much more, now that the winter is so near. +Green-wings might perhaps come sometimes, but——"</p> + +<p>A sudden puff of wind in his face, and a voice in his ear, interrupted +him. The wind felt sharp and cold, and he did not need the tingling of +his cheeks to tell him who was at hand.</p> + +<p>"But what?" said the cutting tones of Gray-wings. "Ah, I know what you +were going to say, Master Gratian. White-wings and I are too sharp and +outspoken for your new friends! Much you know about it. On the contrary, +nothing would do the lame boy more good than a nice blast from the +north, once he is able to be up and about again. It was for the moorland +air the doctors, with some sense for once, sent him up here. And I am +sure you must know it isn't Golden-wings and Green-wings only who are to +be met with on the moors."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'm very sorry if I've offended you," said Gratian, "but you needn't be +quite so cross about it. I don't mind you being sharp when I deserve it, +but I've been quite good to-day, <i>quite</i> good. I'm sure the lady +wouldn't like me if I wasn't good."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" said Gray-wings. At least she meant it to be "humph," and +Gratian understood it so, but to any one else it would have sounded more +like "whri—i—zz," and you would have put up your hand to your head at +once to be sure that your cap or hat wasn't going to fly off. "Humph! +<i>I</i> don't set up to be perfect, though I might boast a little more +experience, a few billions of years more, of this queer world of yours +than you. And I've been pretty well snubbed in my time and kept in my +proper place—to such an extent, indeed, that I don't now even quarrel +with having a <i>very</i> much worse name than I deserve. It's good for one's +pride, so I make a wry face and swallow it, though of course, all the +same, it must be a very pleasant feeling to know that one has been +quite, <i>quite</i> good. I wish you'd tell me what it's like."</p> + +<p>"You're very horrid and unkind, Gray-wings," said Gratian, feeling +almost ready to cry. "Just when I was so happy, to try and spoil it all. +Tell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> me what you think I've not been good about and I'll listen, but +you needn't go mocking at me for nothing."</p> + +<p>There was no answer, and Gratian thought perhaps Gray-wings was feeling +ashamed of herself. But he was much mistaken. She was only reserving her +breath for a burst of laughter. Gratian of course knew it was laughter, +though I don't suppose either you or I would have known it for that.</p> + +<p>"What is it that amuses you so?" asked the boy.</p> + +<p>"It's Green-wings—you can't see her unfortunately—she's posting down +in such a hurry. She thinks I tease you, and she knows I'm in rather a +mischievous mood to-night. But they've caught her—she can't get past +the corner over there, where the Wildridge hills are—and she is in such +a fuss. The hills never like her to run past without paying them a visit +if they can help it, and she's too soft-hearted to go on her way +will-ye, nill-ye, as I do. So you'll have to trust to me to take you +home after all, my dear godchild."</p> + +<p>"Dear Green-wings," said Gratian, "I don't like her to be anxious about +me."</p> + +<p>"Bless you, she's always in a pathetic humour about some one or +something," said Gray-wings.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I don't mind you taking me home if you won't mock at me," said Gratian. +"Are you really displeased with me? Have I done anything naughty without +knowing it?"</p> + +<p>Gray-wings's tone suddenly changed. Never had her voice sounded so +gentle and yet earnest.</p> + +<p>"No, my child. I only meant to warn you. It is my part both to correct +and to warn—of the two I would rather, by far, warn. Don't get your +little head turned—don't think there is nothing worth, nothing +beautiful, except in the new things you may see and hear and learn. And +never think yourself <i>quite</i> anything. That is always a mistake. What +will seem new to you is only another way of putting the old—and the +path to any real good is always the same—never think to get on faster +from leaving it. You can't understand all this yet, but you will in +time. Now put your arms out, darling—I am here beside you. Clasp them +round my neck; never mind if it feels cold—there. I have you safe, and +here goes——"</p> + +<p>A whirl, a rapid upbearing, a rush of cold, fresh air, and a pleasant, +dreamy feeling, as when one is rocked in a little boat at sea. Gratian +closed his eyes—he <i>was</i> tired, poor little chap, for nothing is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> more +tiring than new sights and feelings—and knew no more till he found +himself lying on the heather, a few yards from the Farm gates.</p> + +<p>He looked about him—it was quite night by now—he felt drowsy still, +but no longer tired, and not cold—just pleasantly warm and comfortable.</p> + +<p>"Gray-wings must have wrapped me up somehow," he said to himself. "She's +very kind, really. But I must run in—what would mother think if she saw +me lying here?"</p> + +<p>And he jumped up and ran home.</p> + +<p>The gate was open, the door of the house was open too, and just within +the porch stood his mother.</p> + +<p>"Is that you, Gratian?" she said, as she heard his step.</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother," he replied; and as he came into the light he looked up at +her. She was much, much older-looking than Fergus's mother, for she had +not married young, and Gratian was the youngest of several, the others +of whom had died. But as he glanced at her sunburnt face, and saw the +love shining out of her eyes, tired and rather worn by daily work as she +was, she somehow reminded him of the graceful lady with the sweet blue +eyes.</p> + +<p>"I understand some of what Gray-wings said," he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> thought. "It's the same +in mother's face and in hers when she looks at Fergus."</p> + +<p>And he held up his mouth for a kiss.</p> + +<p>"Have you been happy at the Big House?" Mrs. Conyfer asked. "Were they +kind to you? She seems a kind lady, if one can trust to pretty looks."</p> + +<p>"Oh! she's very kind," answered Gratian eagerly; "and so's Fergus. He's +her boy, mother—he can't walk, nor scarcely stand. But he's getting +better—the air here will make him better."</p> + +<p>"It's to be hoped so, I'm sure," said the farmer's wife, with great +sympathy in her tone. "It must be a terrible grief—the poor child—I +couldn't find it in my heart to refuse to let you go when Mr. Cornelius +told me of his affliction. But you were happy, and they were good to +you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother! yes—happier than ever I was in my life."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Conyfer smiled and yet sighed a little. She knew her child was not +altogether like his compeers of the moor country—she was proud of it, +and yet sometimes afraid with a vague misgiving.</p> + +<p>"Come in and warm yourself—it's a cold evening. There's some hot girdle +cakes and a cup of Fernflower's milk for your supper—though maybe you +had so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> many fine things to eat at the Big House that you won't be +hungry."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but I am, though," he said brightly; and the big kitchen looked so +cheery, and the little supper so tempting, that Gratian smiled with +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"How good of you to make it so nice for me, mother!" he said. "I could +never like <i>anywhere</i> better than my own home, however beautiful it +was."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a></h2> + +<h3>THE STORY OF THE SEA-GULL</h3> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;">"Now my brothers call from the bay,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;">Now the great winds shoreward blow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;">Now the salt tides seaward flow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;">Now the wild white horses play,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;">Champ and chafe and toss in the spray,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;">Children dear, let us away!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;">This way, this way!"</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;"><i>The Forsaken Merman</i></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>The winter—the real winter, such as it is known up in that +country—came on slowly that year. There was no snow and but little +frost before Christmas. Fergus gained ground steadily, and his mother, +who at first had dreaded the experiment of the bleak but bracing air, +was so encouraged that she stayed on from week to week. And through +these weeks there was never a half-holiday which the two boys did not +spend together.</p> + +<p>Gratian was learning much—more than even those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> who knew him best had +full understanding of; much, much more than he himself knew.</p> + +<p>"He is like a different child," said the schoolmaster one day to the +lady, when she had looked in as she was passing through the village; "if +you had seen him a year ago; he seemed always dreaming or in the clouds. +I really thought I should never succeed in teaching him anything. You +have opened his mind."</p> + +<p>"His mind had begun to open before he ever saw me, Mr. Cornelius," said +Fergus's mother with a smile. "It is like a flower—it asks nothing but +to be allowed to grow. He is a very uncommon child—one could imagine +that some specially happy influences surrounded him. He seems to take in +and to feel interest in so many different things. I wonder what he will +grow up."</p> + +<p>"Ah yes, ma'am," said the schoolmaster with a sigh. "It is a pity to +think of his being no more than his father before him. But yet, what can +one do?"</p> + +<p>"One would like at least to find out what he <i>might</i> be," she said +thoughtfully. "He will be a <i>good</i> man, whether he ever leaves the moors +or not—of that I feel sure. And if it is his duty to stay in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> this +quiet corner of the world, I suppose we must not regret it."</p> + +<p>"I suppose not. I <i>try</i> to think so," said the schoolmaster. But from +something in his tone the lady suspected that he was looking back rather +sadly on dreams, long ago past, of his own future—dreams which had +never come to pass, and left him but the village schoolmaster.</p> + +<p>And her sympathy with this half-understood disappointment made her think +still more of Gratian.</p> + +<p>"Cornelius would live again in this child if he should turn out one of +the great few," she thought to herself.</p> + +<p>It was one of the afternoons Gratian now always spent with Fergus. She +could leave her lame boy with perfect comfort in his friend's care, sure +that he would be both safe and happy. As she made her way up the pine +avenue and drew near to the house, she heard bright voices welcoming +her.</p> + +<p>"Mother dear," Fergus called out, "I have walked twelve times along the +south terrace—six times up and six times down—with Gratian's arm. It +is so sheltered there—just a nice little soft breeze. Do you know, +Gratian, I so often notice that breeze when you are here? It is as if it +came with you."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> + +<p>"But it is getting colder now, my boy," she answered. "You must come in. +I have been to see Mr. Cornelius, Gratian. I am so glad to hear that he +is pleased with your lessons. I would not like him to think that being +with us distracted your attention."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure it doesn't, ma'am," said Gratian simply. "So often the things +you tell me about or read to us, or that I hear about somehow when I am +here, seem to come in just at the right minute, and to make my lessons +easier. I have never found lessons so nice as this winter."</p> + +<p>"I don't like lessons," said Fergus. "I never shall like them."</p> + +<p>"You will have to look upon them as necessary evils then," said his +mother.</p> + +<p>"I usedn't to like them," said Gratian. "<i>Now</i> I often think I'd like to +go on till I'm quite big."</p> + +<p>"Well, so you can, can't you?" said Fergus.</p> + +<p>"No," Gratian replied; "boys like me have to stop when they're big +enough to help their fathers at home, and I've no big brother like Tony. +I'll have to stop going to school before very long. I used to think I'd +be very glad. Now I'd be sorry even if I was to be a shepherd."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> + +<p>"How do you mean?" asked the lady.</p> + +<p>Gratian looked up at her with his soft brown eyes.</p> + +<p>"I used to think being a shepherd and lying out on the heather all +day—alone with the sheep and Watch, like old Jonas—would be the best +life of any. But now I want to know things. I think one can fancy better +when one knows more. And I'd like to do more than fancy."</p> + +<p>"What would you like to do?" asked Fergus's mother. "Would you like to +learn to <i>make</i> music as well as to play it? That is what Fergus wants +to do."</p> + +<p>Gratian shook his head.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," he replied. "I don't know <i>yet</i>. And isn't it best not +to plan about it, because I know father will need me on the farm?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it is best," she said. But she answered as if thinking of +something else at the same time.</p> + +<p>And then Andrew came out to help Fergus up the steps into the house, +where tea was waiting for them in the library.</p> + +<p>Fergus's mother was rather tired. She had walked some distance to see a +poor woman who was ill that afternoon.</p> + +<p>"Don't ask me to play much to-day, my dear boys,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> she said. "I never +like to play much when I am tired; it doesn't seem fair to the music."</p> + +<p>"Then you sha'n't play at all, mother darling," said Fergus. "Gratian, +I'll tell you what; you shall tell mother and me a story. That will rest +her nicely."</p> + +<p>Gratian looked up hesitatingly.</p> + +<p>"He tells such nice stories," Fergus went on.</p> + +<p>"Does he often tell them?" asked the lady.</p> + +<p>"Yes, when we are alone," said Fergus.</p> + +<p>"The music makes me think of them very often," said Gratian. "It makes +Fergus see pictures, and it makes me think stories. Sometimes I can see +pictures too, but I think I like stories best."</p> + +<p>"He made a beauty the other day, about a Princess whose eyes were +forget-me-nots, so that whoever had once seen her could never forget her +again; and if they were good people it made them very happy, but if they +were naughty people it made them very unhappy—only it did them all good +somehow in the end. Gratian made it come right."</p> + +<p>"That sounds very pretty," said the lady. "Did that come out of my +music?"</p> + +<p>"No," said the boy, "that story came mostly out of your eyes. I called +you the lady with the forget-me-not eyes the first Sunday in church."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> + +<p>He spoke so simply that the lady could not help smiling.</p> + +<p>"My eyes thank you for your pretty thoughts of them," she said. "Will +you tell that story again?"</p> + +<p>"No," Fergus interrupted. "I want a new one. You were to have one ready +for to-day, Gratian."</p> + +<p>"I have only a very little one, but I will tell it, if you like," said +Gratian. "It isn't exactly like a story. There isn't anything wonderful +in it like in the one about the Princess, or the one about the +underground fairies."</p> + +<p>"No, that <i>was</i> a beauty," said Fergus. "But never mind if this one +isn't quite so nice," he added, condescendingly.</p> + +<p>So Gratian began.</p> + +<p>"It is about a sea-gull," he said. "You know about them, of course, for +you have been at the sea. This was a little, young sea-gull. It had not +long learnt to fly, and sea-gulls need to fly very well, for often they +have to go many miles without a rest when they are out at sea, unless +there happens to be a ship passing or a rock standing up above the +water, or even a bunch of seaweed floating—that might do for a young +bird that is not very heavy. There was very stormy weather the year this +sea-gull and his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> brothers and sisters were hatched, and sometimes the +father and mother sea-gulls were quite frightened to let them try to +fly, for fear they should be beaten down by the storm winds and not have +strength to rise again. It is quite different, you see, from little +land-birds learning to fly. They can just flutter a little way from one +twig to another near the ground, so that if they do fall they can't be +much hurt. Sea-gulls need to have brave hearts even when they are quite +little. This sea-gull was very brave, almost too brave. He loved the sea +so dearly that while he was still a nestling, peeping out from his home, +high up on a ledge of rock, at the dancing, flashing waves down below, +he longed to be among them. He felt as if he almost would go mad with +joy if only his mother would let him dash off with her, whirling and +curving about in the air, with nothing below but the great ocean. And he +would scarcely believe her and his father when they told him that it +wasn't so easy to fly as it looked—not at the beginning, and that birds +had to learn by degrees. At last one day the father, who had been out +sniffing about, came in and told the mother it would be a good day for a +beginning. So all the four young ones got ready, and stood at the edge +of the nest in great excitement. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> think it must have been very funny +to see them at first—they were so awkward and clumsy. But they didn't +hurt themselves—for the old birds kept them at first among the rocks +where they couldn't fall far. And our sea-gull wasn't quite so sure of +himself the next day, nor quite so impatient to go on flying, and I +daresay he got on better when he had become less conceited. When they +could fly a little better the father and mother took them to a little +bay, where there was nice soft sand, and where the wind blew gently, and +there they got on very well. And there they should have been content to +stay till the spring storms were over and their wings had grown +stronger. They all were quite content except the one I am telling you +of."</p> + +<p>"What was his name?" asked Fergus.</p> + +<p>"He hasn't got one," Gratian replied, "but we can make him one. I +daresay it would be better."</p> + +<p>"Call him White-wings," said Fergus.</p> + +<p>"No," said Gratian, "that won't do," though he didn't say why. "Besides +his wings weren't all white. We'll call him 'Quiver,' because he was +always quivering with impatience. Well, they were all quite content +except Quiver, and he was very discontented. He looked longingly over +the sea,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> wishing so to be in the midst of the flocks of birds he saw +sparkling in the sunshine; and at last one morning when his father and +mother had gone off for a good fly by themselves, which they well +deserved, poor things, after all their trouble with the little ones, he +stood up in the nest, flapping his impatient wings, and said to the +three others that he too was going off on his own account. The brothers +and sisters begged him not, but it was no use—off he would go, he was +in such a hurry to see the world and to feel independent. Well, he got +on pretty well at first; the sea was far out, and there were several +rocks sticking up which he could rest on, and he found it so easy that +he was tempted to fly out farther than he had intended, going from one +rock to the other. And he didn't notice how far he had gone till he had +been resting a while on a rock a good way out, and then looking round he +couldn't tell a bit where he was, for there was nothing but sea all +round him. He couldn't think what had become of all the other points of +rocks—they seemed to have disappeared. But just as he was beginning to +feel rather frightened a number of gulls flew up and lighted on the +rock. They were all chattering and very excited.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'We must make haste,' they said, 'and get to the shore as fast as we +can before the storm is on us. And we must shelter there till we can get +back to our own rocks.'</p> + +<p>"They only rested a moment or two, and then got ready to start again. +Quiver stood up and flapped his wings to attract attention.</p> + +<p>"'May I fly with you?' he said. 'I'm afraid I don't quite know the way.'</p> + +<p>"They looked at him in surprise.</p> + +<p>"'What are you doing away from your home—a young fledgling like you?' +they said. 'Come with us if you like, it's your only chance, but you'll +probably never get to shore.'</p> + +<p>"Oh how frightened he was, and how he wished he'd stayed at home! But he +flew away with them, for it was, as they said, his only chance, and what +he suffered was something dreadful. And when at last he reached the +shore, it was only to drop down and lie on the sands gasping and +bruised, and, as he thought, dying. A man that was passing, in a hurry +himself to get home before the storm, picked up poor Quiver, half out of +pity, half because he thought his little master might like to have his +feathers if he died, or to make a pet of him if he lived. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> Quiver, +who was quite fainting by this time, woke up to find himself lying in a +little sort of tool-house in a garden, with a boy about as big as you, +Fergus, stooping over him.</p> + +<p>"'I don't think he's going to die,' the boy said. 'I've made him a bed +of some hay here in the corner—to-morrow we'll see how he is.'</p> + +<p>"Poor Quiver felt very strange and queer and sad. It took him several +days to get better, and he didn't like the food they gave him, though of +course they meant to be kind. At last, one day he was able to hop about +and even to flap his wings a little.</p> + +<p>"'Now I shall soon be able to fly home again,' he thought joyfully. 'If +once I can get to the sea I'll be sure to meet some gulls who can show +me the way.'</p> + +<p>"And when the boy came to look at him, he was pleased to hear himself +said to be quite well again.</p> + +<p>"'We can let him out into the garden now, can't we?' he said to the +gardener, 'and we'll see if he's such a good slug catcher as you say.'</p> + +<p>"'No fear but he's that, sir,' said the gardener. 'But first we must +clip his wings, else he'd be flying away.'</p> + +<p>"And he took Quiver up in his arms, and stretching out his wings, though +not so as to hurt them,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> snipped at them with a big sharp pair of +scissors. Quiver didn't feel it, any more than we feel having our nails +cut, but he was dreadfully frightened. And he was still all shaking and +confused when the gardener set him down on the garden path—though he +got better in a minute and looked about him. It was a pretty garden, and +he was pleased to be out in the air again, though he felt something +strange in it, for he had never before been away from the sea. And he +ran a few steps just to try his legs, and then turned round meaning to +say good-bye to the boy and thank him in his sea-gull way for his +hospitality before starting off. Having done this he stretched his wings +to fly—but—oh dear, what was the matter? He could not raise himself +more than a few inches from the ground—wings!—he had none left, and +with a pitiful cry he rolled over on the ground in misery and despair.</p> + +<p>"'Poor bird!' said the boy; 'you shouldn't have clipped his wings, +Barnes. It would have been better to let him fly away.'</p> + +<p>"'He'd never have got to his home; he's too young a bird to fly so far. +And he'll be uncommon good for the slugs, you'll see, sir.'</p> + +<p>"So all the summer poor Quiver spent in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span> garden. He got more used to +it after a while, but still he had always a pain at his heart. He used +to rush along the paths as if he was in a desperate hurry and eager to +get to the end, and then he would just rush back again. It was the only +way he could keep down his impatience and his longing for the sea. He +used to pretend to himself that when he got to the end of the path he +would feel the salt air and see the waves dancing; but the children of +the house, who of course didn't understand his thoughts, used to laugh +at him and call him 'that absurd creature.' But his heart was too sore +for him to mind, and even catching slugs was very little consolation to +him.</p> + +<p>"And so Quiver lived all through the summer and the autumn till the +winter came round again, and all this time whenever his wings began to +grow longer, Barnes snipped them short again. I don't think there ever +was a bird so severely punished for discontent and impatience.</p> + +<p>"The winter was a dreadfully cold one; there was frost for such a long +time that nothing seemed alive at all—there was not a worm or a slug or +an insect of any kind in the garden. The little boy and his brothers and +sisters all went away when it began to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> get so cold, but before they +went, they told Barnes that he must not leave Quiver out in the garden; +he must be shut up for the winter in the large poultry house with the +cocks and hens.</p> + +<p>"'For there's nothing for him to eat outside, and you might forget to +feed him, you know,' the children said.</p> + +<p>"So Quiver passed the winter safely, though sadly enough. He had plenty +to eat, and no one teased or ill-used him, but he used sometimes almost +to <i>choke</i> with his longing for freedom and for the fresh air—above +all, the air of the sea. He did not know how long winter lasted; he was +still a young bird, but he often felt as if he would die if he were kept +a prisoner much longer. But he had to bear it, and he didn't die, and he +grew at last so patient that no one would have thought he was the same +discontented bird. There was a little yard covered over with netting +outside the hen-house, and Quiver could see the sky from there; and the +clouds scudding along when it was a windy day reminded him a little of +the waves he feared he would never see again; and the stupid, peaceful +cocks and hens used to wonder what he found to stare up at for hours +together. <i>They</i> thought by far the most interesting thing in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> life was +to poke about on the ground for the corn that was thrown out to them.</p> + +<p>"At last—at last—came the spring. It came by little bits at a time of +course, and Quiver couldn't understand what made everything feel so +different, and why the sky looked blue again, till one day the +gardener's wife, who managed the poultry, opened the door of the covered +yard and let them all out, and Quiver, being thinner and quicker than +the hens, slipped past her and got out into the garden. She saw him when +he had got there, but she thought it was all right—he might begin his +slug-catching again. And he hurried along the path in his old way, +feeling thankful to be free, but with the longing at his heart, stronger +than ever. It was so long since he had tried to fly in the least that he +had forgotten almost that he had wings, and he just went hurrying along +on his legs. All of a sudden something startled him—a noise in the +trees or something like that—and without thinking what he was doing, he +stretched his wings in the old way. But fancy his surprise; instead of +flopping and lopping about as they had done for so long, ever since +Barnes had cut them, they stood out firm and steady, quite able to +support his weight; he tried them again, and then again,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> and—it was no +mistake—up he soared, up, up, up, into the clear spring sky, strong and +free and fearless, for his wings had grown again! That was what they had +been doing all the long dull winter; so happiness came to poor Quiver at +last, when he had learnt to wait."</p> + +<p>"And did he fly home?" asked Fergus breathlessly; "did he find his +father and mother and the others in the old nest among the rocks?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Gratian, after a moment's consideration, "he met some +gulls on his way to the sea, who told him exactly how to go. And he did +find them all at home. You know, generally, bird families don't stay so +long together, but these gulls had been so unhappy about Quiver that +they had fixed to stay close to the old ones till he came back. They +always kept on hoping he would come back."</p> + +<p>"I am so glad," said Fergus with a sigh of relief. "How beautiful it +must have been to feel the sea-wind again, and see the waves dancing in +the sunshine! Do you know, Gratian, I was just a little afraid at the +end that you were going to say that Quiver had grown so good that he +went 'up, up, up,' straight into heaven. I shouldn't have liked that—at +least not till he had lived happily by the sea first.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> And then," Fergus +began to get a little confused, "I don't know about that. <i>Do</i> gulls go +to heaven, mother? You don't mind my thinking dogs do."</p> + +<p>The lady smiled. She had not said anything yet; she seemed to be +thinking seriously. But now she drew Gratian to her and kissed his +forehead.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, dear boy," she said. "I am so glad to have heard one of your +stories."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></h2> + +<h3>DRAWN TWO WAYS</h3> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;">"When Love wants this, and Pain wants that,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 24em;">And all our hearts want Tit for Tat."</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;"><span class="smcap">Matthew Browne</span></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Gratian almost danced along the moor path on his way home that evening; +he felt so happy. Never had he loved Fergus and his mother so much—he +could not now understand how he had ever lived without them, and like a +child he did not think of how he ever <i>could</i> do so. He let the future +take care of itself.</p> + +<p>It was cold of course. He rather fancied that White-wings was not far +off, and once or twice he stood still to listen. It was some little time +now since he had heard anything of his friends. But at first nothing met +his ear, and he ran on.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a breath—a waft rather of soft air blew over his face. It was +not White-wings, and most<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> certainly not Gray-wings. Gratian looked up +in surprise—he could hardly expect the soft western sister on such a +cold night.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is I," she said; "you can hardly believe it, can you? I am only +passing by—no one else will know I have been here. I don't generally +come when you are in such merry spirits—I don't feel that you need me +then. But as I was not so very far off, I thought I'd give you a kiss on +my way. So you told them the sea-gull's story—I am glad they liked it."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Gratian, "they did, indeed. But, Green-wings, I'm glad +you've come, for I wanted to ask you, if they ask me if I made it all up +myself, what can I say? I'm so afraid of telling what isn't true; but +you know I couldn't explain about you and the others. I couldn't if I +tried."</p> + +<p>"You are not meant to do so," replied she quickly. "What have you said +when Fergus has asked you about other stories?"</p> + +<p>"I have said I couldn't explain how I knew them—that sometimes they +were a sort of dream. I didn't want to say I had made them all myself, +though I have <i>partly</i> made them—you know I have, Green-wings."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Certainly—it was not I for instance, who told you the very remarkable +fact of natural history that you related at the end of the story?" said +Green-wings with her soft laugh. "You may quite take the credit of that. +But I won't laugh at you, dear. It is true that they are your stories, +and yet a sort of dream. No one but you could hear them—no one would +say that the whispers of the wind talking language to you, are anything +but the reflection of your own pretty fancies. It will be all right—you +will see. But I must go," and she gave a little sigh.</p> + +<p>"Green-wings, darling, you seem a little sad to-night," said Gratian. +"Why is it? Is it that the winter has come?"</p> + +<p>"I am never very merry, as you know. But I am a little sadder than usual +to-night. I foresee—I foresee sorrows"—and her voice breathed out the +words with such an exquisite plaintiveness that they sounded like the +dying away notes of a dirge. "But keep up your heart, my darling, and +trust us all—all four. We only wish your good, though we may show it in +different ways. And wherever I am I can always be with you to comfort +you, if it be but for a moment. No distance can separate us from our +child."</p> + +<p>"And I am most <i>your</i> child, am I not, dear Green-wings?" asked Gratian. +"I knew you the first, and I think I love you the most."</p> + +<p>"My darling, good-night," whispered Green-wings, and with a soft flutter +she was gone.</p> + +<p>There was no mother waiting at the open door for Gratian's return that +evening.</p> + +<p>"It is too cold for standing outside now," he said to himself as he went +in, adding aloud, "Here I am, mother. Did you think I was late?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Conyfer was sitting by the fire. Her knitting lay on her knee, but +her hands were idle. She looked up as Gratian came in.</p> + +<p>"I am glad you have come, dear," she said; but her voice sounded tired, +and when he was close to her he saw that her face seemed tired also.</p> + +<div class="figright" style="width: 257px;"><a name="ILL_008" id="ILL_008"></a> +<img src="images/ill_008.jpg" width="257" height="400" alt="" /> +<span class="caption">"Are you not well, mother?" he said gently.</span> +</div> + +<p>"Are you not well, mother?" he said gently.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Conyfer looked a little surprised but pleased too. It was new to +her either to think of how she was or to be asked about it. For though +her husband was kind and good, he was plain and even a little rough, as +are the moorland people in general. Gratian had never been rough, but he +had not had the habit of much noticing those about him. Since he had +been so often with Fergus and the lady he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a><br /><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> had learnt to be more +observant of others, especially of his mother, and more tender in his +manner.</p> + +<p>"Are you not well, mother dear?" he repeated.</p> + +<p>"I'm only a bit tired, my boy," she said. "I'm getting old, I suppose, +and I've worked pretty hard in my way—not to say as if I'd been a poor +man's wife of course, but a farmer's wife has a deal on her mind."</p> + +<p>"And you do everything so well, mother," said Gratian admiringly. "I'm +getting old enough now to see how different things are here from what +they are in many houses. Fergus does so like to hear about the dairy and +the cocks and hens, and about the girdle cakes and all the nice things +you make."</p> + +<p>"He's really a nice little gentleman!" said Mrs. Conyfer, well pleased, +"I <i>am</i> glad to hear he's getting so much better. I'm sure his mother +deserves he should—such a sweet lady as she is."</p> + +<p>For now and then on a Sunday the two boys' mothers had spoken to each +other.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he's <i>much</i> better," said Gratian. "To-day he walked six times up +and down the terrace with only my arm."</p> + +<p>"They weren't afraid to let him out, and it so cold to-day?" said Mrs. +Conyfer.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It wasn't so very cold—you usedn't to mind the cold, mother," said the +boy.</p> + +<p>"Maybe not so much as now," she replied. "I think I'm getting rheumatic +like my father and mother before me, for I can't move about so quick, +and then one feels the cold more."</p> + +<p>"What makes people have rheumatics?" asked Gratian.</p> + +<p>"Folk don't have it so much hereabout," his mother answered; "but I +don't belong to the moor country, you know. My home was some way from +this, down in the valley, where it's milder but much damper—and damp is +worst of anything for rheumatism. Dear me, I remember my old grandmother +a perfect sight with it—all doubled up—you wondered how she got about. +But she was a marvel of patience, and so cheery too. I only hope I shall +be like her in that, if I live so long, for it's a sore trial to an +active nature to become so nearly helpless."</p> + +<p>"Had she nobody to be kind to her when she got so ill?" asked Gratian.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes; her children were all good to her, so far as they could be. But +they were all married and about in the world, and busy with their own<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +families. She was a good deal alone, poor old grandmother."</p> + +<p>"Mother," said Gratian quickly. "If you ever got to be like that, I +would never marry or go about in the world. I'd stay at home to be a +comfort to you. I'd run all your messages and do everything I could for +you. Mother, I wish you'd let me be more use to you now already, even +though you're not so ill."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Conyfer smiled, but there was more pleasure than amusement in her +smile.</p> + +<p>"I do think being at the Big House has done you good, Gratian. You never +used to notice or think of things so much before you went there," she +said. "And you're getting very handy, there's no doubt. I hope I shall +never be so laid aside, but I'm sure you'd do your best, my dear. Now I +think I shall go to bed, and you must be off too. Father's out still—he +and Jonas have so much to see to these cold nights, seeing that all the +creatures are warm and sheltered. There's snow not far off, they were +saying. The wind's in the north."</p> + +<p>Gratian's dreams were very grotesque that night. He dreamt that his +mother was turned into a sea-gull, all except her face, which remained +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> same. And she could neither walk nor fly, she was so lame and +stiff, or else it was that her wings were cut—he was not sure which. +Then he heard Green-wings's voice saying, "She only wants a sight of the +sea to make her well. Gratian, you should take her to the sea; call the +cocks and hens to help you;" and with that he thought he opened his eyes +and found himself on the terrace where he had been walking with Fergus, +and there was a beautiful little carriage drawn by about a dozen cocks +and hens; but when he would have got in, Fergus seemed to push him back, +saying, "Not yet, not yet, your mother first," and Fergus kept looking +for Mrs. Conyfer as if he did not know that she was the poor sea-gull, +standing there looking very funny with the little red knitted shawl on +that Gratian's mother wore when it was a chilly morning. And just then +there came flying down from above, Gratian's four friends. Nobody seemed +to see them but himself, and the cocks and hens began making such a +noise that he felt quite confused.</p> + +<p>"Oh, do take poor mother," he called out—for there was no use trying to +make any one else understand—"Green-wings and all of you, do take poor +mother."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not without you, Gratian," replied Gray-wings's sharp voice. "It's your +place to look after your mother," and as she spoke she stooped towards +him and he felt her cold breath, and with the start it gave him he +awoke.</p> + +<p>The door of his room had blown open, and the window was rattling, and +the clothes had slipped off on one side. No wonder he had dreamt he was +cold. He covered himself up again and went to sleep.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Conyfer was up as usual the next morning. She said she was better, +but she limped a little as she walked, and Gratian did not like to see +it, though she assured him it did not hurt her.</p> + +<p>"I shall take a rest on Sunday," she said, "and then you may tend me a +bit, Gratian. He's as handy as a girl," she added, turning to the farmer +with a smile. And Mr. Conyfer patted his son's head.</p> + +<p>"That's right," he said; "always be good to your mother."</p> + +<p>"Winter is really coming," thought Gratian, as he ran to school, and he +glanced up at the sky wondering if snow were at last on the way.</p> + +<p>It held off however for some little time yet.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was on the third day after this that Gratian on his way home was +rather surprised to meet Mr. Cornelius returning as if from the Farm. +The school-children knew that the master had been somewhere, for he had +left the school in charge of one or two of the head boys and his sister, +who lived with him and taught the girls sewing.</p> + +<p>He smiled and nodded at Gratian, but did not speak, and the boy could +not help wondering if he had been at Four Winds, and why. And as soon as +he got home he ran eagerly in to ask.</p> + +<p>"Has the master been here, mother? What did he come for?" he called out.</p> + +<p>His father and mother were both together in the kitchen, talking rather +earnestly.</p> + +<p>His father looked at him as he answered—</p> + +<p>"Yes, Gratian," he said, "Mr. Cornelius has been here. He had something +important to talk to us about. After you have had your tea and done your +lessons we will tell you."</p> + +<p>"I haven't any lessons, father," he replied. "We had time to do them +this afternoon when the master was out."</p> + +<p>So as soon as tea was over he was told what it was.</p> + +<p>"Your friends at the Big House," began the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> farmer, "are leaving soon. +They daren't stay once it gets really cold. You'll be sorry to lose +them, my boy?"</p> + +<p>Gratian felt a lump rise in his throat, but he tried to answer +cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"Yes, father. They've been so good to me. I knew they'd have to go some +time, but I tried not to think of it. The lady has taught me so many +things I never knew before. I'll try not to forget them."</p> + +<p>"She has been very good to you, and she wants to be still more. That's +what Cornelius came about. I don't want to make you vain, Gratian, but +she thinks, and Cornelius thinks—and they should know—that there's the +making of something out of the common in you—that, if you are taught +and trained the right way, you may come to be something a good bit +higher than a plain moorland farmer."</p> + +<p>Gratian listened with wide-opened eyes.</p> + +<p>"I know," he said breathlessly, "I've felt it sometimes. I don't rightly +know what. I'd like to learn—I'd like to——oh, father, I can't say +what I mean. It's as if there were so many thoughts in me that I can't +say," and the child leaned his head on his mother's shoulder and burst +into tears.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> + +<p>The farmer and his wife looked at each other. They were simple +unlettered folk, but for all that there was something in them that +"understood."</p> + +<p>"My boy, my little Gratian," said the mother, in tones that she but +seldom used; "don't cry, my dear. Listen to father."</p> + +<p>And in a moment or two the child raised his still tearful eyes, and the +farmer went on.</p> + +<p>"It's just that," he said. "It's just because you can't rightly say, +that we want you to learn. No one can tell as yet what your talent may +be, or if perhaps it is not, so to speak, but an everyday one after all. +If so, no harm will be done; for you will be in wise hands, and you will +come home again to Four Winds and follow in your father's and +grandfather's steps. But your friends think you should have a better +chance of learning and seeing for yourself than I can give you here. And +the lady has written to her husband, and he's quite willing, and so +it's, so to speak, all settled. You are to go with them when they leave +here, Gratian, and for a year or so you are to have lessons at home with +the little boy, who isn't yet strong enough to go to school. And by the +end of that time it'll be easier to see what you are best fitted for. +You'll have teaching<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> of all kinds—music and drawing, and all sorts of +book-learning. It's a handsome offer, there's no denying."</p> + +<p>And the tears quite disappeared from Gratian's bright eyes, and his +whole face glowed with hope and satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"I'll do my best, father. I can promise you that. You shall have no call +to be ashamed of me. It's very good of you and mother to let me go. But +I shall come home again before very long—I shan't be long without +seeing you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes—you shall come home after a while of course. Anyway for a +visit, and to see how it will be best to do. We're not going to give you +away altogether, you may be sure," said the farmer with a little attempt +at a joke.</p> + +<p>But the mother did not speak. She kissed the boy as she rarely kissed +him, and whispered "God bless you, my dear," when she bade him +good-night.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if it's all come of our giving him such an outlandish name!" +said Mrs. Conyfer with a rather melancholy smile.</p> + +<p>And Gratian fell asleep with his mind in a whirl.</p> + +<p>"I should like to talk about it to my godmothers," was almost his last +thought. "I wonder if I shall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> still see them sometimes when I am far +from Four Winds."</p> + +<p>And the next morning when he woke, he lay looking round his little room +and thinking how much he liked it, and how happy he had been in it. He +was beginning to realise that no good is all good, no light without +shadow.</p> + +<p>But there seemed no shadow or drawback of any kind the next day when he +went to the Big House to talk it all over with the lady and Fergus. +Fergus was too delighted for words.</p> + +<p>"It is like a story in a book, isn't it, Gratian?" he said. "And if you +turn out a great man, then the world will thank mother and me for having +found you."</p> + +<p>Gratian blushed a little.</p> + +<p>"I don't know about being a <i>great</i> man," he said, "but I want to find +out really what it is I can do best, and then it will be my own fault if +I don't do <i>something</i> good."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my boy—that is exactly what I want you to feel," said Fergus's +mother.</p> + +<p>But Gratian was anxious to know what his four friends had to say about +it.</p> + +<p>"I don't think it's very kind of none of you to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> come to speak to me," +he said aloud on his way home. "I know you're not far off—all of you. +I'm sure I heard Gray-wings scolding outside last night."</p> + +<p>A sound of faint laughter up above him seemed to answer.</p> + +<p>"Oh there you are, Gray-wings, I thought as much," he said, buttoning up +his jacket, for it was very cold. But he had hardly spoken before he +heard, nearer than the laughter had been, a soft sigh.</p> + +<p>"I never forget you—remember, Gratian, whenever you want me—whenever +in sor—row."</p> + +<p>"That's Green-wings," he said to himself. "But why should she talk of +sorrow when I'm so happy—happier than ever in my life, I think. She +<i>is</i> of rather too melancholy a nature."</p> + +<p>He ran on—the door was latched—he hurried into the kitchen. There was +no one there.</p> + +<p>"Where can mother be?" he thought. He heard steps moving upstairs and +turned to go there. Halfway up he met Madge, the servant, coming down. +Her face looked anxious and distressed through all its rosiness.</p> + +<p>"Oh the poor missis," she said. "She's had to go to bed. The pains in +her ankles and knees got so bad—I'm afeared she's going to be really +very ill."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span></p> + +<p>Gratian ran past her into his mother's room.</p> + +<p>"Don't be frightened," Mrs. Conyfer said at once. "It's only that my +rheumatism is very bad to-day. I'll be better in the morning, dear. I +must be well with you going away so soon."</p> + +<p>And when the farmer came in she met him with the same cheerful tone, +though it was evident she was suffering severely.</p> + +<p>But Gratian sat by her bedside all the evening, doing all he could. He +was grave and silent, for the thought was deep in his heart—</p> + +<p>"I can't go away—I can't and I mustn't if mother is going to be really +ill. Poor mother! I'm sure my godmothers wouldn't think I should."</p><hr class="chap" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></h2> + +<h3>LEARNING TO WAIT</h3> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 26em;">"If all the beauty in the earth</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 27em;">And skies and hearts of men</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 26em;">Were gently gathered at its birth,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 27em;">And loved and born again."</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;"><span class="smcap">Matthew Browne</span></span><br /> +</p> + +<p>But the godmothers seemed to have forgotten him. He went sadly to +bed—and the tears came to his eyes when he remembered how that very +evening he had thought of himself as "happier than he had ever been in +his life." He fell asleep however as one does at nine years old, +whatever troubles one has, and slept soundly for some hours. Then he was +awakened by his door opening and some one coming in. It was his father.</p> + +<p>"Gratian, wake up. Your mother is very ill I'm afraid. Some one must go +for the doctor—old Jonas is the nearest. I can't leave her—she seems +nearly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> unconscious. Dress yourself as quick as you can, and tell Jonas +to bring Dr. Spense as soon as possible."</p> + +<p>Gratian was up and dressed almost at once. He felt giddy and miserable, +and yet with a strange feeling over him that he had known it all before. +He dared not try to think clearly—he dared not face the terrible fear +at the bottom of his heart. It was his first experience of real trouble.</p> + +<p>As he hurried off he met Madge at the door; she too had been wakened up. +A sudden thought struck him.</p> + +<p>"Madge," he said, "if I'm not back quickly, tell father not to be +frightened. I think I'll go all the way for the doctor myself. It'll +save time not to go waking old Jonas, and I know he couldn't go as fast +as I can."</p> + +<p>Madge looked admiringly and yet half-anxiously at the boy. He seemed +such a little fellow to go all that way alone in the dark winter night.</p> + +<p>"I daresay you're right," she said, "and yet I'm half-afraid. Hadn't you +better ask master first?"</p> + +<p>Gratian shook his head.</p> + +<p>"No, no. It will be all right. Don't trouble him about me unless he +asks," and off he ran.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> + +<p>He went as quickly as he could find his way—it was not a <i>very</i> dark +night—till he was fairly out on the moorland path. Then he stood still.</p> + +<p>"White-wings, Green-wings—whichever of you hears me, come and help me. +Dear Green-wings, you said you always would comfort me."</p> + +<p>"So she would, surely," said a voice, firmer and colder than hers, but +kindly too, "but at this moment it's more strength than comfort that you +want. Hold out your arms, my boy, there—clasp me tight, don't start at +my cold breath. That's right. Why, I can fly with you as if you were a +snow-flake!"</p> + +<p>And again Gratian felt the strange, whirling, rushing sensation, again +he closed his eyes as if he were falling asleep, and knew no more till +he found himself standing in the village street, a few doors from the +doctor's house, and felt, rather than heard, a clear cold whisper of +"Farewell, Gratian, for the present."</p> + +<p>And the next morning the neighbours spoke of the sudden northern blast +that had come rushing down from the moors in the night, and wondered it +had not brought the snow with it, little thinking it had brought a +little boy instead!</p> + +<p>Dr. Spense was soon awakened, and long as the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> time always seems to an +anxious watcher by a sick-bed, Farmer Conyfer could scarcely believe his +ears when he heard the rattle of the dogcart wheels up the steep road, +or his eyes when the doctor, followed by Gratian, came up the staircase.</p> + +<p>"My boy, but you have done bravely!" said the father in amazement. +"Doctor, I can't understand how he can have been so quick!"</p> + +<p>The doctor turned kindly to Gratian.</p> + +<p>"Go down, my good child, and warm yourself. I saw the sparkle of a nice +fire in the kitchen—it is a bitter night. I will keep my promise to +you; as I go away I'll look in."</p> + +<p>For Gratian, though not able to tell much of his mother's illness, had +begged the doctor to promise to tell him the truth as to what he thought +of her.</p> + +<p>"I'd rather know, sir, I would indeed, even if it's very bad," he had +said tremblingly.</p> + +<p>And as he sat by the kitchen fire waiting, it seemed to him that never +till now had he in the least understood how he loved his mother.</p> + +<p>It was a queer, boisterous night surely. For down the chimney, +well-built and well-seasoned as it was, there came a sudden swirl of +wind. But strangely enough it did not make the fire smoke.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> And Gratian, +anxious though he was, smiled as a pretty green light seemed suddenly to +dance among the flames. And he was neither surprised nor startled when a +soft voice whispered in his ear:</p> + +<p>"I am here, my darling. I <i>would</i> come for one moment, though +White-wings has been trying to blow me away. Keep up your heart—and +don't lose hope."</p> + +<p>And just then the doctor came in.</p> + +<p>"My boy," he said, as he stood warming his hands at the blaze, "I will +tell you the truth. I am afraid your poor mother is going to be ill for +a good while. She has not taken care of herself. But I have good hopes +that she will recover. And you may do a good deal. I see you are +sensible, and handy, I am sure. You must be instead of a daughter to her +for a while—it will be hard on your father, and you may be of great +help."</p> + +<p>Gratian thanked him, with the tears, which would not now be kept back, +in his eyes. And promising to come again that same day, for it was now +past midnight, the doctor went away.</p> + +<p>Some days passed—the fever was high at first, and poor Mrs. Conyfer +suffered much. But almost sooner than the doctor had ventured to hope, +she began to get a little better. Within a week she was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> out of danger. +And then came Fergus's mother again. She had already come to ask for +news of her little friend's mother, and in the first great anxiety she +said nothing of the plans that had been made. But now she asked to see +the farmer, and talked with him some time downstairs while Gratian +watched by his mother.</p> + +<p>"I am so thankful to be better—so very thankful to be better before you +go, Gratian," said the poor woman.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, dear mother, we cannot be thankful enough," the boy replied. "I +will never forget that night—the night you were so very ill," he said +with a shiver at the thought of it.</p> + +<p>"I shall not be able to write much to you, my child," she said. "The +doctor says my hands and joints will be stiff for a good while, but that +I must try not to fret, and to keep an easy mind. I will try—but it +won't be easy for me that's always been so stirring. And I shall miss +you at first, of course. But if you're well and happy—and it would have +been sad and dull for you here with me so different."</p> + +<p>Just then the farmer's voice came sounding up the stairs.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Gratian," it said, "come down here."</p> + +<p>The boy obeyed. But first he stooped and kissed the pale face on the +pillow.</p> + +<p>"Dear mother," he said.</p> + +<p>His father was standing by the kitchen fire when he went in, and the +lady was seated in one of the big old arm-chairs. She looked at him with +fresh love and interest in her sweet blue eyes.</p> + +<p>"Dear Gratian," she said, "Fergus is fretting for you sadly. Your father +has been telling me what a clever sick-nurse you are. And indeed I was +sure of it from your way with Fergus. I am so very, very glad your dear +mother is better."</p> + +<p>"She will miss him a good deal at first, I'm afraid," said the farmer, +"but I must do my best. It's about your going, my boy—the lady has +already put it off some days for your sake. It's very good of you, +ma'am—<i>very</i> good. I'll get him ready as well as I can. You'll excuse +it if his things are not just in such shipshape order as his mother +would have had them."</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course," she replied. "Then the day after to-morrow. I +<i>daren't</i> wait longer—the doctor says Fergus must not risk more cold as +yet."</p> + +<p>Gratian had listened in silence. But now he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> turned, first to his father +and then to the lady, and spoke.</p> + +<p>"Father, dear lady," he began, "don't be vexed with me—oh don't. But I +can't go now. I've thought about it all these days—I'm—I'm +<i>dreadfully</i> sorry," and here his voice faltered. "I wanted to learn and +to understand. But it wouldn't be right. I know it wouldn't. Mother +would not get well so quick without me, perhaps she'd never get well at +all. And no learning or seeing things would do me really good if I knew +I wasn't doing right. Father—tell me that you think I'm right."</p> + +<p>The lady and the farmer looked at each other; there were tears in the +lady's eyes.</p> + +<p>"Is he right?" asked Gratian's father.</p> + +<p>She bent her head.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid he is," she said, "but it is only fair to let him quite +understand. It isn't merely putting it off for a while, Gratian," she +went on; "I am afraid it may be for altogether. We are not likely to +come back to this part of the country again, and my husband, though +kind, is a little peculiar. He has a nephew whom he will send for as a +companion to Fergus if you don't come. We should like you better, but it +is our duty to do something for Jack,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> and Fergus needs a companion, so +it seems only natural to take him instead of sending him away to +school."</p> + +<p>"Of course," said the farmer, looking at his son.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I understand," said Gratian. "But it doesn't make any difference. +If I never learnt anything more—of learning, I mean—if I never left +Four Winds or saw any of the beautiful places and things in the world, +it <i>shouldn't</i> make any difference. I couldn't ever be happy or—or—do +anything really good or great," he went on, blushing a little, "if I +began by doing wrong—could I?"</p> + +<p>"He is right," said his father and Fergus's mother together.</p> + +<p>And so it was settled.</p> + +<p>The person the most difficult to satisfy that he <i>was</i> right was—no, +not Fergus—sorry as he was he loved his own mother too much not to +agree—poor Mrs. Conyfer herself, for whom the sacrifice was to be made. +Gratian had to talk to her for ever so long, to assure her that it was +for his own sake as well—that he would have been too miserable about +her to have got any good from his new opportunities. And in the end she +gave in, and allowed herself to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> enjoy the comfort of her little boy's +care and companionship during her long weary time of slow recovery.</p> + +<p>Fergus and his mother did not leave a day too soon. With early January +the winter spirits, chained hitherto, broke forth in fury. Never had +such falls of snow been known even in that wild region, and many a night +Gratian, lying awake, unable to sleep through the rattle and racket, +felt a strange excitement at the thought that all this was the work of +his mysterious protectors.</p> + +<p>"White-wings and Gray-wings seem really going mad," he thought once or +twice. But the sound of laughter, mingling with the whistling and +roaring and shrieking in the chimney, reassured him.</p> + +<p>"No fear, no fear," he seemed to hear; "we must let our spirits out +sometimes. But you'd better not go to school for a day or two, small +Gratian, all the same."</p> + +<p>And several "days or two" that winter it was impossible for him to go to +school, or for any one to come to the Farm, so heavy and dark even at +mid-day were the storm-clouds, so deep lay the treacherous snow-drifts. +Not even the doctor could reach them. But fortunately Mrs. Conyfer was +by this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> time much better. All she now required was care and rest.</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother dear, how glad I am that I did not leave you!" Gratian would +often say. "How dull and dreary and long the days would have seemed! You +couldn't even have got letters from me."</p> + +<p>And the lessons he learnt in that winter of patient waiting, of quiet +watching and self-forgetfulness, bore their fruit.</p> + +<p>And his four friends did not forget him. There came now and then a soft +breath from the two gentle sisters whose voices were hushed to all +others for a time, and more than once in some mysterious way Gratian +felt himself summoned out to the lonely moorland by the two whose +carnival time it was.</p> + +<p>And standing out there with the great sweep of open country all around +him, with his hair tossed by White-wings's giant touch, or his cheeks +tingling with a sharp blast from mischievous Gray-wings, Gratian laughed +with pleasure and daring enjoyment.</p> + +<p>"I am your child too—Spirits of the North and East. You can't frighten +me. I defy you."</p> + +<p>And the two laughed and shouted with wild glee at their foster-child's +great spirit.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> + +<p>"He does us credit," they cried, though old Jonas passing by heard +nothing but a shriek of fresh fury up above, and shouted to Gratian to +hasten within shelter.</p> + +<p>But winter never lasts for ever. Spring came again—slow and +reluctant—and it was long before Gray-wings consented to take her +yearly nap and let her sister of the west soothe and comfort the +storm-tossed country. And then, as day by day Gratian made his way to +school, he watched with awakened and ever-awaking eyes the exquisite +eternal beauty of the summer's gradual approach, till at last +Golden-wings clasped him in her arms one morning and told him her joy at +being able to return.</p> + +<p>"For I love this country, though no one will believe it," she said. "The +scent of the gorse and the heather is delicious and refreshing after the +strong spice perfumes of my own home;" and many a story she told the +child, and many a song she sang to him through the long summer +days—which he loved to spend in his old way, out among the heather with +Jonas and Watch and the browsing sheep.</p> + +<p>For the holidays had begun. His mother was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> well, quite well, by now, +and Gratian was free to do as he chose.</p> + +<p>He was out on the moors one day—a lovely cloudless day, that would have +been sultry anywhere else—when old Jonas startled him by saying +suddenly:</p> + +<div class="figleft" style="width: 252px;"><a name="ILL_009" id="ILL_009"></a> +<img src="images/ill_009.jpg" width="252" height="400" alt="" /> +<span class="caption">It was Fergus, little lame Fergus, mounted on a tiny +rough-coated pony, coming towards him!</span> +</div> + +<p>"Did you know, Master Gratian, that the gentry's come back to the Big +House?"</p> + +<p>Gratian sat straight up in his astonishment.</p> + +<p>"No, Jonas. How did you hear it?"</p> + +<p>"Down in the village, quite sudden-like. It was all got ready for them +last week, but there's been none of us down there much lately."</p> + +<p>Gratian felt too excited to lie still and dream any more.</p> + +<p>"I'll ask mother if I may go and see," he said jumping up. And off he +ran. But an unexpected sight met him at a stone's throw from the Farm. +It was Fergus, little lame Fergus, mounted on a tiny rough-coated pony, +coming towards him! And the joy of the meeting who could describe?</p> + +<p>"We tried to keep it a secret till it was quite sure," said the boy. +"There was some difficulty about it, but it is all settled now. Father +has taken the Big House from our cousin, and we are to live at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> it half +the year. We are all there—my sisters—and my big brother comes +sometimes—and mother of course. All except Jack. Jack has gone to sea. +He was very nice, but he hated lessons—he only wanted to go to sea. So +we want you now, Gratian—my own Gratian. I have a tutor, and you are to +learn with me all the summer and to go away with us in the winter now +your mother is well, so that you will find out what you want to be. It +is for me we have come here. I must always be lame, Gratian. The doctors +can't cure me," and the bright voice faltered. "But I shall get strong +all the same if I live here in this beautiful air. And I shall be very +happy, for I can learn to play on the organ—and that makes up for all."</p> + +<p>And all came about as Fergus said.</p> + +<p>The summer and the autumn that followed, Gratian studied with his +friend's tutor. And the winter after, greatly to his mother's joy, he +went away as had been planned before. But not for ever of course. No +great length of time passed without his returning to his birthplace.</p> + +<p>"I should die," he said sometimes, "if I could not from time to time +stand at the old porch and feel the breath of the four winds about me."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p> + +<p>This is only the story of the very opening of the life of a boy who +lived to make his mark among men. How he did so, how he found his voice, +it is not for me to tell. But he had early learnt to choose the right, +and so we know he prospered.</p> + +<p>Besides—was he not the godchild of the Four Winds of Heaven?</p> + +<h4>THE END.</h4> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p class="center">Mr. <span class="smcap">A. C. Swinburne</span>, in <i>The Nineteenth Century</i>, writes:—</p> + +<blockquote><p>"It seems to me not at all easier to draw a lifelike child than to +draw a lifelike man or woman: Shakespeare and Webster were the +only two men of their age who could do it with perfect delicacy +and success: at least, if there was another who could, I must +crave pardon of his happy memory for my forgetfulness or ignorance +of his name. Our own age is more fortunate, on this single score +at least, having a larger and far nobler proportion of female +writers; among whom, since the death of George Eliot, there is +none left whose touch is so exquisite and masterly, whose love is +so thoroughly according to knowledge, whose bright and sweet +invention is so fruitful, so truthful, or so delightful as Mrs. +Molesworth's. Any chapter of <i>The Cuckoo Clock</i> or the enchanting +<i>Adventures of Herr Baby</i> is worth a shoal of the very best novels +dealing with the characters and fortunes of mere adults."</p></blockquote> + +<h3>MRS. MOLESWORTH'S</h3> + +<h2>STORY BOOKS FOR CHILDREN.</h2> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Walter Crane</span>.</p> + +<p class="center"><i>In Crown 8vo. Price 4s. 6d. each.</i></p> + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left">FOUR WINDS FARM.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"US:" An Old-Fashioned Story.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">CHRISTMAS TREE LAND.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">TWO LITTLE WAIFS.</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="center"><i>In Globe 8vo. 2s. 6d. each.</i></p> + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left">TELL ME A STORY.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">THE TAPESTRY ROOM: A Child's Romance.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A CHRISTMAS CHILD: A Sketch of Boy Life.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">GRANDMOTHER DEAR.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">ROSY.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">"CARROTS," Just a Little Boy.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">THE CUCKOO CLOCK.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">THE ADVENTURES OF HERR BABY.</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left">SUMMER STORIES FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. 4s. 6d.</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h4>MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON.</h4> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<h2>MACMILLAN'S STORY BOOKS</h2> + +<h2>FOR CHILDREN.</h2> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="center"><i>In Globe 8vo. 2s. 6d. each.</i></p> + +<p><b>Our Year.</b> By the Author of "John Halifax, Gentleman."</p> + +<p><b>Little Sunshine's Holiday.</b> By the Author of "John Halifax, Gentleman."</p> + +<p><b>When I was a Little Girl.</b> By the Author of "St. Olave's."</p> + +<p><b>Nine Years Old.</b> By the Author of "When I was a Little Girl," etc.</p> + +<p><b>A Storehouse of Stories.</b> Edited by <span class="smcap">Charlotte M. Yonge</span>. 2 Vols.</p> + +<p><b>Agnes Hopetoun's Schools and Holidays.</b> By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Oliphant</span>.</p> + +<p><b>The Story of a Fellow Soldier.</b> By <span class="smcap">Francis Awdry</span>. (A Life of Bishop +Patteson for the Young.) With a Preface by <span class="smcap">Charlotte M. Yonge</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Ruth and her Friends:</b> A Story for Girls.</p> + +<p><b>The Heroes of Asgard:</b> Tales from Scandinavian Mythology. By A. and <span class="smcap">E. +Keary</span>.</p> + +<p><b>The Runaway.</b> By the Author of "Mrs. Jerningham's Journal."</p> + +<p><b>Wandering Willie.</b> By the Author of "Conrad the Squirrel."</p> + +<p><b>The White Rat,</b> and other Stories. By Lady <span class="smcap">Barker</span>. With Illustrations by +<span class="smcap">W. J. Hennessy</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Pansie's Flour Bin.</b> By the Author of "When I was a Little Girl." With +Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Adrian Stokes</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Milly and Olly;</b> or A Holiday among the Mountains. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">T. H. Ward</span>. +With Illustrations by Mrs. <span class="smcap">Alma Tadema</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Hannah Tarne:</b> A Story for Girls. By <span class="smcap">Mary E. Hullah</span>. With Illustrations +by <span class="smcap">W. J. Hennessy</span>.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h4>MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON.</h4> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<h2>NEW BOOKS FOR CHILDREN.</h2> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="center"><i>Two new books by Mr. Lewis Carroll.</i></p> + +<p><b>Alice's Adventures Underground.</b> Being a facsimile of the original MS. +Book, afterwards developed into "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland." By +<span class="smcap">Lewis Carroll</span>. With Twenty-seven Illustrations by the Author. Crown 8vo. +<i>Just Ready.</i></p> + +<p><b>The Game of Logic.</b> By <span class="smcap">Lewis Carroll</span>. Crown 8vo. 3s.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p><b>Madame Tabby's Establishment.</b> By Miss <span class="smcap">Hughes</span>. With Illustrations. Crown +8vo. 4s. 6d.</p> + +<p><b>The Tale of Troy.</b> Done into English by <span class="smcap">Aubrey Stewart</span>, M.A., late Fellow +of Trinity College, Cambridge. Globe 8vo. 4s. 6d.</p> + +<p><b>The Moon Maiden,</b> and other Stories. By <span class="smcap">Jessy E. Greenwood</span>. Crown 8vo. +<i>Immediately.</i></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="center"><i>With One Hundred Pictures by Mr. Linley Sambourne.</i></p> + +<p><b>Charles Kingsley's Water Babies:</b> A Fairy Tale for a Land Baby. A New +Edition, with One Hundred Pictures by <span class="smcap">Linley Sambourne</span>. Fcap. 4to. 12s. +6d.</p> + +<blockquote><p>The <i>Times</i> says: "Altogether, the volume can be recommended as of +exceptional merit."</p></blockquote> + +<p><b>Truth in Tale.</b> Addresses chiefly to Children. By the Right Rev. <span class="smcap">William +Boyd Carpenter</span>, D.D., Bishop of Ripon. Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d.</p> + +<p><b>Charlie Asgarde.</b> A Tale of Adventure. By <span class="smcap">Alfred St. Johnston</span>, Author of +"Camping among Cannibals." Crown 8vo. 5s.</p> + +<p><b>The French Prisoners.</b> By <span class="smcap">Edward Bertz</span>. Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d.</p> + +<p><b>Anyhow Stories, Moral and Otherwise.</b> By Mrs. <span class="smcap">W. K. Clifford</span>. Illustrated +by <span class="smcap">Dorothy Tennant</span>. Crown 8vo. 1s.; cloth, 1s. 6d.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"They are unique among tales intended for children, alike for +their quaintness of humour, their gentle pathos, and the subtlety +with which lessons, moral and otherwise, are conveyed to children, +and perhaps to their seniors as well."—<i>Spectator.</i></p></blockquote> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="center"><i>By Charlotte M. Yonge. With Illustrations. Globe 8vo. 4s. 6d. each.</i></p> + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left"><b>The Little Duke.</b> New Edition.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><b>The Prince and the Page.</b></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><b>P's and Q's.</b> New Edition.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><b>Little Lucy's Wonderful Globe.</b> New Edition.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"><b>The Lances of Lynwood.</b></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p class="center"><i>With upwards of One Hundred Pictures by Walter Crane.</i></p> + +<p><b>Grimm's Fairy Tales.</b> A Selection from the Household Stories. Translated +from the German by <span class="smcap">Lucy Crane</span>. Crown 8vo. 6s.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p><b>Children's Poetry.</b> By the Author of "John Halifax, Gentleman." Globe +8vo. 4s. 6d.</p> + +<p><b>The Adventures of a Brownie.</b> By the Author of "John Halifax, Gentleman." +With Illustrations by Mrs. <span class="smcap">Allingham</span>. New Edition. Globe 8vo. 4s. 6d.</p> + +<p><b>Alice Learmont:</b> A Fairy Tale. By the Author of "John Halifax, +Gentleman." With Illustrations by <span class="smcap">James Godwin</span>. New Edition, revised by +the Author. Globe 8vo. 4s. 6d.</p> + +<p><b>The Tennyson Birthday Book.</b> Edited by <span class="smcap">Emily Shakespear</span>. In two sizes. +(1) Extra fcap. 8vo Edition on Handmade Paper with red lines. 5s. (2) +18mo. 2s. 6d.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h4>By CHARLES KINGSLEY.</h4> + +<p class="center"><i>Crown 8vo. 6s. each.</i></p> + +<p><b>The Heroes;</b> or Greek Fairy Tales for my Children. With Illustrations.</p> + +<p><b>The Water Babies:</b> A Fairy Tale for a Land Baby. With Illustrations by +Sir <span class="smcap">Noel Paton</span>, R.S.A., and <span class="smcap">P. Skelton</span>.</p> + +<p><b>Glaucus;</b> or The Wonders of the Sea-Shore. With Coloured Illustrations.</p> + +<p><b>The Hermits.</b></p> + +<p><b>Madam How and Lady Why;</b> or First Lessons in Earth-Lore for Children. +Illustrated.</p> + +<p><b>At Last:</b> A Christmas in the West Indies. With numerous Illustrations.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h4>MISS YONGE'S NOVELS AND TALES.</h4> + +<p class="center">With Illustrations. <i>Crown 8vo. 6s. each.</i></p> + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="left">The Heir of Redclyffe.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Heartsease.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Hopes and Fears.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Daisy Chain.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Pillars of the House. 2 Vols.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Clever Woman of the Family.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Magnum Bonum.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Unknown to History.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Stray Pearls.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Armourer's 'Prentices.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Dynevor Terrace.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Young Stepmother.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Trial.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">My Young Alcides.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Three Brides.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Caged Lion.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Dove in the Eagle's Nest.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Love and Life.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Chaplet of Pearls.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lady Hester and the Danvers Papers.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Two Sides of the Shield.</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Nuttie's Father.</td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<h4>MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON.</h4> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Four Winds Farm, by Mrs. Molesworth + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR WINDS FARM *** + +***** This file should be named 39748-h.htm or 39748-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/7/4/39748/ + +Produced by Annie McGuire. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Four Winds Farm + +Author: Mrs. Molesworth + +Illustrator: Walter Crane + +Release Date: May 21, 2012 [EBook #39748] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR WINDS FARM *** + + + + +Produced by Annie McGuire. This book was produced from +scanned images of public domain material from the Internet +Archive. + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: Book Cover] + + + + +FOUR WINDS FARM + + + + + "In ... his dream he saw a child moving, and could divide the main + streams, at least, of the winds that had played on him, and study + so the first stage in that mental journey." + + _The Child in the House._--WALTER H. PATER + + + + +[Illustration: And thus she led him out of the large, cold +hall.--_Front._] + + + + +[Illustration: Title Page] + +FOUR WINDS FARM. + +BY MRS. MOLESWORTH: +Author of "Carrots," "The Cuckoo Clock," &c. + +ILLUSTRATED +BY +WALTER CRANE. + + +LONDON: +MACMILLAN & CO: +1887. + + + + +_TO_ +MY YOUNGEST DAUGHTER +OLIVE +I INSCRIBE THIS LITTLE STORY +WHICH WE THOUGHT OF TOGETHER + + LONDON, _June_ 1886. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + CHAPTER I. THE VOICES IN THE CHIMNEY 1 + CHAPTER II. AT SCHOOL 15 + CHAPTER III. FLYING VISITS 29 + CHAPTER IV. A RAINBOW DANCE 43 + CHAPTER V. GOOD FOR EVIL 58 + CHAPTER VI. ORGAN TONES 73 + CHAPTER VII. THE BIG HOUSE AND THE LADY 87 + CHAPTER VIII. LITTLE FERGUS 102 + CHAPTER IX. MUSIC AND COUNSEL 117 + CHAPTER X. THE STORY OF THE SEA-GULL 132 + CHAPTER XI. DRAWN TWO WAYS 150 + CHAPTER XII. LEARNING TO WAIT 166 + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + + + AND THUS SHE LED HIM OUT OF THE LARGE, COLD HALL _Front._ + + WAS IT FANCY THAT HE HAD SEEN A WAVING, FLUTTERING FORM + BESIDE HIM? _Page_ 30 + + "NOW FOR OUR DANCE--OUR RAINBOW DANCE, SISTERS--NO NEED TO + WAKE HIM ROUGHLY. WE NEED ONLY KISS HIS EYELIDS" 47 + + "LOOK HERE, DOLLY," AND HE HELD OUT TO HER THE POOR COPY-BOOK + WHICH HE HAD ALREADY TAKEN OUT OF HIS SATCHEL 67 + + AND WHEN SHE SAT DOWN TO PLAY THE LIGHT SPARKLED AND GLOWED ON + HER FAIR HAIR, MAKING IT LOOK LIKE GOLD 120 + + "ARE YOU NOT WELL, MOTHER?" HE SAID GENTLY 153 + + IT WAS FERGUS, LITTLE LAME FERGUS, MOUNTED ON A TINY ROUGH-COATED + PONY, COMING TOWARDS HIM 178 + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE VOICES IN THE CHIMNEY + + "Wherefore and whence we are ye cannot know." + + "The Winds' Song," _Light of Asia._--EDWIN ARNOLD + + +The first thing that little Gratian Conyfer could remember in his life +was hearing the wind blow. It had hushed him to sleep, it had scolded +him when he was naughty, it had laughed with him at merry times, it had +wailed and sobbed when he was in sorrow. + +For the wind has many ways of blowing, and no one knew this better than +Gratian, and no one had more right to boast an intimate acquaintance +with the wind than he. You would be sure to say so yourself if you could +see the place where the boy was born and bred--"Four Winds Farm." + +It had not come by this name without reason, though no one still living +when Gratian was a boy, could tell how long it had borne it, or by whom +it had been bestowed. I wish I could take you there--were it but for +five minutes, were it even in a dream. I wish I could make you _feel_ +what I can fancy I feel myself when I think of it--the wonderful fresh +breath on one's face even on a calm day standing at the door of the +farm-house, the sense of life and mischief and wild force about you, +though held in check for the moment, the knowledge that the wind--the +winds rather, all four of them, are there somewhere, hidden or +pretending to be asleep, maybe, but ready all the same to burst out at a +moment's notice. And when they do burst out--on a blowy day that is to +say--ah then, I wouldn't advise you to stand at the farm-house door, +unless you want to be hurled out of the way more unceremoniously than +you bargained for. + +It was a queer site perhaps to have chosen for a dwelling-place. Up +among the moors that stretched for miles and miles on all sides, on such +lofty ground that it was no wonder the trees refused to grow high, for +it was hard work enough to grow at all, poor things, and to keep their +footing when they had done so. They did look battered about and +storm-tossed--all except the pines, who are used to that kind of life, I +suppose, and did their duty manfully as sentinels on guard round the +old brown house, in which, as I said, the boy Gratian first opened his +baby eyes to the light. + +Since that day nine winters and summers had passed. He was called a big +boy now. He slept alone in a room away up a little stair by itself in a +corner--an outside corner--of the farm-house. He walked, three miles +there and three miles back, to school every day, carrying his books and +his dinner in a satchel, along a road that would have seemed lonely and +dreary to any but a moorland child--a road indeed that was little but a +sheep-track the best part of the way. He spent his evenings in a corner +of the large straggling kitchen, so quiet that no one would have guessed +a child, above all a boy, was there; his holidays, the fine weather ones +at least, out on the moor among the heather for the most part, in the +company of Jonas the old shepherd, and Watch the collie dog. But he +never thought his life lonely, though he had neither brother nor sister, +and no one schoolfellow among the score or so at the village school that +was more to him than another; he never thought about himself at all in +that sort of way; he took for granted that all about him was as it +should be, and if things seemed wrong sometimes he had the good sense +to think it was very probably his own fault. + +But he found things puzzling; he was a child who thought a great deal +more than he spoke; he would not have been so puzzled if he had had more +of the habit of putting his thoughts into words. Hitherto it had not +seemed to matter much, life had been a simple affair, and what he did +not understand he forgot about. But lately, quite lately, he had +changed; his soul was beginning to grow, perhaps that was it, and felt +now and then as if it wanted new clothes, and the feeling was strange. +And then it isn't everybody who is born and bred where the four winds of +heaven meet! + +What was Gratian thinking of one Sunday evening when, quiet as usual, he +sat in his corner? He had been at church and at the Sunday School; but I +am afraid he could not have told you much about the sermon, and in his +class he had been mildly reproved for inattention. + +"You must go to bed," said his mother; "it is quite time, and you seem +sleepy." + +The boy rose and came round to the table at which sat his father and +mother, each with a big book which Gratian knew well by sight--for it +was only on Sunday evenings that the farmer and his wife had time for +reading, and their books lasted them a good while. In fact they had been +reading them fifty-two evenings of each year ever since the boy could +recollect, and the marks, of perforated cardboard on green ribbon--his +father's bore the words "Remember me," and his mother's "Forget me +not"--which once, before he could read, he had regarded with mysterious +awe, did not seem to him to have moved on many pages. + +He stood at the table for a moment before his mother looked up; he was +vaguely wondering to himself if he too would have a big book with a +green ribbon-marker when he should be as old as his father and mother; +did everybody? he felt half-inclined to ask his mother, but before he +had decided if he should, she scattered his thoughts by glancing up at +him quickly. She was quick and alert in everything she said and did, +except perhaps in reading. + +"Good-night, Gratian. Get quickly to bed, my boy." + +"Good-night, mother, good-night, father," he said, as his mother kissed +him, and his father laid his hand on the child's curly head with a +kindly gesture which he only used on Sunday evenings. + +"Gratian is in one of his dreams again," said the mother, when the +little figure had disappeared. + +"Ay," said her husband, "it's to be hoped he'll grow out of it, but he's +young yet." + +Gratian had stopped a moment on his way across the red-tiled passage, at +one end of which was the white stone staircase; he stopped at the front +door which stood slightly ajar, and stepped out into the porch. It was +autumn, but early autumn only. Something of the fragrance of a summer +night was still about, but there was not the calm and restfulness of the +summer; on the contrary, there was a stirring and a murmuring, and the +clouds overhead were scudding hurriedly before the moon, as if she were +scolding them and they in a hurry to escape, thought Gratian; for there +was a certain fretfulness in her air--a disquiet and unsettledness which +struck him. + +"Either she is angry and they are running away, or--perhaps that is +it--she is sending them messages as fast as they can take them, like the +rooks after they have been having a long talk together," he said to +himself. Then as a figure came round the side of the house on its way to +what was really the kitchen--though the big room which Gratian had just +left went by the name--"Jonas," said the child aloud, "is there +anything the matter up in the sky to-night?" + +The old shepherd stood still; he rested the empty milkpail he was +carrying on the ground, and gazed up to where Gratian was pointing. + +"I cannot say," he answered, "but the summer is gone, little master. Up +here the winter comes betimes, we must look for the storms and the +tempests again before long." + +"But not yet, oh not just yet, Jonas; I can't think why they don't get +tired of fighting and rushing about and tearing each other--the winds +and the rain and the clouds and all of them up there. Listen, Jonas, +what is that?" + +For a faint, low breath came round the end of the house like a long +drawn sigh, yet with something of menace in its tone. + +"Ah yes, Master Gratian. It's the winter spirit looking round a bit as I +said. They'll be at it to-night, I fancy--just a spree to keep their +hands in as it were. But go to bed, little master, and dream of the +summer. There'll be some fine days yet awhile," and old Jonas lifted the +pail again. "Madge must give this a scalding before milking time +to-morrow morning, careless wench that she is," he said in a +half-grumbling tone as he disappeared. + +And Gratian climbed upstairs to bed. + +He had a candle, and matches to light it with, in his room, but the +moonlight was so bright, though fitful, that he thought it better than +any candle. He undressed, not quickly as his mother had told him, I +fear, standing at the curtainless window and staring out, up rather, +where the clouds were still fussing about "as if they were dusting the +moon's face," said Gratian to himself, laughing softly at this new +fancy. And even after he was in bed he peeped out from time to time to +watch the queer shadows and gleams, the quickly following light and +darkness that flitted across the white walls of his little room. It was +only an attic, but I think almost any little boy would have thought it a +nice room. Mrs. Conyfer kept it beautifully clean to begin with, and +there was a fireplace, and a good cupboard in the wall, and a splendid +view of moor and sky from the window. Gratian was very proud of his +room; he had only had it a short time, only since the day he was nine +years old, and it made him feel he was really growing a big boy. But +to-night he was hardly in his usual good spirits. It weighed on his +mind that the teacher at the Sunday School had been displeased with +him; for he knew him to be kind and patient, and Gratian liked to win +his smile of approval. + +"It is always the same with me," thought the little boy, "at school +every day too I am the stupidest. I wish there were no lessons in the +world. I wish there were only birds, and lambs, and hills, and moors, +and the wind--most of all the wind, and no books--no books, and----" + +But here he fell asleep! + +When he woke the room was quite dark; the clouds had hung their dusters +over the moon's face by mistake perhaps, or else she had got tired of +shining and had turned in for a nap, thought Gratian sleepily. He shut +his eyes again, and curled himself round the other way, and would have +been asleep again in half a minute, but for a sound which suddenly +reached his ears. Some one was talking near him! Gratian opened his eyes +again, forgetting that that could not help him to hear, and listened. +Yes, it was a voice--two voices; he heard one stop and the other reply, +and now and then they seemed to be talking together, and gradually as he +listened he discovered that they came from the direction of the +fireplace. Could it be the voices of his father and mother coming up +from below, through the chimney, somehow? No, their voices were not so +strangely soft and sadly sweet; besides their room was not under his, +nor did they ever talk in the middle of the night. + +"They are too sleepy for that," thought Gratian with a little smile. For +the farmer and his wife were very hard-working, and even on Sunday they +were tired. It was a long walk to church, and unless the weather were +very bad they always went twice. + +Gratian listened again, more intently than ever. The voices went on; he +could distinguish the different tones--more than two he began to fancy. +But how provoking it was; he _could_ not catch the words. And from the +strain of listening he almost began to fall asleep again, when at +last--yes, there was no doubt of it now--he caught the sound of his own +name. + +"Gratian, Gra--tian," in a very soft inquiring tone; "ye--es, he is a +good boy on the whole, but he is foolish too. He is wasting his time." + +"Sadly so--sad--ly so--o," hummed back the second voice. "He only +dreams--dreams are very well in their way, they are a beginning +sometimes, so--me--ti--imes. But he will never do anything even with +his dreams unless he works too--wo--orks too." + +"Ah no--no--o. All must work save the will-o'-the-wisps, and what good +are they? What good are the--ey?" + +Then the two, or the three, maybe even the four, Gratian could not be +sure but that there were perhaps four, voices seemed all to hum +together, "What good are the--ey?" Till with a sudden rushing call one +broke in with a new cry. + +"Sisters," it said, "we must be off. Our work awai--aits us, awai--aits +us." + +And softly they all faded away, or was it perhaps that Gratian fell +asleep? + +He woke the next morning with a confused remembrance of what he had +heard, and for some little time he could not distinguish how much he had +dreamt from what had reached his ears before he fell asleep. For all +through the night a vague feeling had haunted him of the soft, humming +murmur, and two or three times when he half woke and turned on his side, +he seemed to hear again the last echoes of the voices in the chimney. + +"But it couldn't have been them," he said to himself as he sat up in his +little bed, his hands clasped round his knees, as he was very fond of +sitting; "they said they were going away to their work. What work could +they have--voices, just voices in the chimney? And they said I was +wasting my time. What did they mean? _I'm_ not like a will-o'-the-wisp; +I don't dance about and lead people into bogs. I----" + +But just then his mother's voice sounded up the stairs. + +"Gratian--aren't you up yet? Father is out, and the breakfast will be +ready in ten minutes. Quick, quick, my boy." + +Gratian started; he put one pink foot out of bed and looked at it as if +he had never seen five toes before, then he put out the other, and at +last found himself altogether on the floor. It was rather a chilly +morning, and he was only allowed cold water in a queer old tub that he +could remember being dreadfully afraid of when he was a _very_ little +boy--it had seemed so big to him then. But he was not so babyish now; he +plunged bravely into the old tub, and the shock of the cold completely +awakened him, so that he looked quite bright and rosy when he came into +the kitchen a few minutes later. + +His mother looked up from the pot of oatmeal porridge she was ladling +out into little bowls for the breakfast. + +"That's right," she said; "you look better than you did last night. Try +and have a good day at school to-day, Gratian. Monday's always the best +day for a fresh start." + +Gratian listened, but did not answer. It generally took him a good while +to get his speeches ready, except perhaps when he was alone with Jonas +and Watch. It seemed easier to him to speak to Jonas than to anybody +else. He began eating his porridge--slowly, porridge and milk spoonfuls +turn about, staring before him as he did so. + +"Mother," he said at last, "is it naughty to dream?" + +"Naughty to dream," repeated his mother, "what do you mean? To dream +when you're asleep?" + +"No--I don't think it's that kind," began the child, but his mother +interrupted him. Her own words of the night before returned to her mind. +Could Gratian have overheard them? + +"You mean dreaming when you should be working, perhaps?" she said. +"Well, yes--without saying it's naughty, it's certainly not good. It's +wasting one's time. Everybody's got work to do in this world, and it +needs all one's attention. You'll find it out for yourself, but it's a +good thing to find it out young. Most things are harder to learn old +than young, Gratian." + +Gratian listened, but again without speaking. + +"It's very queer," he was thinking to himself--"mother says the same +thing." + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +AT SCHOOL + + "But there all apart, + On his little seat + A little figure is set awry." + + C. C. FRASER TYTLER + + +Gratian shouldered his satchel and set off to school. He had some new +thoughts in his head this morning, but still he was not too busy with +them to forget to look about him. It was evident that old Jonas had been +right; the storm spirits had been about in the night. The fallen autumn +leaves which had been lying in heaps the day before were scattered +everywhere, the little pools of water left by yesterday's rain had +almost disappeared, overhead the clouds were gradually settling down in +quiet masses as if tired and sleepy with the rushing about of the night +before. + +It was always fresh up at Four Winds Farm, but to-day there was a +particularly brisk and inspiriting feeling in the air; and as Gratian +ran down the bit of steep hill between the gate and the road which he +partially followed to school, he laughed to himself as a little wind +came kissing him on the cheek. + +"Good morning, wind," he said aloud. "Which of them are you, I wonder?" +And some old verses he had often heard his mother say came into his +head-- + + "North winds send hail, + South winds bring rain, + East winds we bewail, + West winds, blow amain." + +"I think you must be west wind, but you're not blowing amain this +morning. Never mind; you can when you like, I know. _You_ can work with +a will. There now--how funny--I'm saying it myself; I wonder if that's +what the voices meant I should do--work with a will, work with a will," +and Gratian sang the words over softly to himself as he ran along. + +As I said, his road to school was great part of the way nothing but a +sheep-track. It was not that there did not exist a proper road, but this +proper road, naturally enough, went winding about a good deal, for it +was meant for carts and horses as well as or more than for little boys, +and no carts or horses could ever have got along it had the road run in +a direct line from the Farm to the village. For the village lay low and +the Farm very high. Gratian followed the road for the first half-mile or +so, that is to say as long as he could have gained nothing by quitting +it, but then came a corner at which he left it to meander gradually down +the high ground, while he scrambled over a low wall of loose stones and +found himself on what he always considered his own particular path. At +this point began the enjoyment of his walk, for a few minutes carried +him round the brow of the hill, out of sight of the road and of +everything save the sky above and the great stretching moorland beneath. +And this was what Gratian loved. He used to throw himself on the short +tufty grass, his elbows on the ground, and his chin in his hands--his +satchel wherever it liked, and lie there gazing and dreaming and wishing +he could stay thus always. + +He did the same this morning, but somehow his dreams were not quite so +undisturbed. He was no longer sure that he would like to lie there +always doing nothing but dreaming, and now that he had got this idea +into his head everything about him seemed to be repeating it. He looked +at the heather, faded and dull now, and remembered how, a while ago, the +bees had been hard at work on the moors gathering their stores. "What a +lot of trouble it must be to make honey!" he thought. He felt his own +little rough coat, and smiled to think that not so very long ago it had +been walking about the hills on a different back. "It isn't much trouble +for the sheep to let their wool grow, certainly," he said to himself, +"but it's a lot of work for lots of people before wool is turned into a +coat for a little boy. Nothing can be done without work, I suppose, and +I'd rather be a bee than a sheep a good deal, though I'd rather be old +Watch than either, and _he_ works hard--yes, he certainly does." + +And then suddenly he remembered that if he didn't bestir himself he +would be late at school, which wouldn't be at all the good start his +mother had advised him to make as it was Monday morning. + +He went on pretty steadily for the rest of the way, only stopping about +six times, and that not for long together, otherwise he certainly would +not have got to school before morning lessons were over. But, as it was, +he got an approving nod from the teacher for being in very good time. +For the teacher could not help liking Gratian, though, as a pupil, he +gave him plenty of trouble, seeming really sometimes as if he _could_ +not learn. + +"And yet," thought the master--for he was a young man who did +think--"one cannot look into the child's face without seeing there are +brains behind it, and brains of no common kind maybe. But I haven't got +the knack of making him use them; for nine years old he is exceedingly +stupid." + +Things went better to-day. Gratian was full of his new ideas and really +meant to try. But even trying with all one's might and main won't build +Rome in a day. Gratian had idled and dreamed through lesson-time too +often to lose the bad habit all at once. He saw himself passed as usual +by children younger than he, who had been a much shorter time at school, +and his face grew very melancholy, and two or three big tears gathered +more than once in his eyes while he began to say in his own mind that +trying was no good. + +Morning school was over at twelve; most of the children lived in the +village, and some but a short way off, so that they could easily run +home for their dinner and be back in time for afternoon lessons; Gratian +Conyfer was the only one whose home was too far off for him to go back +in the middle of the day. So he brought his dinner with him and ate it +in winter beside the schoolroom fire, in summer in a corner of the +playground, where, under a tree, stood an old bench. This was the +dining-room he liked best, and though now summer was past and autumn +indeed fast fading into winter, Gratian had not yet deserted his summer +quarters, and here the schoolmaster found him half an hour or so before +it was time for the children's return. + +"Are you not cold there, my boy?" he asked kindly. + +"No, thank you, sir," Gratian answered, and looking more closely at him +the master saw he had been crying. + +"What is the matter, Gratian?" he asked. "You've not been quarrelling or +fighting I'm sure, you never do, and as for lessons they went a bit +better to-day, I think, didn't they?" + +But at these words Gratian only turned his face to the wall and +wept--wiping his eyes from time to time on the cuff of the linen blouse +which he wore at school over his coat. + +The schoolmaster's heart was touched, though he was pretty well used to +tears. But Gratian's seemed different somehow. + +"What is it, my boy?" he said again. + +"It's--it's just that, sir--lessons, I mean. I did try, sir. I meant to +work with a will, I did indeed." + +"But you did do better. I knew you were trying," said the teacher +quietly. + +Gratian lifted his tear stained face and looked at the master in +surprise. + +"Did you, sir?" he said. "It seemed to me to go worser and worser." + +"No, I didn't think so. And sometimes, Gratian, when we think we are +doing worse, it shows we are really doing better. We're getting up a +little higher, you see, and beginning to look on and to see how far we +have to go, and that we might have got on faster. When we're not +climbing at all, but just staying lazily at the foot of the hill, we +don't know anything about how steep and high it is." + +Gratian had quite left off crying by now and was listening attentively. +The master's words needed no explanation to him; he had caught the sense +and meaning at once. + +"Everybody has to work if they're to do any good, haven't they, sir?" he +asked. + +"_Everybody_," agreed the master. + +"But wouldn't it be better if everybody _liked_ their work--couldn't +they do it better if they did?" he asked. "That's what I'm vexed about, +partly. I don't _like_ lessons, sir," he said in a tone of deep +conviction. "I'm afraid I'm too stupid ever to like them." + +The schoolmaster could scarcely keep from smiling. + +"You're not so very old yet, Gratian," he said. "It's just possible you +may change. Besides, in some ways the beginning's the worst. You can't +read very easily yet--not well enough to enjoy reading to yourself?" + +"No, sir," said the boy, hanging his head again. + +"Well, then, wait a while and see if you don't change about books and +lessons." + +"And if I don't ever change," said Gratian earnestly. "Can people ever +do things well that they don't like doing?" + +The schoolmaster looked at him. It was a curious question for a boy of +nine years old. + +"Yes," he said, "I hope so, indeed," and his mind went back to a time +when he had looked forward to being something very different from a +village schoolmaster, when he could have fancied no employment could be +less to his liking than teaching. "I hope so, indeed," he repeated. "And +if you work with a will you--get to like the work whatever it is." + +"Thank you, sir," said the boy, and the master turned away. Then a +thought struck him. + +"What do you best like doing, Gratian?" + +The boy hesitated. Then he grew a little red. + +"It isn't doing anything really," he said; "it's what mother calls +dreaming--out on the moors, sir, that's the best of all--with the wind +all about, and nothing but it and the moor and the sky. And the feel of +it keeps in me. Even when I'm at home in the kitchen by the fire, if I +shut my eyes I can fancy it." + +The master nodded his head. + +"Dreaming is no harm in its right place. But if one did nothing but +dream, the dreams would lose their colour, I expect." + +"That's something like what _they_ said, again," thought the boy to +himself. + +The schoolmaster walked away. "A child with something uncommon about +him, I fancy," he said in his mind. "One sees that sometimes in a child +living as much alone with nature as he does. But I scarcely think he's +clever, and then the rough daily life will most likely nip in the bud +any sort of poetry or imagination that there may be germs of." + +He didn't quite understand Gratian, and then, too, he didn't take into +account what it is to be born under the protection of the four winds of +heaven. + +But Gratian felt much happier after his talk with the master, and +afternoon lessons went better. They were generally easier than the +morning ones, and often more interesting. This afternoon it was a +geography lesson. The master drew out the great frame with the big maps +hanging on it, and explained to the children as he went along. It was +about the north to-day, far away up in the north, where the ice-fields +spread for hundreds of miles and everything is in a sleep of whiteness +and silence. And Gratian listened with parted lips and earnest eyes. He +seemed to see it all. "I wish I knew as much as he does," he thought. "I +wish I could read it in books to myself." + +And for the first time there came home to him a faint, shadowy feeling +of what books are--of the treasures buried in the rows and rows of +little black letters that he so often wished had never been invented. + +"Yes," he said to himself, "I'll try to learn so that I can read it all +to myself." + +It was growing already a little dusk when he set off on his walk home. +The evenings were beginning "to draw in" as the country folk say. + +But little cared the merry throng who poured out of the schoolroom gate +as five o'clock rang from the church clock, chattering, racing, tumbling +over each other, pushing, pulling, shouting, but all in play. For they +are a good-natured set, though rough and ready--these hardy moor +children. And they grow into honest and sturdy men and women, hospitable +and kindly, active and thrifty, though they care for little beyond their +own corner of the world, and would scarcely find it out if all the books +and "learning" in existence were suddenly made an end of. + +There are mischievous imps among them, nevertheless, and none was more +so than Tony, the miller's son. He meant no harm, but he loved teasing, +and Gratian, gentle and silent, was often a tempting victim. This +evening, as sometimes happened, a dozen or so of the children whose +homes lay at the end of the village, past which was the road to the +Farm, went on together. + +"We'll run a bit of the road home with thee, Gratian," said Tony. + +And though the boy did not much care for their company, he thought it +would be unfriendly to say so, nor did he like to refuse when Tony +insisted on carrying his satchel for him. "There's no books in mine," +he said; "I took them home at dinner-time, and I'm sure your shoulders +will be aching before you get to the Farm with the weight of yours. My +goodness, how many books have you got in it? I say," as he pretended to +examine them, "here's Gratian Conyfer going to be head o' the school, +and put us all to shame with his learning." + +But as Gratian said nothing he seemed satisfied, and after stopping a +minute or two to arrange the satchel again, ran after the others. + +"It's getting dark, Tony," said his sister Dolly, "we mustn't go +farther. Good-night, Gratian, we've brought you a bit of your way--Tony, +and Ralph, and I," for the other children had gradually fallen off. + +"Yes--a good mile of it, thank you, Dolly. And thank you, Tony, for +helping me with my satchel--that's right, thank you," as Tony was +officiously fastening it on. + +"Good-night," said Tony; "you're no coward any way, Gratian. I shouldn't +like to have all that way to go in the dark, for it will be dark soon. +There are queer things to be seen on the moor after sunset, folks say." + +"Ay, so they say," said Ralph. + +"I'll be home in no time," Gratian called back. For he did not know what +fear was. + +But after he had ran awhile, he felt more tired than usual. Was it +perhaps the fit of crying he had had at dinner-time that made him so +weary? He plodded on, however, shifting his satchel from time to time, +it felt so strangely heavy, and queer tales he had heard of the little +mountain man that would jump on your shoulders, and cling on till he had +strangled you, unless you remembered the right spell to force him off +with; or of the brownies who catch children with invisible ropes, and +make them run round and round without their knowing they have left the +straight road, till they drop with fatigue, came into his mind. + +"There must be something wrong with my satchel," he said at last, and he +pulled it round so that he could open it. He drew his hand out with a +cry of vexation and distress. Tony, yes it must have been Tony--though +at first he was half-inclined to think the mountain men or the brownies +had been playing their tricks on him--Tony had filled the satchel with +heavy stones, and had no doubt taken out the books at the time he was +pretending to examine them. It was too bad. And what had he done with +the books? + +"He may have taken them home with him, he may have hidden them and get +them as he passes by, or he may have left them on the moor, and if it +rains they'll be spoilt, and the copy-books are sure to blow away." + +For in his new ardour, Gratian had brought home books of all kinds, +meaning to work so well that his master should be quite astonished the +next day, and the poor little fellow sat down on the heather, his arms +and shoulders aching and sore, and let the tears roll down his face. + +Suddenly a slight sound, something between a murmur and a rustle, some +little way from him, made him look round. It was an unusually still +evening; Gratian had scarcely ever known the moorland road so still--it +could not be the wind then! He looked round him curiously, and for a +moment or two forgot his troubles in his wonder as to what it could be. +There it was, again, and the boy started to his feet. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +FLYING VISITS + + "I see thee not, I clasp thee not; + Yet feel I thou art nigh." + + _To the Summer Wind._--SIR NOEL PATON + + +Yes--he heard it again, and this time it sounded almost like voices +speaking. He turned to the side whence it came, and to his surprise, in +the all but darkness, there glimmered for an instant or two a sudden +light. It was scarcely indeed to be called light; it was more like the +reflection of faint colour on the dark background. + +"It is like a black rainbow," said Gratian to himself. "I wonder if +there are some sorts of rainbows that come in the night. I wonder----" +but suddenly a waft of soft though fresh air on his cheek made him +start. All around him, but an instant before, had been so still that he +could not understand it, and his surprise was not lessened when a voice +sounded close to his ear. + +"What about your books, Gratian? How are you going to find them?" + +[Illustration: Was it fancy that he had seen a waving, fluttering form +beside him?] + +The boy turned to look who was speaking. His first thought was that one +of his companions, knowing of the trick Tony had played him, had run +after him with the books. But the figure beside him was not that of one +of his companions--was it that of any one at all? Gratian rubbed his +eyes; the faint light that remained,--the last rays of reflected +sunset--were more bewildering than decided night; was it fancy that he +had heard a voice speaking? was it fancy that he had seen a waving, +fluttering form beside him? + +No, there it was again; softly moving garments, with something of a +green radiance on them, a sweet, fair face, like a face in a dream, seen +but for an instant and then hidden again by a wave of mist that seemed +to come between it and him, a gentle yet cheery voice repeating again-- + +"What of the books, Gratian? How are you going to find them?" + +"I don't know," said the boy. "Who are you? How do you know about them, +and can you help me to find them?" + +But the sound of his own voice, rough and sharp, and yet thick it +somehow seemed, in comparison with the soft clearness of the tones he +had just heard, fell on his ears strangely. It seemed to awake him. + +"Am I dreaming?" he said to himself. "There is no one there. How silly +of me to speak to nobody! I might as well be speaking to the wind!" + +"Exactly," said the voice, followed this time by a little burst of the +sweetest laughter Gratian had ever heard. "Come, Gratian, don't be so +dull; what's wrong with your eyes? Come, dear, if you do want to find +your books, that's to say. You see me now, don't you?" + +And again the fresh waft passed across his cheeks, and again the flutter +of radiant green and the fair face caught his eyes. + +"Yes," he said, "I see you now--or--or I did see you half a second ago," +for even while he said it the vision had seemed to fade. + +"That's right--then come." + +He was opening his lips to ask how and where, but he had not time, nor +did he need to do so. The breeze, slight as it was, seemed to draw him +onwards, and the faint, quivering green light gleamed out from moment to +moment before him. It was evident which way he was to go. Only for an +instant a misgiving came over him and he hesitated. + +"I say," he called out, "you mustn't be offended, but you're not a +will-o'-the-wisp, are you? I don't want to follow one of them. They're +no good." + +Again the soft laughter, but it sounded kind and pleasant, not the least +mocking. + +"That's right. Never have anything to say to will-o'-the-wisps, Gratian. +But I'm not one--see--I keep on my way. I don't dance and jerk from side +to side." + +It was true; it was wonderful how fast she--if it were she, the voice +sounded like a woman's--got over the ground and Gratian after her, +without faltering or stumbling or even getting out of breath. + +"Here we are," she said, "stoop down Gratian--there are your books +hidden beside the furze bush at your feet. And it is going to rain; they +would have been quite spoilt by morning even if I had done my best. It +was an ugly trick of Master Tony's. There now, have you got them?" + +"Yes, thank you," said Gratian, fumbling for his satchel, still hanging +round his shoulders, though to his surprise empty, for he did not +remember having thrown the stones out, "I have got them all now. Thank +you _very_ much whoever you are. I would like to kiss you if only I +could see you long enough at a time." + +But a breath like a butterfly's kiss fluttered on to his cheek, and the +gleam of two soft bluey-green eyes seemed for the hundredth part of a +second to dance into his own. + +"I have kissed you," said the voice, now sounding farther away, "and not +for the first nor the thousandth time if you had known it! But you are +waking up a little now; our baby boy is learning to see and to hear and +to feel. Good-bye--good-night, Gratian. Work your best with your books +to-night--get home as fast as you can. By the bye it is late; shall I +speed you on your way? You will know how far that is to-morrow +morning--look for the furze bush on the right of the path when it turns +for the last time, and you will see if I don't know how to help you home +in no time." + +And almost before the last words had faded, Gratian felt himself gently +lifted off his feet--a rush, a soft whiz, and he was standing by the +Farm gate, while before him shone out the warm ruddy glow from the +unshuttered windows of the big kitchen, and his mother's voice, as she +heard the latch click, called out to him-- + +"Is that you, Gratian? You are very late; if it had not been such a very +still, beautiful evening I should really have begun to think you had +been blown away coming over the moor." + +And Gratian rubbed his eyes as he came blinking into the kitchen. His +mother's words puzzled him, though he knew she was only joking. It _was_ +a very still night--that was the funny part of it. + +"Why, you look for all the world as if you'd been having a nap, my boy," +she went on, and Gratian stood rubbing his hands before the fire, +wondering if perhaps he had. He was half-inclined to tell his mother of +Tony's trick and what had come of it. But she might say he had dreamt +it, and then it would seem ill-natured to Tony. + +"And I don't want mother and father to think I'm always dreaming and +fancying," he thought to himself, for just at that moment the farmer's +footsteps were heard as he came in to supper. "Anyway I want them to see +I mean to get on better at school than I have done." + +He did not speak much at table, but he tried to help his mother by +passing to her whatever she wanted, and jumping up to fetch anything +missing. And it was a great pleasure when his father once or twice +nodded and smiled at him approvingly. + +"He's getting to be quite a handy lad--eh, mother?" he said. + +As soon as supper was over and cleared away, Gratian set to work at his +lessons with a light heart. It was wonderful how much easier and more +interesting they seemed now that he really gave his whole attention, and +especially since he had tried to understand what the teacher had said +about them. + +"If only I had tried like this before, how much further on I should be +now," he could not help saying to himself with a sigh. "And the queer +thing is, that the more I try the more I want to try. My head begins to +feel so much tidier." + +But with all the goodwill in the world, at nine years old a head cannot +do _very_ much at a time. Gratian had finished all the lessons he _had_ +to do for the next day and was going back in his books with the wish to +learn over again, and more thoroughly, much that he had not before +really taken in or understood, when to his distress his poor little head +bumped down on to the volume before him, and he found by the start that +he was going to sleep! Still it wasn't very late--mother had said +nothing yet about bed-time. + +"It is that I have got into such a stupid, lazy way of learning, I +suppose," he said to himself, getting up from his seat. "Perhaps the air +will wake me up a bit," and he went through the little entrance hall and +stood in the porch, looking out. + +It was a very different night from the last. All was so still and calm +that for once the name of the Farm did not seem to suit it. + +Gratian leant against the door-post, looking up to the sky, and just +then, like the evening before, old Jonas, followed by Watch, came round +the corner. + +"Good evening, Jonas," said the boy. "How quiet it is to-night! There +wasn't much of a storm after all." + +"No, Master Gratian," replied the shepherd; "I told you they were only +a-knocking about a bit to keep their hands in;" and he too stood still +and looked up at the sky. + +"I don't like it so still as this," said the boy. "It doesn't seem +right. I came out here for a breath of air to wake me up. I've been +working hard at my lessons, Jonas; I'm going always to work hard now. +But I wish I wasn't sleepy." + +"Sign that you've worked enough for to-night, maybe," said Jonas. But as +he spoke, Gratian started. + +"Jonas," he said, "did you see a sort of light down there--across the +grass there in front, a sort of golden-looking flash? ah, there it is +again," and just at the same moment a soft, almost warm waft of air +seemed to float across his face, and Gratian fancied he heard the words, +"good boy, good boy." + +"'Tis a breath of south wind getting up," said old Jonas quietly. "I've +often thought to myself that there's colours in the winds, Master +Gratian, though folk would laugh at me for an old silly if I said so." + +"_Colours_," repeated Gratian, "do you mean many colours? I wasn't +saying anything about the wind though, Jonas--did you feel it too? It +was over there--look, Jonas--it seemed to come from behind the big +bush." + +"Due south, due south," said Jonas. "And golden yellow is my fancy for +the south." + +"And what for the north, and for the----" began Gratian eagerly, but his +mother's voice interrupted him. + +"Bedtime, Gratian," she called, "come and put away your books. You've +done enough lessons for to-night." + +Gratian gave himself a little shake of impatience. + +"How tiresome," he said. "I am quite awake now. I want you to go on +telling me about the winds, Jonas, and I want to do a lot more lessons. +I can't go to bed yet," but even while the words were on his lips, he +started and shivered. "Jonas, it can't be south wind. It's as cold as +anything." + +For a sharp keen gust had suddenly come round the corner, rasping the +child's unprotected face almost "like a knife" as people sometimes say, +and Watch, who had been rubbing his nose against Gratian, gave a snort +of disgust. + +"You see Watch feels it too," said the boy. But Jonas only turned a +little and looked about him calmly. + +"I can't say as I felt it, Master Gratian," he said. "But there's no +answering for the winds and their freaks here at the Four Winds Farm, +and it's but natural you should know more about 'em than most. All the +same, I take it as you're feeling cold and chilly-like means as bed is +the best place. You're getting sleepy--to say nothing of the Missus +calling to ye to go." + +And again the mother's voice was heard. + +"Gratian, Gratian, my boy. Don't you hear me?" + +He moved, but slowly. A little imp of opposition had taken up its abode +in the boy. Perhaps he had been feeling too pleased with his own good +resolutions and beginnings! + +"Too bad," he muttered to himself, "just when I was getting to +understand my lessons better. Old Jonas is very stupid." + +Again the short, sharp cutting slap of cold air on his face, and in +spite of himself the boy moved more quickly. + +"Good-night, Jonas," he said rather grumpily, though he would not let +himself shiver for fear he should again be told it showed he was sleepy, +"I'm going. I'm not at all tired, but I'm going all the same. Only how +you can say it's south wind--!" + +"I don't say so now. I said it _was_ south--that soft feeling as if one +could see the glow of the south in it. Like enough it's east by now; +isn't this where all the winds meet? Well, I'm off too. Good-night, +master." + +"And you'll tell me about all the colours another time, won't you, +Jonas?" said Gratian in a mollified tone. + +"Or you'll tell me, maybe," said the old man. "Never fear--we'll have +some good talks over it. Out on the moor some holiday, with nobody but +the sheep and Watch to hear our fancies--that's the best time--isn't it?" + +And the old shepherd whistled to the dog and disappeared round the +corner of the house. + +His mother met Gratian at the kitchen door. + +"I was coming out to look for you," she said. "Put away your books now. +You'd do no more good at them to-night." + +"I wasn't sleepy, mother. I went to the door to wake myself up," he +replied. But his tone was no longer fretful or cross. + +"Feeling you needed waking up was something very like being sleepy," she +answered smiling. "And all the lessons you have to learn are not to be +found in your books, Gratian." + +He did not at once understand, but he kept the words in his mind to +think over. + +"Good-night, mother," and he lifted his soft round face for her kiss. + +"Good-night, my boy. Father has gone out to the stable to speak to one +of the men. I'll say good-night to him for you. Pleasant dreams, and get +up as early as you like if you want to work more." + +"Mother," said Gratian hesitatingly. + +"Well?" + +"Is it a good thing to be born where the four winds meet?" + +She laughed. + +"I can't say," she replied. "It's not done you any harm so far. But +don't begin getting your head full of fancies, my boy. Off with you to +bed, and get to sleep as fast as you can. Pleasant dreams." + +"But, mother," said the child as he went upstairs, "dreams are fancies." + +"Yes, but they don't waste our time. There's no harm in dreaming when +we're asleep--we can't be doing aught else then." + +"Oh," said Gratian, "it's dreaming in the day that wastes time then." + +He was turning the corner of the stair as he said so, speaking more to +himself than to his mother. Just then a little waft of air came right in +his face. It was not the sharp touch that had made him start at the +door, nor was it the soft warm breath which old Jonas said was the south +wind. Rather did it remind Gratian of the kindly breeze and the +sea-green glimmerings on the moor. He stood still for an instant. Again +it fluttered by him, and he heard the words, "Not always, Gratian; not +always." + +"What was I saying?" he asked himself. "Ah yes--that it is dreaming in +the day that is a waste of time! And now she says 'Not always.' You are +very puzzling people whoever you are," he went on; "you whose voices I +hear in the chimney, and who seem to know all I am thinking whether I +say it or not." + +And as he lifted his little face towards the corner whence the sudden +draught had come, there fell on his ears the sound of rippling +laughter--the merriest and yet softest laughter he had ever heard, and +in which several voices seemed to mingle. So near it seemed at first +that he could have fancied it came from the old granary on the other +side of the wooden partition shutting off the staircase, but again, in +an instant, it seemed to dance and flicker itself away, till nothing +remained but a faint ringing echo, which might well be no more than the +slight rattle of the glass in the old casement window. + +Then all was silent, and the boy went on to his own room, and was soon +covered up and fast asleep in his little white bed. + +There were no voices in the chimney that night, or if there were Gratian +did not hear them. But he had a curious dream. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +A RAINBOW DANCE + + "Purple and azure, white and green and golden, + * * * * * + and they whirl + Over each other with a thousand motions." + + _Prometheus Unbound._--SHELLEY + + +He dreamt that he awoke, and found himself not in his comfortable bed in +his own room, but in an equally comfortable but much more uncommon bed +in a very different place. Out on the moor! He opened his eyes and +stared about him in surprise; there were the stars, up overhead, all +blinking and winking at him as if asking what business a little boy had +out there among them all in the middle of the night. And when he did +find out where he was, he felt still more surprised at being so warm and +cozy. For he felt perfectly so, even though he had neither blankets nor +sheets nor pillow, but instead of all these a complete nest of the +softest moss all about him. He was lying on it, and it covered him over +as perfectly as a bird is covered by its feathers. + +"Dear me," he said to himself, "this is very funny. How have I got here, +and who has covered me up like this?" + +But still he did not feel so excessively surprised as if he had been +awake; for in dreams, as everybody knows, any surprise one feels quickly +disappears, and one is generally very ready to take things as they come. +So he lay still, just quietly gazing about him. And gradually a murmur +of approaching sound caught his ears. It was like soft voices and +fluttering garments and breezes among trees, all mixed together, till as +it came nearer the voices detached themselves from the other sounds, and +he heard what they were saying. + +"Yes, he deserves a treat, poor child," said one in very gentle +caressing tones; "you have teased him enough, sisters." + +"Teased him!" exclaimed another voice, and this time it seemed a +familiar one to him; "_I_ tease him! Why, as you well know, it is my +mission in life to comfort and console. I don't believe in petting and +praising to the same extent as you do, perhaps--still you cannot say I +ever tease. Laugh at him a little now and then, I may. But that does no +harm." + +"I never pet and praise except when it is deserved," murmured the first +voice--and as he heard its soft tones a sort of delicious languor seemed +to creep over Gratian--"never. But I beg your pardon, sister, if I +misjudged you. You can be rigorous sometimes, you know, and----" + +"So much the better--so much the better," broke in with clear cutting +distinctness another voice; "how would the world go round--that is to +say, how would the ships sail and the windmills turn--if we were all +four as sweet and silky as you, my golden-winged sister? But it was _I_ +who teased the child as you call it--I slapped him on the face; yes, and +I am ready to do it again--to sting him sharply, when I think he needs +it." + +"Right, right--quite right," said another voice, not exactly sharp and +clear like the last, yet with a resemblance to it, though deeper and +sterner and with a strange cold strength in its accents. "You are his +true friend in doing so. I for my part shall always be ready to +invigorate and support him--to brace him for the battles he must fight. +But you, sister, have a rare gift of correction and of discerning the +weak points which may lead to defeat and failure. Yours is an ungrateful +task truly, but you are a valuable monitor." + +"I must find my satisfaction in such considerations; it is plain I shall +never get any elsewhere," replied the former speaker, rather bitterly. +"What horrid things are said of me, to be sure! Every ache and pain is +laid at my door--I am 'neither good for man nor beast,' I am told! and +yet--I am not all grim and gray, am I, sisters? There is a rosy glow in +the trail of my garments if people were not so short-sighted and +colour-blind." + +"True, indeed, as who knows better than I," said the sweet mellow tones +of the first speaker. "When you come my way and we dance together, +sister, who could be less grim than you?" + +"Ah, indeed," said the cold, stern voice, but it sounded less stern now, +"then her sharp and biting words came from neighbourhood with _me_. Ah +well--I can bear the reproach." + +"I should think so," said the voice which Gratian had recognised, "for +you know in your heart, you great icy creature, that you love fun as +well as any one. How you do whirl and leap and rush and tear about, +once your spirits really get the better of you! And you have such pretty +playthings--your snow-flakes and filigree and icicles--none of us can +boast such treasures, not to speak of your icebergs and crystal palaces, +where you hide heaven knows what. My poor waves and foam, though I allow +they are pretty in their way, are nothing to your possessions." + +[Illustration: "Now for our dance--our rainbow dance, sisters--no need +to wake him roughly. We need only kiss his eyelids."] + +"Never mind all that. _I_ don't grumble, though I might. What can one do +with millions of tons of sand for a toy, I should like to know? And +little else comes in my way that I can play catch-and-toss with! I can +waft my scents about, to be sure--there is some pleasure in that. But +now for our dance--our rainbow dance, sisters--no need to wake him +roughly. We need only kiss his eyelids." + +And Gratian, who had not all this time, strange to say, known that his +eyes were closed again, felt across his lids a breeze so fresh and +sudden that he naturally unclosed them to see whence it came. And once +open he did not feel inclined to shut them again, I can assure you. + +The sight before him was so pretty--and not the sight only. For the +voices had melted into music--far off at first, then by slow degrees +coming nearer; rising, falling, swelling, sinking, bright with +rejoicing like the song of the lark, then soft and low as the tones of +a mother hushing her baby to sleep, again wildly triumphant like a +battle strain of victory, and even while you listened changing into the +mournful, solemn cadence of a dirge, till at last all mingled into a +slow, even measure of stately harmony, and the colours which had been +weaving themselves in the distance, like a plaited rainbow before the +boy's eyes, took definite form as they drew near him. + +He saw them then--the four invisible sisters; he saw them, and yet it is +hard to tell what he saw! They were distinct and yet vague, separate and +yet together. But by degrees he distinguished them better. There was his +old friend with the floating sea-green-and-blue mantle, and the +streaming fair hair and loving sad eyes, and next her the sister with +the golden wings and glowing locks and laughing rosy face, and then a +gray shrouded nimble figure, which seemed everywhere at once, whose +features Gratian could scarcely see, though a pair of bright sparkling +eyes flashed out now and then, while sometimes a gleam of radiant red +lighted up the grim robe. And in and out in the meshes of the dance +glided the white form of the genius of the north--cold and stately, +sparkling as she moved, though shaded now and then by the steel-blue +veil which covered the dusky head. But as the dance went on, the music +gradually grew faster and the soft regular movements changed into a +quicker measure. In and out the four figures wove and unwove themselves +together, and the more quickly they moved the more varied and brilliant +grew the colours which seemed a part of them, so that each seemed to +have all those of the others as well as her own, and Gratian understood +why they had spoken of the rainbow dance. Golden-wings glowed with every +other shade reflected on her own rich background, the sister from the +sea grew warmer with the red and yellow that shone out among the lapping +folds of her mantle, with its feather-like trimming of foam, the gray of +the East-wind's garments grew ruddier, like the sky before sunrise, and +the cold white of the icy North glimmered and gleamed like an opal. And +faster and faster they danced and glided and whirled about, till Gratian +felt as if his breath were going, and that in another moment he would be +carried away himself by the rush. + +"Stop, stop," he cried at last. "It is beautiful, it is lovely, but my +breath is going. Stop." + +Instantly the four heads turned towards him, the four pairs of wings +sheathed themselves, the eyes, laughing and gentle, piercing and grave, +seemed all to be gazing at him at once, and eight outstretched arms +seemed as if about to lift him upwards. + +"No--no--" he said, "I don't want--I don't----." + +But with the struggle to speak he awoke. He was in his own bed of +course, and by the light he saw that it must be nearly time to get up. + +He stretched himself sleepily, smiling as he did so. + +"What nice dreams I have had," he said to himself. "I wonder if they +come of working well at my lessons? _They_ said it was to be a treat for +me. I wish I could go to sleep and dream it all over again." + +But just then he heard his mother's voice calling up the stair to him. + +"Are you up, Gratian? You will be late if you are not quick." + +Gratian gave himself a little shake of impatience under the bedclothes; +he glanced at the window--the sky was gray and overcast, with every sign +of a rainy day about it. He tucked himself up again, even though he knew +it was very foolish thus to delay the evil moment. + +"It's too bad," he thought. "I can _never_ do what I want. Last night I +had to go to bed when I wanted to sit up, and now I have to get up when +I do so want to stay in bed." + +But just at that moment a strange thing happened. The little casement +window burst open with a bang, and a blast of cold sharp wind dashed +into the room, upsetting a chair, scattering Gratian's clothes, neatly +laid together in a little heap, and flinging itself on the bed with a +whirl, so that the coverlet took to playing antics in its turn, and the +blankets no doubt would have followed its example had Gratian not +clutched at them. But all his comfort was destroyed--no possibility of +feeling warm and snug with the window open and all this uproar going on. +Gratian sprang up in a rage, and ran to the window. He shut it again +easily enough. + +"I can't think what made it fly open," he said to himself; "there was no +wind in the night, and it never burst open before." + +He stood shivering and undecided. Now that the window was shut, bed +looked very comfortable again. + +"I'll just get in for five minutes," he said to himself; "I'm so +shivering cold with that wind, I shan't get warm all day." + +He turned to the bed, but just as one little foot was raised to get in, +lo and behold, a rattle and bang, and again the window burst open! +Gratian flew back, it shut obediently as before. But he was now +thoroughly awakened and alert. There was no good going back to bed if he +was to be blown out of it in this fashion, and Gratian set to to dress +himself, though in a rather surly mood, and keeping an eye on the +rebellious window the while. But the window behaved quite well--it +showed no signs of bursting open, it did not even rattle! and Gratian +was ready in good time after all. + +"You look cold, my boy," said his mother, when he was seated at table +and eating his breakfast. + +"The wind blew my window open twice, and it made my room very cold," he +replied rather dolefully. + +"Blew your window open? That's strange," said his father. "The wind's +not in the east this morning, and it's only an east wind that could +burst in your window. You can't have shut it properly." + +"Yes, father, I did--the first time I shut it just as well as the +second, and it didn't blow open after the second time. But I _know_ I +shut it well both times. I think it must be in the east, for it felt so +sharp when it blew in." + +"It must have changed quickly then," said the farmer, eyeing the sky +through the large old-fashioned kitchen window in front of him. "That's +the queer thing hereabouts; many a day if I was put to it to answer, I +couldn't say which way the wind was blowing." + +"Or which way it _wasn't_ blowing, would be more like it," said Mrs. +Conyfer with a smile. "It's to be hoped it'll blow you the right way to +school anyway, Gratian. You don't look sure of it this morning!" + +"I'm cold, mother, and I've always got to do what I don't want. Last +night I didn't want to go to bed, and this morning I didn't want to get +up, and now I don't want to go to school, and I must." + +He got up slowly and unwillingly and began putting his books together. +His mother looked at him with a slight smile on her face. + +"'Must''s a grand word, Gratian," she said. "I don't know what we'd be +without it. You'll feel all right once you're scampering across the +moor." + +"Maybe," he replied. But his tone was rather plaintive still. He was +feeling "sorry for himself" this morning. + +Things in general, however, did seem brighter, as his mother had +prophesied they would, when he found himself outside. It was really not +cold after all; it was one of those breezy yet not chilly mornings when, +though there is nothing depressing in the air, there is a curious +feeling of mystery--as if nature were holding secret discussions, which +the winds and the waves, the hills and the clouds, the trees and the +birds even, know all about, but which we--clumsy creatures that we +are--are as yet shut out from. + +"What is it all about, I wonder?" said Gratian to himself, as he became +conscious of this feeling--an _autumn_ feeling it always is, I think. +"Everything seems so grave. Are they planning about the winter coming, +and how the flowers and all the tender little plants are to be taken +care of till it is over? Or is there going to be a great storm up in the +sky? perhaps they are trying to settle it without a battle, but it does +look very gloomy up there." + +For the grayness had the threatening steel-blue shade over it which +betokens disturbance of some kind. Still the child's spirits rose as he +ran; there was something reviving in the little gusts of moorland breeze +that met him every now and then, and he forgot everything else in the +pleasure of the quick movement and the glow that soon replaced the +chilly feelings with which he had set out. + +He had run a good way, when something white, or light-coloured, +fluttering on the ground some little way before him, caught his eye. And +as he drew nearer he saw that it was a book, or papers of some kind, +hooked on to a low-growing furze bush. Suddenly the words of the +mysterious figure of the night before returned to his mind--"Look for +the furze bush on the right of the path where it turns for the last +time," she had said. + +Gratian stopped short. Yes--there in front of him was the landmark--the +path turned here for the last time, as she had said. He looked about him +in astonishment. + +"This was where my books were last night, then," he said to himself. "I +had no idea I had come so far! Why, I was home in half a second--it is +very strange--I could fancy it was a dream, or else that last night and +the rainbow dance _wasn't_ a dream." + +He ran on to where the white thing was still fluttering appealingly, as +if begging him to detach it. Poor white thing! It was or had been an +exercise-book. At first Gratian fancied it must be one of his +copy-books, left behind by mistake after his fairy friend had given him +back the rest of his books. But as soon as he took it in his hands and +saw the neat, clear characters, he knew it was not his, and he did not +need to look at the signature, "Anthony Ferris," to guess that it +belonged to the miller's son--for Tony was a clever boy, almost at the +head of the school, and famed for his very good writing. + +"Ah ha," thought Gratian triumphantly, "I have you now, Master Tony." + +He had recognised the book as containing Tony's dictation lessons, for +here and there were the wrongly spelt words--not many of them, for Tony +was a good speller too--marked by the schoolmaster. + +"Tony must have meant to take the book home to copy it out clear, and +correct the wrong spelling," thought Gratian. And he remembered hearing +the teacher telling Tony's class that on the neatness with which this +was done would depend several important good marks. "He'll not be head +of his class, now he's lost this book. Serve him right for the trick he +played me," said Gratian to himself, as he rolled up the tattered book +and slipped it into his satchel. "It's not so badly torn but what he +could have copied it out all right, but it would have been torn to +pieces by this evening, now that the wind's getting up. So it isn't my +fault but his own--nasty spiteful fellow. Where would all _my_ poor +books have been by now, thanks to him?" + +The wind was getting up indeed--and a cold biting wind too. For just as +Gratian was thus thinking, there came down such a gust as he had but +seldom felt the force of. For an instant he staggered and all but fell, +so unprepared had he been for the sudden buffet. It took all his +strength and agility to keep his feet during the short remainder of the +moorland path, so sharp and violent were the blasts. And it was with +face and hands tingling and smarting painfully that he entered the +schoolroom. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +GOOD FOR EVIL + + "For 'tis sweet to stammer one letter + Of the Eternal's language;--on earth it is called forgiveness!" + + _The Children of the Lord's Supper._--LONGFELLOW + + +Tony's face was almost the first thing he caught sight of. It was not +late, but several children were already there, and Tony, contrary to his +custom, instead of playing outside till the very last moment, was in the +schoolroom eagerly searching for something among the slates and books +belonging to his class. Gratian understood the reason, and smiled to +himself inwardly--but had he smiled visibly I don't think his face would +have been improved by it. Nor was there real pleasure or rejoicing in +the feeling of triumph which for a moment made him forget his smarting +face and hands. + +"How red you look, Gratian," said Dolly, Tony's sister, "have you been +crying?" + +"Crying--no, nonsense, Dolly," he replied in a tone such as gentle +Gratian seldom used. "Whose face wouldn't be red with such a horrible +wind cutting one to pieces." + +"Wind!" repeated Dolly, "I didn't feel any wind. It must have got up all +of a sudden. Did you get home quickly last night?" + +Gratian looked at her. For half an instant he wondered if there was any +meaning in her question--had Dolly anything to do with the trick that +had been played him? But his glance at her kindly, honest face reassured +him. He was going to answer when Tony interrupted him. + +"Got home quick," he said, looking up with a grin; "of course he did. He +was in such a hurry to get to work. Didn't you see what a lot of books +he took home with him? My! your shoulders must have ached before you got +to the Farm, Gratian. Mine did, I know, though 'twas only a short bit I +carried your satchel." + +"It was pretty heavy," said Gratian, unfastening it as he spoke, and +coolly taking out the books one after another, watching Tony the while, +"but nothing to hurt. And I got all my lessons done nicely. It was kind +of you, Tony, to help me to carry my satchel." + +Tony stared--with eyes and mouth wide open. + +"What's the matter?" said his sister. "You look as if you'd seen a +ghost, Tony." + +The boy turned away, muttering to himself. + +"Tony's put out this morning," said Dolly in a low voice to Gratian, +"and I can't help being sorry too. He's lost his exercise-book that he +was to copy out clear--and the master said it'd have to do with getting +the prize. Tony's in a great taking." + +"How did he lose it?" asked Gratian with a rather queer feeling, as he +wondered what Dolly would say if she knew that at that very moment the +lost book was safely hidden away at the bottom of his satchel, which he +took care not to leave within Tony's reach. + +"He doesn't know," said Dolly dolefully. "He's sure he had it when we +left school last night. We were looking for it all evening, and then he +thought maybe it'd be here after all. But it isn't." + +Then the bell rang for lessons to begin, and Gratian saw no more of +Tony, who was at the other side of the schoolroom in a higher class, and +though Dolly was in the same as himself, she was some places off, so +that there was no chance of any talking or whispering. + +Gratian's lessons were well learnt and understood. It was not long +before he found himself higher in his class than he had almost ever done +before, and he caught the master's eye looking at him with approval, and +a smile of encouragement on his face. Why was it he could not meet it +with a brightly answering smile as he would have done the day before? +Why did he turn away, his cheeks tingling again as if the wind had been +slapping them, here inside the sheltered schoolroom? + +The master felt a little disappointed. + +"He will never do really well if he is so foolishly shy and bashful," he +said to himself, when Gratian turned away as if ashamed to be grateful +for the few kind words the teacher said to him at the end of the +morning's lessons; and the boy, in a corner of the playground by himself +when the other children had run home for their dinner, felt nearly, if +not quite, as unhappy as the day before. + +"I don't see why I should mind about Tony," he was thinking as he sat +there. "He's a naughty, unkind boy, and he deserves to be punished. If +it hadn't been for _her_ helping me, I wouldn't have known my lessons a +bit this morning, and the master would have thought I was never going to +try. I just hope Tony will lose his place and the prize and everything. +Oh, how cold it is!" for round the wall, _through_ it indeed, it almost +seemed, came sneaking a sharp little gust of air, so cold, so cutting, +that Gratian actually shivered and shook, and the smarting in his face +began again. "I feel cold even in my bones," he said to himself. + +Just then voices reached his ear. The door of the schoolhouse opened and +the master appeared, showing out a lady, who had evidently come to speak +to him about something. She was a very pleasant-looking lady, and +Gratian's eyes rested with satisfaction on her pretty dress and graceful +figure. + +"Then you will not forget about it? You will let me know in a few days +what you think?" Gratian heard her say. + +"Certainly, madam," replied the schoolmaster. "I have already one or two +in my mind who, I think, may be suitable. But I should like to think it +over and to ask the parents' consent." + +"Of course--of course. Good-bye then for the present, and thank you," +said the lady, and then she went out at the little garden-gate and the +schoolmaster returned into his house. + +"I wonder what they were talking about," thought Gratian. But he soon +forgot about it again--his mind was too full of its own affairs. + +Tony looked vexed and unhappy that afternoon, and Dolly's rosy face bore +traces of tears. She overtook Gratian on his way home in the evening, +and began again talking about the lost book. + +"It's so vexing for Tony, isn't it?" she said, "and do you know, +Gratian, it's even more vexing than we thought. Did you see a lady at +the school to-day? Do you know who she was?" + +Gratian shook his head. + +"She's the lady from the Big House down the road, that's been shut up so +long. It isn't her house, but she's the sister or the cousin of the +gentleman it belongs to, and he's lent it to her because the doctors +said the air hereabouts would be good for her little boy. He's ill +someway, he can scarcely walk. And she came to the school to-day to ask +master if one of the boys--his best boy, she said--might go sometimes to +play with her little boy and read to him a little. And Tony was sure of +being the top of the class if only he had finished copying out those +exercises--he'd put right all the faults the master had marked, and it +only wanted copying. But now he's no chance; the other boys have theirs +nearly done." + +"How do you know about what the lady said?" Gratian asked. + +"The master told mother. He met her in the village just before afternoon +lessons, and asked her if she'd let Tony go, if so be as he was head of +his class." + +"And would he like to go, d'ye think, Dolly?" asked Gratian. + +"He'd like to be head of his class, anyway," the sister replied. "I +don't know as father can let him go, for we're very busy at the mill, +and Tony's big enough to help when he's not at school. But he'd not like +to see Ben or that conceited Robert put before him. If it were you now, +Gratian, I don't think he'd mind so much." + +Gratian's heart beat fast at her words. Visions of the pleasure of going +to see the pretty lady and her boy, of hearing her soft voice speaking +to him, and of seeing the inside of the Big House, which had always been +a subject of curiosity to the children of the village, rose temptingly +before him. But they soon faded. + +"Me!" he exclaimed, "I'd have no chance--even failing Tony." + +"I don't know," said Dolly. "You're never a naughty boy, and you can +read very nice when you like. Master always seems to think you read next +best to Tony. I shouldn't wonder if he sent you, if he's vexed with +Tony. And he will be that, for he told him to do out that writing so +very neatly. I think it was to be shown to the gentlemen that come to +see the school sometimes. But I musn't go any farther with you, Gratian. +It'll be dark before I get home. I'm afraid Tony must have dropped the +book out here, and that it blew away. Good-night, Gratian." + +"Good-night, Dolly," he replied. And then after a little hesitation he +added, "I wish--I wish Tony hadn't lost his book." + +"Thank you, Gratian," said the little girl as she ran off. + +Gratian stood and looked after her with a queer mixture of feelings. It +was true, as he had said to Dolly, he did wish Tony had not lost his +book, but almost more he wished _he_ had not found it. But just now, +standing there in the softly fading light, with the evening breeze--no +longer the sharp blast of the morning--gently fanning his cheeks, +looking after little Dolly as she ran home, and thinking of Tony's +sunburnt troubled face, the angry feelings seemed to grow fainter, till +the wish to see his schoolfellow punished for his mischievous trick died +away altogether. And once he had got to this, it was a quick step to +still better things. + +"I _will_, I _will_," he shouted out aloud, though there was no +one--_was_ there no one?--to hear. And as he sprang forward to rush +after Dolly and overtake her, it seemed to him that he was half-lifted +from his feet, and at the same moment another waft of the breeze he had +been feeling, though still softer and with a scent as of spring flowers +about it, blew into his face. + +"Are you kissing me, kind wind?" he said laughing, and in answer, as it +were, he felt himself blown along almost as swiftly as the night before. +At this rate it did not take him long to gain ground on the miller's +daughter. + +"Dolly, Dolly," he called out when he saw himself within a few paces of +her. "Stop, do stop. I have something for you--something to say to you." + +Dolly turned round in astonishment. + +"Gratian!" she exclaimed, "have you been running after me all this time? +I would have waited for you if I'd known." + +[Illustration: "Look here, Dolly," and he held out to her the poor +copy-book which he had already taken out of his satchel.] + +"Never mind. I ran very fast," said Gratian. "Look here, Dolly," and he +held out to her the poor copy-book which he had already taken out of his +satchel. "This is what I ran after you for; give it to Tony, and----" + +"Tony's lost exercise-book!" cried Dolly. "Oh Gratian, how glad he will +be. Where did you find it? _How_ good of you! Did you find it just now, +since you said good-night to me?" + +Gratian's face grew red, but it was too dark for Dolly to see. + +"No," he said, "I found it before. But--but--Tony had done me a bad +turn, Dolly, and it wasn't easy--not all at once--to do him a good one +instead. But I've done it now, and you may tell him what I say. I'm +quite in earnest, and I'm glad I've done it. Tell him I hope he'll be +the head of his class now, anyway, and----" + +"Gratian," said Dolly, catching hold of his arm as she spoke, "I don't +know what the trick was that Tony played you, or tried to play you. But +I know he's terrible fond of tricks, though I don't think he's got a bad +heart. And it was too bad of him to play it on you, it was--you that +never does ill turns to none of us." + +"I've been near it this time, though," said Gratian, feeling, now that +the temptation was over, the comfort of confessing the worst. "I was +very mad with Tony, and I didn't like bringing myself to give back his +book. I don't want you to think me better than I am, Dolly." + +"But I do think you very good all the same, I do," said the little girl +earnestly, "and I'll tell Tony so. And you shan't have any more tricks +played you by him--he's not so bad as that. Thank you very much, +Gratian. If he gets the prize, it'll be all through you." + +"And about going to the Big House," added Gratian, rather sadly. "He'll +be the one for that now. I think that's far before getting a prize. It +was thinking of that made me feel I _must_ give him his book. I'd give a +good deal, I know, to be the one to go the Big House." + +"Would you?" said Dolly, a little surprised, for it was not very often +Gratian spoke so eagerly about anything. "I don't know that I'd care so +much about it. And to be sure you might have been the one if you hadn't +helped Tony now! But I don't know that it would be much fun after +all--just amusing a little boy that's ill." + +"You didn't see the lady, Dolly, but _I_ did," said Gratian. "She's not +like any one I ever saw before--she's so beautiful. Her hair's a little +the colour of yours, I think, but her skin's like--like cream, and her +eyes are as kind as forget-me-nots." + +"Was she finely dressed?" asked Dolly, becoming interested. + +"Yes--at least I think so. Her dress was very soft, and a nice sort of +shiny way when she moved, and she spoke so prettily. And oh, Dolly, it'd +be terribly nice to see the Big House. Fancy, I've heard tell there are +beautiful pictures there." + +"Pictures--big ones in gold frames, do you mean?" Dolly inquired. + +"I don't know about gold frames. I've never seen any. But pictures of +all sorts of things--of places far away, I daresay, where the sky is so +blue and the big sea--like what the master tells us sometimes in our +geography. Oh, I'd like more than anything to see pictures, Dolly." + +"I never thought about such things. What a funny boy you are, Gratian," +said Dolly, as she ran off joyfully, with Tony's tattered book in her +hand. + +It did not take Gratian long to make his way home--the feeling of having +done right "adds feather to the heel." But as he sped along the +moorland path he could not help wondering to himself if his soft-voiced +friend of the night before were anywhere near. + +"I think she must be pleased with me," he thought. "It feels like her +kissing me," as just then the evening breeze again met him as he ran. +"Is it you Golden-wings, or you, Spirit of the Waves?" he said, for he +had learnt in his dream to think of them thus. And a little soft +laughter in the air about him told him he was not far wrong. "Perhaps it +is both together," he thought. "I think they are pleased. It is nicer +than when that sharp East-wind comes snapping at one--though after all, +East-wind, I think perhaps I should thank you for having stung me as you +did this morning--I rather think I deserved it." + +Whiz, rush, dash--came a sharp blast as he spoke. Gratian started, and +for half a moment felt almost angry. + +"I didn't deserve it just now, though," he said. But a ripple of +laughter above him made his vexation fade away. + +"You silly boy," came a whisper close to his ear. "Can't you take a +joke?" + +"Yes, that I can, as well as any one;" and no sooner were the words out +of his mouth than again, with the whir and the swoop now becoming +familiar to him, he was once more raised from the ground, and really, +before he knew where he was, he found himself at the gate of the +farm-house. + +His mother was just coming out to the door. + +"Dear me, child," she said, "how suddenly you have come! I have been out +several times to the gate to look for you, but though it is not yet dark +I didn't see you." + +"I did come very quickly, mother dear," said Gratian, and for a moment +he thought of telling her about his strange new friends. But somehow, +when he was on the point of doing so, the words would not come, and his +feelings grew misty and confused as when one tries to recollect a dream +that one knows was in one's memory but a moment before. And he felt that +the voices of the winds were as little to be told as are the songs of +the birds to those who have not heard them for themselves. So he just +looked up in his mother's face with a smile, and she stooped and kissed +him--which she did not very often do. For the moorland people are not +soft and caressing in their ways, but rather sharp and rugged, though +their hearts are true. + +"I wonder where you come from, sometimes, Gratian," said his mother +half-laughing. "You don't seem like the other children about." + +"But mother, I'm getting over dreaming at my lessons. I am indeed," said +the child brightly. "I think when you ask the master about me the next +time, he'll tell you he's pleased with me." + +"That's my good boy," said she well pleased. + +So the day ended well for the child of the Four Winds. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +ORGAN TONES + + "Music, when soft voices die, + Vibrates in the memory." + + SHELLEY + + +As Gratian was running into school the next morning he felt some one +tugging at his coat, and looking round, there was Tony, his round face +redder than usual, his eyes bright and yet shy. + +"She give it me, Gratian--Doll did--and--and--I've to thank you. I was +awful glad--I was that." + +"Have you got it done? Will it be all right for the prize and all that?" +asked Gratian. + +Tony nodded. + +"I think so. I sat up late last night writing, and I think I'll get it +done to-night. It was awful good of you, Gratian," Tony went on, growing +more at his ease, "for I won't go for to say that it wasn't a mean trick +about the stones. But I meant to go back and get the books and keep +them safe for you till the next morning. You did look so funny tramping +along with the bag of stones," and Tony's face screwed itself up as if +he wanted to laugh but dared not. + +"It didn't _feel_ funny," said Gratian. "It felt very horrid. Indeed it +makes me get cross to think of it even now--don't say any more about it, +Tony." + +For it did seem to him as if, after all, the miller's boy was getting +off rather easily! And it felt a little hard that all the good things +should be falling to Tony's share, when he had been so unkind to +another. + +"I want to forget it," he went on; "if the master knew about it, he'd +not let you off without a good scolding. But I'm not going to stand here +shivering--I tell you I don't want to say any more about it, Tony." + +"Shivering," repeated Tony, "why it's a wonderful mild morning for +November. Father was just saying so"--and to tell the truth Gratian +himself had thought it so as he ran across the moor. "But, Gratian, you +needn't be so mad with me now--I know it was a mean trick, and just to +show you that I know it, I promise you the master _shall_ know all about +it," and Tony held his head higher as he said the words. "There's only +one thing, Gratian. I do wish you'd tell me where you found my book, and +how you knew where I'd hidden yours? I've been thinking and thinking +about it, and I can't make it out. Folks do say as there's still queer +customers to be met on the moor after nightfall. I wonder if you got the +fairies to help you, Gratian?" added Tony laughing. + +Gratian laughed too. + +"No, Tony, it wasn't the fairies," he said, his good-humour returning. +And it was quite restored by a sweet soft whisper at that moment +breathed into his ear--"no, not the fairies--but who it was is our +secret--eh, Gratian?" And Gratian laughed again softly in return. + +"Who was it then?" persisted Tony. But just then the school-bell rang, +and there was no time for more talking. + +Tony was kept very busy for the next day or two with his writing-out, +which took him longer than he expected. Gratian too was working hard to +make up for lost time, but he felt happy. He saw that the master was +pleased, and that his companions were beginning to look up to him as +they had never done before. But he missed his new friends. The weather +was very still--for some days he had heard scarcely a rustle among the +trees and bushes, and though he had lain awake at night, no murmuring +voices in the chimney had reached his ears. + +"Have they gone away already? Was it all a dream?" the child asked +himself sadly. + +Sunday came round again, and Gratian set off to church with his father +and mother. Going to church was one of his pleasures--of late +especially, for the owner of the Big House, though seldom there himself, +was generous and rich, and he had spent money in restoring the church +and giving a beautiful organ. And on Sunday mornings an organist came +from a distance to play on it, but in the afternoon its great voice was +silent, for no one in the village--not even the schoolmaster, who was +supposed to know most things--knew how to play on it. For this reason +Gratian never cared to go to church the second time--he would much +rather have stayed out on the moor with Jonas and Watch, and sometimes, +in the fine summer weather, when the walk was hot and tiring even for +big people, his mother had allowed him to do so. But now, with winter at +hand, it was not fit for sauntering about or lying on the heather, +especially with Sunday clothes on, so the child knew it was no use +asking to stay at home. + +This Sunday afternoon brought a very welcome surprise. Scarcely was the +boy settled in his corner beside his mother, before the rich deep tones +fell on his ear. He started and looked about him, not sure if his fancy +were not playing him false. But no--clearer and stronger grew the +music--there was no mistake, and Gratian gave himself up to the pleasure +of listening. And never had it been to him more beautiful. New fancies +mingled with his enjoyment of it, for it seemed to him that he could +distinguish in it the voices of his friends--the loving, plaintive +breath of the west, telling of the lapping of the waves on some lonely +shore; the sterner, deeper tones of the strong spirit of the north; even +the sharply thrilling blast of the ever-restless east wind seemed to +flash here and there like lightning darts, cutting through and yet +melting again into the harmony. And then from time to time the sweet, +rich glowing song of praise from the lips of Golden-wings, the joyful. + +"Yes, they are all there," said Gratian to himself in an ecstasy of +completest pleasure. "I hear them all. That is perhaps why they have not +come to me lately--it was to be a surprise! But I have found you out, +you see. Ah, if I could play on the organ you could never hide +yourselves from me for long, my friends. Perhaps the organ is one of +their real homes. I wonder if it can be." + +And his face looked so bright and yet absorbed that his mother could not +help smiling at him, as they sat waiting for a moment after the last +notes had died away. + +"Are you so pleased to have music in the afternoon too?" she said. "It +is thanks to the stranger lady--the squire's cousin, who has come to the +Big House. There--you can see her. She is just closing the organ." + +Gratian stood up on his tiptoes and bent forward as far as he could. He +caught but one glimpse of the fair face, but it was enough. It was the +same--the lady with the forget-me-not eyes; and his own eyes beamed with +fresh delight. + +"They must be friends of hers too," was the first thought that darted +through his brain; "she must know them, else she couldn't make their +voices come like that. Oh dear, if I could but go to the Big House, +perhaps she would tell me about how she knows them." + +But even to think of the possibility was very nice. Gratian mused on it, +turning it over and over in his mind, as was his wont, all the way home. +And that evening, while he sat in his corner reading over the verses +which the master always liked his scholars to say on the Monday +morning--his father and mother with their big Sunday books open on the +table before them as usual--a strange feeling came over him that he was +again in the church, again listening to the organ; and so absorbing grew +the feeling that, fearful of its vanishing, he closed his eyes and +leaned his curly head on the wooden rail of the old chair and listened. +Yes, clearer and fuller grew the tones--he was curled up in a corner of +the chancel by this time, in his dream--and gradually in front, as it +were, of the background of sound, grew out the voices he had learnt to +know so well. They all seemed to be singing together at first, but by +degrees the singing turned into soft speaking, the sound of the organ +had faded into silence, and opening his eyes, by a faint ray of +moonlight creeping in through the window, he saw he was in his own bed +in his own room. + +How had he come there? Had his mother carried him up and undressed him +without awaking him as she had sometimes done when he was a very tiny +boy? + +"No--she couldn't. I'm too big and heavy," he thought sleepily. "But +hush! the voices again." + +"Yes, I carried him up. He was so sleepy--he never knew--nobody knew. +The mother looked round and thought he had gone off himself. And +Golden-wings undressed him. He will notice the scent on his little shirt +when he puts it on in the morning." + +"Humph!" replied a second voice, in a rather surly tone, "you are +spoiling the child, you and our sister of the south. Snow-wings and I +must take him in hand a while--a whi--ile." + +For the East-wind was evidently in a hurry. Her voice grew fainter as if +she were flying away. + +"Stop a moment," said the softest voice of all. "It's not fair of you to +say we are spoiling the child--Sea-breezes and I--we're doing nothing of +the kind. We never pet or comfort him save when he deserves it--we keep +strictly to our compact. You and our icy sister have been free to +interfere when you thought right. Do you hear, Gray-wings! do you +he--ar?" + +And far off, from the very top of the chimney, came Gray-wings's reply. + +"All right--all right, but I haven't time to wait. +Good-night--go--od-ni--ght," and for once East-wind's voice sounded soft +and musical. + +Then the two gentle sisters went on murmuring together, and what they +said was very pleasant to Gratian to hear. + +"_I_ say," said Golden-wings--"_I_ say he has been a very good boy. He +is doing credit to his training, little though he suspects how long he +has been under our charge." + +"He is awaking to that and to other things now," replied she whom the +others called the Spirit of the Sea. "It is sad to think that some day +our guardianship must come to an end." + +"Well, don't think of it, then. _I_ never think of disagreeable things," +replied the bright voice. + +"But how can one help it? Think how tiny he was--the queer little +red-faced solemn-eyed baby, when we first sang our lullabies to him, and +how we looked forward to the time when he should hear more in our voices +than any one but a godchild of ours _can_ hear. And now----" + +"Now that time has come, and we must take care what we say--he may be +awake at this very moment. But listen, sister--I think we must do +something--you and I. Our sterner sisters are all very well in their +places, but all work and no play is not _my_ idea of education. Now +listen to my plan;" but here the murmuring grew so soft and vague that +Gratian could no longer distinguish the syllables. He tried to strain +his ears, but it was useless, and he grew sleepy through the trying to +keep awake. The last sound he was conscious of was a flapping of wings +and a murmured "Good-night, Gratian. Good-night, little +godson--good-ni--ight," and then he fell asleep and slept till morning. + +He would have forgotten it all perhaps, or remembered it only with the +indistinctness of a dream that is past, had it not been for something +unusual in the look of the little heap of clothes which lay on the chair +beside his bed. They were so _very_ neatly folded--though Gratian +prided himself rather on his own neat folding--and the shirt was so +snow-white and smooth that the boy thought at first his mother had +laid out a fresh one while he was asleep. But no--yesterday was Sunday. +Mrs. Conyfer would have thought another clean one on Monday very +extravagant--besides, not even from her linen drawers, scented with +lavender, could have come that delicious fragrance! Gratian snuffed and +sniffed with ever-increasing satisfaction, as the words he had +overheard in the night returned to his memory. And his stockings--they +too were scented! What it was like I could not tell you, unless it be +true, as old travellers say, that miles and miles away from the +far-famed Spice Islands their fragrance may be perceived, wafted out to +sea by the breeze. That, I think, may give you a faint idea of the +perfume left by the South-wind on her godson's garments. + +"So it's true--I wasn't dreaming," thought the boy. "I wonder what the +plot was that I couldn't hear about. I shall know before long, I +daresay." + +At breakfast he noticed his mother looking at him curiously. + +"What is it, mother?" he said; "is my hair not neat?" + +"No, child. On the contrary, I was thinking how very tidy you look this +morning. Your collar is so smooth and clean. Can it be the one you wore +yesterday?" + +"Yes, mother," he replied, "just look how nice it is. And hasn't it a +nice scent?" + +He got up as he spoke and stood beside her. She smoothed his collar with +satisfaction. + +"It is certainly very well starched and ironed," she said. "Madge is +improving; I must tell her so. That new soap too has quite a pleasant +smell about it--like new-mown hay. It's partly the lavender in the +drawers, I daresay." + +But Gratian smiled to himself--thinking he knew better! + +"Gratian," said his mother, two mornings later, as he was starting for +school, "I had a message from the master yesterday. He wants to see me +about you, but he is very busy, and he says if father or I should be in +the village to-day or to-morrow, he would take it kindly if we would +look in. I must call at the mill for father to-day--he's too busy to go +himself--so I think I'll go on to school, and then we can walk back +together. So don't start home this afternoon till I come." + +"No, mother, I won't," said Gratian. But he still hung about as if he +had more to say. + +"What is it?" asked his mother. "You're not afraid the master's going to +give a bad account of you?" + +"No, mother--not since I've cured myself of dreaming," he answered. "I +was only wondering if I knew what it was he was going to ask you." + +"Better wait and know for sure," said his mother. So Gratian set off. + +But he found it impossible not to keep thinking and wondering about it +to himself. Could it be anything about the Big House? Had Tony kept his +promise, and told the master of the trick he had played, so that +Gratian, and not he, should be chosen? + +"He didn't seem to care about it much," thought Gratian, "not near so +much as I should--oh, dear no! Still it wouldn't be very nice for him to +have to tell against himself, whether he cared about it or not." + +But as his mother had said, it was best to wait a while and know, +instead of wasting time in fruitless guessing. + +Tony seemed quite cheerful and merry, and little Dolly was as friendly +as possible. After the morning lessons were over and the other children +dispersed, the schoolmaster called Gratian in again. + +"It is too cold now for you to eat your dinner in the playground, my +boy," he said. "After you have run about a little, come in and find a +warmer dining-room inside. But I have something else to say to you. I +had a talk with Anthony Ferris yesterday." + +Gratian felt himself growing red, but he did not speak. + +"He told me of the trick he'd played you. A very unkind and silly trick +it was, and so I said to him; but as he told it himself I won't punish +him. He told me more, Gratian--of your finding his book and giving it +back to him, when you might have done him an ill turn by keeping it." + +"I did keep it all one day, sir," said Gratian humbly. + +"Ah well, you did give it him in the end," said the master smiling. "I +am pleased to see that you did the right thing in face of temptation. +And Tony feels it himself. He's an honest-hearted lad and a clever one. +He has done that piece of work I gave him well, and no doubt he stands +as the head boy"--here the master stopped and seemed to be thinking over +something. Then he went on again rather abruptly. + +"That was all I wanted to say to you just now, I think. Tony is really +grateful to you, and if he can show it, he will. Did your father or +mother say anything about coming to see me?" + +"Please, sir, mother's coming this afternoon. I'm to wait and go home +with her." + +"Ah well, that's all right." + +But Gratian had plenty to think of while he ate his dinner. He was very +much impressed by Tony's having really told. + +"I wonder," he kept saying to himself, "I do wonder if perhaps----" + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +THE BIG HOUSE AND THE LADY + + "The light of love, the purity of grace; + The mind, the music breathing from her face; + The heart, whose softness harmonised the whole." + + +Mrs. Conyfer was waiting for Gratian at the gate of the schoolhouse when +he came out. + +"We must make haste," she said; "I think it's going to rain." + +Gratian looked up at the sky, and sniffed the cold evening air. + +"Yes," he said, "I think it is." + +"It's not so cold quite as it was when I came down," Mrs. Conyfer went +on--the dwellers at Four Winds often spoke of "coming down," when they +meant going to the village--"that's perhaps because the rain is coming. +I don't want to get my bonnet spoilt--I might have known it was going to +rain when father said the wind was in the west." + +"Why does the west wind bring rain?" asked Gratian; "is it because it +comes from the sea?" + +"Nay," said his mother, "I don't know. You should know better about such +things than I--you that's always listening to the winds and hearing what +they've got to say." + +Gratian looked up, a little surprised. + +"What makes you say that, mother?" he asked. + +Mrs. Conyfer laughed a little. + +"I scarcely know," she said. "We always said of you when you were a baby +that you seemed to hear words in the wind--you were always content to +lie still, no matter how long you were left, if only the wind were +blowing. And it seems to me even now that you're always happiest and +best when there's wind about, though it's maybe only a fancy of mine." + +But Gratian looked pleased. + +"No, mother," he said, "I don't think it's a fancy. I think myself it's +quite true." + +And he pulled off his cap as he spoke and let the wind blow his hair +about, and lifted up his face as if inviting its caresses. + +"It's getting up," he said. "But I think we'll get home before the rain +comes." + +His mother had not heard the whisper that had reached his ear through +the gust of wind. + +"I will help you home, Gratian, both you and your mother, though she +won't know it." + +He laughed to himself when he felt the gentle, steady way in which they +were blown along--never had the long walk to the Farm seemed so short to +Mrs. Conyfer. + +"Dear me," she said, when they were within a few yards of the gate, "I +couldn't have believed we were home! It makes a difference when the wind +is with us, I suppose." + +Gratian pulled her back a moment, as she was going in. + +"Mother," he said, "what was it the master wanted to say to you? Won't +you tell me?" + +"I must speak first to father," she replied; "it's something which we +must have his leave for first." + +Gratian could not ask any more, and nothing more was said to him till +the next morning when he was starting for school. Then his mother came +to the door with him. + +"I've a message for the master," she said. "Listen, Gratian. You must +tell him from me that father and I have no objection to his doing as he +likes about what he spoke to me of yesterday. He said he'd like to tell +you about it himself--so I won't tell you any more. Maybe you'll not +care about it when you hear it." + +"Ah--I don't think that," said the boy, as he ran off. + +He needed no blowing to school that morning. The way seemed short, even +though it was still drizzling--a cold, disagreeable, small rain, which +had succeeded the downpour of the night before. But Gratian cared little +for rain--what true child of the moors could?--he rather liked it than +otherwise, especially when it came drifting over in great sheets, almost +blinding for the moment, and then again dispersed as suddenly, so that +standing on the high ground one could see on the slopes beneath when it +was raining and when it stopped. It gave one a feeling of being "above +the clouds" that Gratian liked. But this morning there was nothing of a +weather panorama of that kind--just sheer, steady, sapping rain, with no +wind to interfere. + +"They are tired, I daresay," thought Gratian; "for they must have been +hard at work last night, getting the clouds together for all this rain. +I expect Golden-wings goes off altogether when it's so cold and dreary. +I wonder where she is. I would like to see her home--it must be full of +such beautiful colours and scents." + +"And mine--wouldn't you like to see mine?" whistled a sudden cold breath +in his ear. "Yes, I have made you jump. But I'm not going to bring the +snow just yet--I've just come down for a moment, to see how much rain +Green-wings has got together. She mustn't waste it, you see. I can't +have her interfering with my reservoirs for the winter. I hold with a +good old-fashioned winter--a snowy Christmas and plenty of picture +exhibitions for my pet artist, Jack Frost. A good winter's the +healthiest in the end for all concerned." + +"Yes, I think so too," said Gratian. He wished to be civil to +White-wings. It was interesting to have some one to talk to as he went +along, and the North-wind in a mild mood seemed an agreeable companion, +less snappish and jerky than her sister of the east. + +"That's a sensible boy," said the snow-bringer condescendingly; "you've +something of the old northern spirit about you here on the moorlands +still, I fancy. Ah! if you could see the north--the real north--I don't +fancy you would care much about the sleepy golden lands you were +dreaming of just now." + +"I'd like to _see_ them," replied the child; "I don't say I'd like to +live in them always. But the scents and the colours--they must be very +beautiful. I seem to know all about them when Golden-wings kisses me." + +"Humph," said the Spirit of the North. Both she and Gray-wings had a +peculiar way of saying "humph" when Gratian praised either of the +gentler sisters--"as for scents I don't say--scent is a stupid sort of +thing. I don't understand anything about it. But _colours_--you're +mistaken, I assure you, if you think the south can beat me in that. +You've got your head full of the idea of snow--interminable ice-fields +and all the rest of it. Why, my good boy, did you never hear of Arctic +sunsets--not to speak of the Northern Lights? I could show you sunsets +and sunrises such as you have never dreamt of--like rainbows painted on +gold. Ah, it is a pity you cannot come with me!" + +"And why can't I?" asked Gratian. "I'm not afraid of the cold." + +The North-wind gave a whistle of good-natured contempt. + +"My dear, you'd have no time to be afraid or not afraid--you'd be dead +before you'd even looked about you. Ah--it's a terrible inconvenience, +those bodies of yours--if you were like us, now! But I mustn't waste my +time talking, only as I was passing I thought I'd say a word or two. +When my sisters are all together there's never any getting in a syllable +edgeways. Good-bye, my child. We'll meet again oftener during the next +few months." + +"Good-bye, Godmother White-wings," said Gratian, and a gust of wind +rushing past him with a whistle seemed to answer, "Good-bye." + +"I'm very glad to have had a little talk with her," he said to himself; +"she's much nicer than I thought she was, and she makes one feel so +strong and brisk. Dear me--what wonderful places there must be up in the +north where she lives!" + +The master called him aside after morning lessons. + +"Did your mother send any message to me, Gratian?" he asked. + +"Yes, sir," and he repeated what Mrs. Conyfer had said. + +The schoolmaster looked pleased. + +"I'm glad she and your father have no objection," he said. "I think it +may be a good thing for you in several ways. But I must explain it to +you. You know the Big House as they call it, here? A lady and her son +have come to stay there for a time--relations of the squire's----" + +"Yes, sir, I know," interrupted Gratian; "she plays the organ on Sunday +afternoons, and her little boy is ill." + +"Not exactly ill, but he had a fall, and he mustn't walk about or stand +much. It's dull for him, as at home he was used to companions. His +mother asked me to send him one of my best boys--a boy who could read +well for one thing--as a playmate. At first I thought of Tony Ferris, +and I spoke of him. But Tony has begged me to choose you instead of +him." + +Gratian raised his brown eyes and fixed them on the master's face. + +"Does Tony not want to go?" he asked. "I shouldn't like to take it from +him if he wants to go." + +"I think he would be happier for you to go," said the master, "and +perhaps you may be more suitable. Besides Tony thinks that he owes you +something. He has told me of the trick he played you, as you know--and +certainly you deserve to be chosen more than he. I am not sure that he +would care much about it; but still it will give him pleasure to think +he has got it for you, and we may let him have this pleasure." + +"Yes, sir," said Gratian thoughtfully. And then he added, "it was good +of Tony to ask for it for me." + +"Yes, it was," agreed the master. + +"Then when am I to go?" asked Gratian. + +"This afternoon. I will let you off an hour or so earlier, and you can +stay at the Big House till it is dark. It is no farther home from there +than from here, if you go by the road at the back of it. We shall see +how you get on, and then the lady will tell you about going again." + +Gratian still lingered. + +"What is it?" said the master. "Do you not think you shall like it?" + +"Oh no, sir, oh no," exclaimed the child. "I was only wondering. Are +there pictures at the Big House, do you think, sir?" + +"Yes, I think there are some. Are you fond of pictures?" + +"I don't know, sir. I've never seen any real ones. But I've often +thought about them, and fancied them in my mind. There are such lots of +things I'd like to see pictures of that I can't see any other way." + +"Well, perhaps you will see some at the Big House," said the master with +a smile. + +Out in the playground Gratian ran against Tony. + +"Has he told you?" he asked eagerly. + +"Yes," said Gratian. "I'm to go this afternoon. It was very good of you, +Tony, to want me to go instead of you." + +Tony got rather red. + +"I don't know that I'd a-cared about it much, Gratian," he said. "It +wasn't that as cost me much. But to tell you the truth, I did want to +get out of telling the master about the trick I'd played you. And I +don't know as I'd have told it, but a mighty queer thing happened--it's +thanks to that I told." + +"What was it?" asked Gratian. + +"It was at night after I was in bed. I'd put off telling, and I thought +maybe it'd all be forgotten. And that night all of a sudden there came +such a storm of wind that it woke me up--the window had burst open, and +I swear to you, Gratian--I've not told any one else--I saw a figure all +in white, and with white wings, leaning over my bed, as if it had +brought the storm with it. I was so frightened I began to think of all +the bad things I had done, and I hollered out, 'I'll tell master first +thing to-morrow morning, I will.' And with that the wind seemed to go +down as sudden as it came, and I heard a sort of singing, something like +when the organ plays very low in church, and there was a beautiful sweet +scent of flowers through the room; and I suppose I fell asleep again, +for when I woke it was morning, and I could have fancied it was all a +dream, for nobody else had heard the wind in the night." + +"We hear it most nights up at our place," said Gratian, "but I'm never +frightened of it." + +"You would have been that night--leastways _I_ was. I durstn't go back +from my word, dream or no dream--so now you know, Gratian, how I came to +tell. And I hope you'll enjoy yourself at the Big House." + +"I shall thank you for it if I do, all the same, Tony," Gratian replied. + +"It's more in your way than mine. I'd feel myself such a great silly +going among gentry folk like that," said Tony, as he scampered off to +his dinner. + +About three o'clock that afternoon Gratian found himself at the gates of +the Big House. He had often passed by that way and stood looking in, but +he had never been within the gates, for they were always kept locked; +and there had been a strange, almost sad look of loneliness and +desertedness about the place, even though the gardens had not been +allowed to be untidy or overrun. Now it looked already different; the +padlock and chain were removed, and there were the marks of wheels upon +the gravel. It seemed to Gratian that even if he had not known there +were visitors in the old house he would have guessed it. + +He walked slowly up the avenue which led from the gates to the house. He +was not the least afraid or shy, but he was full of interest and +expectation. He wanted to see everything--to miss nothing, and even the +walk up the avenue seemed to him full of wonder and charm. It _had_ a +charm of its own no doubt, for at each side stood pine-trees like rows +of sentinels keeping guard on all comers, tall, stately, and solemn, +only now and then moving their heads with silent dignity, as if in reply +to observations passing among them up there, too high to be heard. The +pines round Gratian's home were not so tall or straight--naturally, for +they had a great deal of buffeting to do in order to live at all, and +this of course did not help them to grow tall or erect. Gratian looked +up in wonder at the great height. + +"How I wish I knew what they say to each other up there," he said. + +But just then a drop of something cold falling on his face made him +start. It was beginning to rain. + +"I wouldn't like to be wet when I first see the lady and the young +gentleman," he thought. "I must be quick." + +So off he set at a run, which perhaps did not much hasten matters, for +when he got to the hall door he was so out of breath that he had to +stand still for several minutes before venturing to ring. + +The bell, when he did ring it, sounded sharp and hollow, almost like a +bell ringing in an empty house. And when the door was opened, he saw +that the large hall did look bare and empty, and he felt a little +disappointed. But this feeling did not last long. Before he had time to +say anything to the servant, a sweet, bright voice came sounding +clearly. + +"Oh, here he is, Fergus," were the words she said, and in another +instant the owner of the voice appeared. It was the lady of the organ. +She came forward smiling, and holding out her hand, but Gratian gazed at +her for a moment without speaking, nor seeming to understand that she +was speaking to him. He had never seen any one like her before. She was +tall and fair, and her face was truly lovely. But what made it so, more +than the delicate features or the pretty soft colours, was its sunny +brightness, which yet from time to time was veiled by a look of pitying +sadness, almost sweeter. And at these times the intense blueness of her +eyes grew paler and fainter, so that they looked almost gray, like the +sea when a cloud comes over the sunny sky above; only as Gratian had +never seen the sea, he could not think this to himself. + +What he did say to himself told it quite as well. + +"She is like Golden-wings and Green-wings mixed together," was his +thought. + +And then having decided this, his mind seemed to grow clearer, the sort +of confused bewilderment he had felt for a moment wafted itself away, +and he distinguished the words she had repeated to him more than once. + +"You are the little boy Mr. Cornelius has kindly sent to see my poor +little boy. It is kind too of you to come. I hope you and Fergus will be +great friends." + +She thought he was shy when at first he did not answer. But looking at +him again she saw that it was not shyness which was speaking out of his +big brown eyes. + +"You are not afraid of me, are you?" she said smiling again. + +"Oh no," he replied. "I didn't mean to be rude. I couldn't be frightened +of you. I was only thinking--I never saw anybody so beautiful as you +before," he went on simply, "and it made me think." + +The lady flushed a little--a very little. + +"I am pleased that you like my face," she said. "I like yours too, and I +am sure Fergus will. Will you come and see him now? He is waiting +eagerly for you." + +She held out her hand again, and Gratian this time put his little brown +one into it confidingly. And thus she led him out of the large, cold +hall, down a short passage, rendered light and cheerful by a large +window--here a door stood open, and a glow of warmth seemed to meet them +as they drew near it. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +LITTLE FERGUS + + "Old portraits round in order set, + Carved heavy tables, chairs, buffet + Of dark mahogany." + + MRS. SOUTHEY + + +For there was a bright fire burning in the room, which sent red rays +flickering and dancing in all directions, lighting up the faded tints of +the ancient curtains and covers, and bringing rich crimson shades out of +the shining, old dark mahogany furniture. There were flowers too; a +bouquet of autumn leaves--bronze and copper and olive--with two or three +fragile "last roses" in the middle, on which Gratian's eyes rested with +pleasure for a moment, on their way to the small figure--the most +interesting object of all. + +He was lying on a little sofa, placed so as to be within reach of the +fire's warmth, and yet near enough to the window for him to see out +into the garden, to watch the life of the birds and the plants, the +clouds and the breezes. The autumn afternoon looked later and darker now +to Gratian as he glanced at it from within than when he was himself a +part of it out-of-doors, and his eyes returned with pleasure to the +nearer warmth and colour, though after the first momentary glimpse of +the boy on the sofa a sort of shyness had made him look away. + +For the child was extremely pale and thin--he looked much more ill than +Gratian had been prepared for, and this gave him a feeling of timidity +that nothing else could have caused. But the lady soon put him at his +ease. + +"Fergus, dear," she said, "here is the little friend you have been +hoping for. Come over here near us, my dear boy"--for she had sat down +on a low chair beside the couch, evidently her usual place--"and I will +help you to get over the first few steps of making friends. To begin +with," she said smiling, "do you know we don't know your name? That +seems absurd, doesn't it? And you don't know ours." + +"Yes--I know _his_," said Gratian, smiling too, and with a little +gesture towards the invalid, so gentle and half-timid that no one could +have called it rude; "you have just said it--Fergus. I never heard that +name before." + +"It is a Scotch name," said the lady. "One can almost fancy oneself in +Scotland here. And tell us your name." + +"Gratian," he replied, "Gratian Conyfer." + +"What a nice name," said Fergus, speaking for the first time, "and what +a queer one! I can say the same to you as you said to me, Gratian--I +never heard that name before." + +"How did you come by it?" asked Fergus's mother. + +"I think it was because mother is called Grace, and there were several +baby brothers that died, that were called for father," he replied. + +"And how old are you?" asked Fergus, raising himself a little on his +elbow. "I'm eight and a half. I'm not so very small for my age when I +stand up--am I, mother?" + +"No, dear," she answered with a little shadow over her bright face. "And +you, Gratian?" + +"I am nine," he said; "but they say at school I don't look so much. Tony +is twelve, but he is much, much bigger." + +"Tony--who is Tony?" asked Fergus; "is he your brother?" + +"Oh no, I have no brothers. He's the head boy at the school." + +"Yes," said Fergus's mother, "I remember about him. He was the boy Mr. +Cornelius first thought of sending." + +"And why didn't he come?" asked Fergus. + +Gratian looked up at the lady. + +"Did the master tell you?" he asked. The lady smiled, and nodded her +head. + +"Yes," she said, "I know the story. You may tell it to Fergus, Gratian; +he would like to hear it. Now I am going away, for I have letters to +write. In half an hour or so you shall have your tea. Would you like it +here or in the library, Fergus?" + +"Oh, in the library," he said eagerly. "I haven't been there for two +days, mother. And then Gratian can see the pictures--you told me he +liked pictures?--and best of all, you can play the organ to us, little +mother." + +"Then you feel better to-day, my boy?" she said, stooping to kiss the +white forehead as she was leaving the room. "Some days I can't get him +to like to move about at all," she added to Gratian. + +"Yes, I do feel better," he said. "I don't mind it hurting me when I +don't feel that horrible way as if I didn't care for _anything_. Have +you ever been ill, Gratian? Do you know how it feels?" + +Gratian considered. + +"I once had a sore throat," he said, "but I didn't mind very much. It +was winter, and I had a fire in my room, and I liked to see the flames +going dancing up the chimney." + +"Yes," said Fergus, "I know how you mean. I'm sure we must have the same +thinkings about things, Gratian. Do you like music too, as much as +pictures? Mother says people who like pictures very much, often like +music too, and--and--there's something else that those kind of people +like too, but I forget what." + +"Flowers," suggested Gratian; "flowers and trees, perhaps." + +"No," said Fergus, looking a little puzzled, "these would count in with +pictures, don't you think? I'll ask mother--she said it so nicely. Don't +you like when anybody says a thing so that it seems to fit in with other +things?" + +"Yes," said Gratian, "I think I do. But I think things to myself, +mostly--I've not got anybody much to talk to, except sometimes Jonas. +He's got very nice thoughts, only he'd never say them except to Watch +and me." + +"Who's Watch?" asked Fergus eagerly. "Is he a dog?" + +"He's our sheep-dog, and Jonas is the shepherd," replied Gratian. +"They're sometimes alone with the sheep for days and days--out on the +moors. It's so strange--I've been with them sometimes--it's like another +world--to see the moors all round, ever so far, like the sea, I +suppose--only I've never seen the sea--and not a creature anywhere, +except some wild birds sometimes." + +"Stop," said Fergus, closing his eyes; "yes, I can see it now. Go on, +Gratian--is the sky gray, or blue with little white clouds?" + +"Gray just now," said the boy, "and there's no wind that you can feel +blowing. But it's coming--you know it's coming--now and then Watch +pricks up his ears, for he can tell it much farther off than we can, and +old Jonas pats him a little. Jonas has an old blue round cap--a +shepherd's cap--and his face is browny-red, but his hair is nearly +white, and his eyes are very blue. Can you see him, Fergus? And the +sheep keep on browsing--they make a little scrumping noise when you are +quite, quite close to them. And just before the wind really comes a +great bird gives a cry--up, very high up--and it swoops down for a +moment and then goes up again, till it looks just a little black speck +against the sky. And all the time you know the wind is coming. Can you +see it all, Fergus?" + +"All," said the boy; "it's beautiful. You must tell me pictures often, +Gratian, till I can go out again. I never had any one who could make +them come so, except mother's music--they come with that. Haven't you +noticed that they come with music?" + +"I don't know," said Gratian. "I've never seen any real +pictures--painted ones in big gold frames." + +"There are some here," said Fergus; "not very many, but some. I like a +few of them--perhaps you will too. But I like the pictures that come and +go in one's fancy best. That's the kind that mother's music brings me." + +"Yes," said Gratian, his eyes sparkling, "I understand." + +"I was sure you would," said Fergus, with a tiny touch of patronising in +his tone, which Gratian was too entirely single-minded to see, or rather +perhaps to object to if he did see it. "I knew the minute I saw you, +you'd suit me. I'm very glad that other fellow didn't come instead of +you. But, by the bye, you haven't told me about that--mother said you'd +tell me." + +Gratian related the story of his satchel of stones. Fergus was boy +enough to laugh a little, though he called it a mean trick; but when +Gratian told of having found his books again, he looked puzzled. + +"How could you find them?" he asked. "It was nearly dark, didn't you +say?" + +"I don't quite know," replied Gratian, and he spoke the truth. It was +always difficult for him to distinguish between real and fancy, dreaming +and waking, in all concerning his four friends, and in some curious way +this difficulty increased so much if he ever thought of talking about +them, that he felt he was not meant to do so. "I have fancies +sometimes--like dreams, perhaps--that I can't explain. And they help me +often--when I am in any trouble they help me." + +"I don't see how fancies can help you to find things that are lost," +said Fergus, who, except in his own particular way, was more practical +than Gratian, "unless you mean that you dream things, and your dreams +come true." + +"It's a little like that," Gratian replied. "I think I had a sort of +dream about coming here. I did so want to come--most of all since I +heard the lady play in church." + +"Yes," said Fergus, "isn't mother's playing beautiful? I've not heard +her play in church for ever so long, but I'm so glad there's an organ +here. She plays to me every day. I like music best of everything in the +world--don't you?" + +To which Gratian gave his old answer--"I don't know yet." + +Then they began talking of more commonplace things. Each told the other +of his daily life and all his childish interests. Fergus was greatly +struck by the account of Gratian's home--the old house with the queer +name. + +"How I should like to see it," he said, "and to feel the wind blow." + +"The winds," corrected Gratian, "the four winds." + +"The _four_ winds," repeated Fergus. "North, south, east, and west. They +don't blow all together, do they?" + +"I think they do sometimes. Yes, I know they do--at night I'm sure I've +heard them all four together, like tones in music." + +Fergus looked delighted. + +"Ah, you have to come back to music, you see," he said. "There's nothing +tells everything and explains everything as well as music." + +"You must have thought about it a great deal," said Gratian admiringly. +"I've only just begun to think about things, and I think it's very +puzzling, though I'm older than you. I don't know if music would explain +things to me." + +"Perhaps not as much as to me," said Fergus. "You see it's been my best +thing--ever since I was five years old I've been lying like this. At +home the others are very kind, but they can't quite understand," he +added, shaking his head a little sadly; "they can all run about and jump +and play. And when children can do all that, they don't need to think +much. Still it is very dull without them--that is why I begged mother to +try to get me somebody to play with. But I think you're better than +that, Gratian. I think you understand more--how is it? You've never been +ill or had to lie still." + +"No," said the boy, "but I've had no brothers and sisters to play with +me. And perhaps it's with being born at Four Winds--mother says so +herself." + +"I daresay it is," said Fergus gravely. + +"Won't you get better soon?" asked Gratian, looking at Fergus with +profound sympathy. For, gentle as he was, the idea of having to lie +still, not being able to run about on the moors and feel his dear winds +on his face, having even to call to others to help him before he could +get to the window and look out on the sunshine--it seemed perhaps more +dreadful to Gratian than it would have done to an ordinary, healthy +child like Tony Ferris. "Won't you too be able to walk and run +about--even if it's only a little?" + +"I hope so," Fergus replied. "Mother says I mustn't expect ever to be +quite strong. But they say I'm getting better. That's why mother brought +me here. Do you know I can eat ever so much more than when I came? If I +can get well enough to play--even on a piano--I wouldn't mind so much. I +could make up all sorts of things for myself then--I could make pictures +even of the moorland and Four Winds Farm, I think, Gratian." + +"I'll try to tell you them--I'll try to make some of my fancies into +stories and pictures," said Gratian; "then afterwards, when you get well +and can play, you can make them into music." + +Just then the door opened, and Fergus's mother came in. + +"Tea is ready," she said, "and Andrew is going to carry you into the +library, Fergus." + +She looked at the boy a little anxiously as she spoke, and Gratian saw +that a slight shadow of pain or fear crept over Fergus's face. + +"Mother," he said, "would it perhaps be better to stay here after all? +You could show Gratian the pictures." + +The lady looked very disappointed. + +"The tea is so nicely set out," she said, "and you know you can't hear +the organ well from here. And Andrew doesn't hurt you--he is very +careful." + +Gratian looked on, anxious too. He understood that it must be good for +Fergus to go into another room, otherwise his mother would not wish it. +Fergus caught sight of the eagerness on Gratian's face, and it carried +the day. + +"I will go," he said; "here, Andrew." + +A man-servant, with a good-humoured face and a strong pair of arms, came +forward and lifted the child carefully. + +"You walk beside me, Gratian, and hold my hand. If it hurts much I will +pinch you a little, but don't let mother know," he said in a whisper; +and thus the little procession moved out of the room right across the +hall and down another corridor. + +"There must be a window open," said Fergus; "don't you feel the air +blowing in? Oh don't shut it, mother," as the lady started forward, +"it's such nice soft air--scented as if they were making hay. Oh, it's +delicious." + +His mother seemed a little surprised. + +"There is no window open, dear," she said. "It must be that you feel the +change from the warm room to the hall. Perhaps I should have covered you +up." + +"Oh no, no," repeated Fergus. "I'm not the least cold. It's not a cold +wind at all. Gratian, don't _you_ feel it?" + +"Yes," said Gratian, holding Fergus's hand firmly. But his eyes had a +curious look in them, as if he were smiling inwardly to himself. + +"Golden-wings, you darling," he murmured, "I know you're there--thank +you so much for blowing away his pain." + +In another moment Fergus was settled on a couch in the library--a lofty +room with rows and rows of books on every side, nearly up to the +ceiling. It would have looked gloomy and dull but for the cheerful fire +in one corner and the neat tea-table drawn up before it; as it was, the +sort of solemn mystery about it was very pleasing to Gratian. + +"Isn't it nice here?" said Fergus. "I'm so glad I came. And do you know +it didn't hurt me a bit. The fresh air that came in seemed to blow the +pain away." + +"I think you really must be getting stronger," said his mother, with a +smile of hopefulness on her face, as she busied herself with the +tea-table; "you have brought us good luck, Gratian." + +"I believe he has," said Fergus. "Mother, do you know what he has been +telling me? He was born where the four winds meet--he _must_ be a lucky +child, mustn't he, mother?" + +"I should say so, certainly," said the lady with a smile. "I wonder if +it is as good as being born on a Sunday." + +"Oh far better, mother," said Fergus; "there are lots of children born +on Sundays, but I never heard of one before that was born at the winds' +meeting-place." + +"Gratian will be able to tell you stories, I daresay," said his +mother--"stories which the winds tell him, perhaps--eh, Gratian?" + +Gratian smiled. + +"He has been telling me some pictures already," said Fergus; "oh, mother +I'm so happy." + +"My darling," said his mother. "Now let me see what a good appetite you +have. You must be hungry too, Gratian, my boy. You have a long walk home +before you." + +Gratian was hungry, but he hardly felt as if he could eat--there was so +much to look at and to think about. Everything was so dainty and pretty; +though he was well accustomed at the Farm to the most perfect +cleanliness and neatness, it was new to him to see the sparkling silver, +the tea-kettle boiling on the spirit-lamp with a cheerful sound, the +pretty china and glass, and the variety of bread and cakes to tempt poor +Fergus's appetite. And the lady herself--with her forget-me-not eyes and +sweet voice. Gratian felt as if he were in fairyland. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +MUSIC AND COUNSEL + + "What is this strange new life, this finer sense, + Which lifts me out of self, and bids me + ... rise to glorious thought + High hopes, and inarticulate fantasies?" + + "Voices."--_Songs of Two Worlds_ + + +After tea Fergus's mother turned to the two boys. + +"Shall I play to you now?" she said, "or shall we first show Gratian the +pictures?" + +"Play the last thing, please," said Fergus. "I like to keep it in my +mind when I go to bed--it makes me sleep better. We can go into the +gallery now and show Gratian the pictures; it would be too dark if we +waited." + +"It is rather dark already," said the lady, "still Gratian can see some, +and the next time he comes he can look at them again." + +She rang the bell, and when Andrew came, she told him to wheel Fergus's +couch into the picture-gallery, which opened into the library where they +were. + +Andrew opened a double door at the other end of the room from that by +which they had come in, and then he gently wheeled forward the couch on +which Fergus was lying, and pushed it through the doorway. The gallery +was scarcely large enough to deserve the name, but to Gratian's eyes it +looked a very wonderful place. It was long and rather narrow, and the +light came from the top, and along the sides and ends were hung a good +many pictures. All down one side were portraits--gentlemen with wigs, +and ladies with powder, and some in queer, fancy dresses, mostly looking +stiff and unnatural, though among them were some beautiful faces, and +two or three portraits of children, which caught Gratian's eye. + +"What do you think of them?" asked Fergus. + +Gratian hesitated. + +"I don't think people long ago could have been as pretty as they are +now," he said at last, "except that lady in the long black dress--oh, +she is very pretty, and so is the red little boy with the dog, and the +two girls blowing soap-bubbles. The big one has got eyes like--like the +lady's," he added half-timidly. + +The lady looked pleased. + +"You have a quick eye, Gratian," she said. "The pictures you admire are +the best here, and that little girl is my great-grandmother. Now, look +at the other side. These are pictures of all kinds--not family ones." + +Gratian followed her in silence. The pictures were mostly +landscapes--some so very old and dark that one could scarcely +distinguish what they were. And some of which the colours were brighter, +the boy did not care for any better--they were not like any skies or +trees he had ever seen or even imagined, and he felt disappointed. + +Suddenly he gave a little cry. + +"Oh, I like that--I do like that," he said, and he glanced up at the +lady for approval. + +She smiled again. + +"Yes," she said, "it is a wonderful picture. Quite as much a picture of +the wind as of the sea." + +Gratian gazed at it with delight. The scene was on the coast, on what +one might call a playfully stormy day. The waves came dancing in, their +crests flashing in the sunshine, pursued and tossed by the wind; and up +above, the little clouds were scudding along quite as busy and eager +about _their_ business, whatever it was, as the white-sailed +fishing-boats below. + +"Do you like it so very much?" she asked. + +"Yes," the boy replied, "that's like what I fancied pictures were. I've +never seen the sea, but I can feel it must be like that." + +And after this he did not seem to care to see any others. + +[Illustration: And when she sat down to play the light sparkled and +glowed on her fair hair, making it look like gold.] + +Fergus too was getting a little tired of lying alone while his mother +and Gratian made the tour of the gallery. So Andrew was called to wheel +him back again to the other door of the library, from whence he could +best hear the organ. It stood at one side of the large hall, in a recess +which had probably been made on purpose. It was dark in the recess even +at mid-day, and now the dusk was fast increasing, so the lady lit the +candles fixed at each side of the music-desk, and when she sat down to +play the light sparkled and glowed on her fair hair, making it look like +gold. + +Gratian touched Fergus. + +"Doesn't it look pretty?" he said, pointing to the little island of +light in the gloomy hall. + +Fergus nodded. + +"I always think mother turns into an angel when she plays," he said. +"Now, let's listen, Gratian, and afterwards you can tell me what +pictures the music makes to you, and I'll tell you what it makes to me." + +The organ was old and rather out of repair, and Andrew was not very well +used to blowing. That made it, I think, all the more wonderful that the +lady could bring such music out of it. It was not so fine and perfect, +doubtless, as what Gratian had heard from her in church on the Sunday +afternoon, but still it was beautiful enough for him to think of nothing +but his delight in listening. She played several pieces--some sad and +plaintive, some joyful and triumphant, and then Gratian begged her to +play the last he had heard at church. + +"That is a good choice for our good-night one," she said. "It is a +favourite of Fergus's too. He calls it his good-night hymn." + +Fergus did not speak--he was lying with his eyes shut, in quiet +happiness, and as the last notes died away, "Don't speak yet, Gratian," +he said, "you don't know what I am seeing--flocks of birds are slowly +flying out of sight, the sun has set, and one hears a bell in the +distance ringing very faintly; one by one the lights are going out in +the cottages that I see at the foot of the hill, and the night is +creeping up. That is what _I_ see when mother plays the good-night. +What do you see, Gratian?" + +"The moor, I think," said the boy, "our own moor, up, far up, behind our +house. It must be looking just as I see it now, at this very minute; +only the music is coming from some place--a church, I think, _very_ far +away. The wind is bringing it--the south wind, not the one from the sea. +And you know that when the music is being played in the church there are +lots of people all kneeling so that you can't see their faces, and I +think some are crying softly." + +"Yes," said Fergus, "that isn't so bad. I can see it too. You'll soon +get into the way, Gratian," he went on, with his funny little +patronising tone, "of making music-pictures if we practice it together. +That's the best of music, you see. It makes itself and pictures too. Now +pictures never make you music." + +"But they give you feelings--like telling you stories--at least that one +I like so much does. And I suppose there are many pictures like that--as +beautiful as that?" he went on, as if asking the question from the lady, +who had left the organ now and was standing by Fergus, listening to what +they were saying. + +"Yes," she said, "there are many pictures I should like you to see, and +many places too. Places which make one wish one could paint them the +moment one sees them. Perhaps it is pictures you are going to care most +for, little Gratian? If so, they will be music and poetry and everything +to you--they will be your voice." + +"_Poetry_," repeated Fergus, "that's the other thing--the thing I +couldn't remember the name of, Gratian." + +Gratian looked rather puzzled. + +"I don't know much about poetry," he said. "But I don't know about +anything. I never saw pictures before. There are so many things to know +about," he added with a little sigh. + +"Don't be discouraged," said the lady smiling. "Everybody has to find +out and to learn and to work hard." + +"Has everybody a voice?" asked Gratian. + +"No, a great many haven't, and some who have don't use it well, which is +worse than having none. But don't look so grave; we shall have plenty of +time for talking about all these things. I think you must be going home +now, otherwise your mother will be wondering what has become of you. And +thank her for letting us have you, and say I hope you may come again on +Saturday. You don't mind the long walk home--for it is almost dark, you +see?" + +"Oh no, I don't mind the dark or anything like that," said Gratian with +a little smile, which the lady, even though her forget-me-not eyes were +so very clear, could not quite understand. + +For he was thinking to himself, "How could I be afraid, with my four +godmothers to take care of me, wherever I were?" + +Then he turned to say good-bye to Fergus, and the little fellow +stretched up his two thin arms and clasped them round the moorland +child's neck. + +"I love you," he said; "kiss me and come again soon, and let us make +stories to tell each other." + +The lady kissed him too. + +"Thank you for being so good to Fergus," she said. + +And Gratian, looking up in her face, wished he could tell her how much +he had liked all he had seen and heard, but somehow the words would not +come. All he could say was, "Thank you, and good-night." + +Out-of-doors again, especially when he got as far as the well-known road +he passed along every day, it seemed all like a dream. All the way down +the avenue of pines he kept glancing back to see the lights in the +windows of the Big House--he liked to think of Fergus and his mother in +there by the fire, talking of the afternoon and making, perhaps, plans +for another. + +"I hope his back won't hurt him to-night when they carry him up to bed," +he said to himself. "It was very good of Golden-wings to come. But I'm +afraid she can't be here much more, now that the winter is so near. +Green-wings might perhaps come sometimes, but----" + +A sudden puff of wind in his face, and a voice in his ear, interrupted +him. The wind felt sharp and cold, and he did not need the tingling of +his cheeks to tell him who was at hand. + +"But what?" said the cutting tones of Gray-wings. "Ah, I know what you +were going to say, Master Gratian. White-wings and I are too sharp and +outspoken for your new friends! Much you know about it. On the contrary, +nothing would do the lame boy more good than a nice blast from the +north, once he is able to be up and about again. It was for the moorland +air the doctors, with some sense for once, sent him up here. And I am +sure you must know it isn't Golden-wings and Green-wings only who are to +be met with on the moors." + +"I'm very sorry if I've offended you," said Gratian, "but you needn't be +quite so cross about it. I don't mind you being sharp when I deserve it, +but I've been quite good to-day, _quite_ good. I'm sure the lady +wouldn't like me if I wasn't good." + +"Humph!" said Gray-wings. At least she meant it to be "humph," and +Gratian understood it so, but to any one else it would have sounded more +like "whri--i--zz," and you would have put up your hand to your head at +once to be sure that your cap or hat wasn't going to fly off. "Humph! +_I_ don't set up to be perfect, though I might boast a little more +experience, a few billions of years more, of this queer world of yours +than you. And I've been pretty well snubbed in my time and kept in my +proper place--to such an extent, indeed, that I don't now even quarrel +with having a _very_ much worse name than I deserve. It's good for one's +pride, so I make a wry face and swallow it, though of course, all the +same, it must be a very pleasant feeling to know that one has been +quite, _quite_ good. I wish you'd tell me what it's like." + +"You're very horrid and unkind, Gray-wings," said Gratian, feeling +almost ready to cry. "Just when I was so happy, to try and spoil it all. +Tell me what you think I've not been good about and I'll listen, but +you needn't go mocking at me for nothing." + +There was no answer, and Gratian thought perhaps Gray-wings was feeling +ashamed of herself. But he was much mistaken. She was only reserving her +breath for a burst of laughter. Gratian of course knew it was laughter, +though I don't suppose either you or I would have known it for that. + +"What is it that amuses you so?" asked the boy. + +"It's Green-wings--you can't see her unfortunately--she's posting down +in such a hurry. She thinks I tease you, and she knows I'm in rather a +mischievous mood to-night. But they've caught her--she can't get past +the corner over there, where the Wildridge hills are--and she is in such +a fuss. The hills never like her to run past without paying them a visit +if they can help it, and she's too soft-hearted to go on her way +will-ye, nill-ye, as I do. So you'll have to trust to me to take you +home after all, my dear godchild." + +"Dear Green-wings," said Gratian, "I don't like her to be anxious about +me." + +"Bless you, she's always in a pathetic humour about some one or +something," said Gray-wings. + +"I don't mind you taking me home if you won't mock at me," said Gratian. +"Are you really displeased with me? Have I done anything naughty without +knowing it?" + +Gray-wings's tone suddenly changed. Never had her voice sounded so +gentle and yet earnest. + +"No, my child. I only meant to warn you. It is my part both to correct +and to warn--of the two I would rather, by far, warn. Don't get your +little head turned--don't think there is nothing worth, nothing +beautiful, except in the new things you may see and hear and learn. And +never think yourself _quite_ anything. That is always a mistake. What +will seem new to you is only another way of putting the old--and the +path to any real good is always the same--never think to get on faster +from leaving it. You can't understand all this yet, but you will in +time. Now put your arms out, darling--I am here beside you. Clasp them +round my neck; never mind if it feels cold--there. I have you safe, and +here goes----" + +A whirl, a rapid upbearing, a rush of cold, fresh air, and a pleasant, +dreamy feeling, as when one is rocked in a little boat at sea. Gratian +closed his eyes--he _was_ tired, poor little chap, for nothing is more +tiring than new sights and feelings--and knew no more till he found +himself lying on the heather, a few yards from the Farm gates. + +He looked about him--it was quite night by now--he felt drowsy still, +but no longer tired, and not cold--just pleasantly warm and comfortable. + +"Gray-wings must have wrapped me up somehow," he said to himself. "She's +very kind, really. But I must run in--what would mother think if she saw +me lying here?" + +And he jumped up and ran home. + +The gate was open, the door of the house was open too, and just within +the porch stood his mother. + +"Is that you, Gratian?" she said, as she heard his step. + +"Yes, mother," he replied; and as he came into the light he looked up at +her. She was much, much older-looking than Fergus's mother, for she had +not married young, and Gratian was the youngest of several, the others +of whom had died. But as he glanced at her sunburnt face, and saw the +love shining out of her eyes, tired and rather worn by daily work as she +was, she somehow reminded him of the graceful lady with the sweet blue +eyes. + +"I understand some of what Gray-wings said," he thought. "It's the same +in mother's face and in hers when she looks at Fergus." + +And he held up his mouth for a kiss. + +"Have you been happy at the Big House?" Mrs. Conyfer asked. "Were they +kind to you? She seems a kind lady, if one can trust to pretty looks." + +"Oh! she's very kind," answered Gratian eagerly; "and so's Fergus. He's +her boy, mother--he can't walk, nor scarcely stand. But he's getting +better--the air here will make him better." + +"It's to be hoped so, I'm sure," said the farmer's wife, with great +sympathy in her tone. "It must be a terrible grief--the poor child--I +couldn't find it in my heart to refuse to let you go when Mr. Cornelius +told me of his affliction. But you were happy, and they were good to +you?" + +"Oh, mother! yes--happier than ever I was in my life." + +Mrs. Conyfer smiled and yet sighed a little. She knew her child was not +altogether like his compeers of the moor country--she was proud of it, +and yet sometimes afraid with a vague misgiving. + +"Come in and warm yourself--it's a cold evening. There's some hot girdle +cakes and a cup of Fernflower's milk for your supper--though maybe you +had so many fine things to eat at the Big House that you won't be +hungry." + +"Ah, but I am, though," he said brightly; and the big kitchen looked so +cheery, and the little supper so tempting, that Gratian smiled with +satisfaction. + +"How good of you to make it so nice for me, mother!" he said. "I could +never like _anywhere_ better than my own home, however beautiful it +was." + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +THE STORY OF THE SEA-GULL + + "Now my brothers call from the bay, + Now the great winds shoreward blow, + Now the salt tides seaward flow, + Now the wild white horses play, + Champ and chafe and toss in the spray, + Children dear, let us away! + This way, this way!" + + _The Forsaken Merman_ + + +The winter--the real winter, such as it is known up in that +country--came on slowly that year. There was no snow and but little +frost before Christmas. Fergus gained ground steadily, and his mother, +who at first had dreaded the experiment of the bleak but bracing air, +was so encouraged that she stayed on from week to week. And through +these weeks there was never a half-holiday which the two boys did not +spend together. + +Gratian was learning much--more than even those who knew him best had +full understanding of; much, much more than he himself knew. + +"He is like a different child," said the schoolmaster one day to the +lady, when she had looked in as she was passing through the village; "if +you had seen him a year ago; he seemed always dreaming or in the clouds. +I really thought I should never succeed in teaching him anything. You +have opened his mind." + +"His mind had begun to open before he ever saw me, Mr. Cornelius," said +Fergus's mother with a smile. "It is like a flower--it asks nothing but +to be allowed to grow. He is a very uncommon child--one could imagine +that some specially happy influences surrounded him. He seems to take in +and to feel interest in so many different things. I wonder what he will +grow up." + +"Ah yes, ma'am," said the schoolmaster with a sigh. "It is a pity to +think of his being no more than his father before him. But yet, what can +one do?" + +"One would like at least to find out what he _might_ be," she said +thoughtfully. "He will be a _good_ man, whether he ever leaves the moors +or not--of that I feel sure. And if it is his duty to stay in this +quiet corner of the world, I suppose we must not regret it." + +"I suppose not. I _try_ to think so," said the schoolmaster. But from +something in his tone the lady suspected that he was looking back rather +sadly on dreams, long ago past, of his own future--dreams which had +never come to pass, and left him but the village schoolmaster. + +And her sympathy with this half-understood disappointment made her think +still more of Gratian. + +"Cornelius would live again in this child if he should turn out one of +the great few," she thought to herself. + +It was one of the afternoons Gratian now always spent with Fergus. She +could leave her lame boy with perfect comfort in his friend's care, sure +that he would be both safe and happy. As she made her way up the pine +avenue and drew near to the house, she heard bright voices welcoming +her. + +"Mother dear," Fergus called out, "I have walked twelve times along the +south terrace--six times up and six times down--with Gratian's arm. It +is so sheltered there--just a nice little soft breeze. Do you know, +Gratian, I so often notice that breeze when you are here? It is as if it +came with you." + +"But it is getting colder now, my boy," she answered. "You must come in. +I have been to see Mr. Cornelius, Gratian. I am so glad to hear that he +is pleased with your lessons. I would not like him to think that being +with us distracted your attention." + +"I'm sure it doesn't, ma'am," said Gratian simply. "So often the things +you tell me about or read to us, or that I hear about somehow when I am +here, seem to come in just at the right minute, and to make my lessons +easier. I have never found lessons so nice as this winter." + +"I don't like lessons," said Fergus. "I never shall like them." + +"You will have to look upon them as necessary evils then," said his +mother. + +"I usedn't to like them," said Gratian. "_Now_ I often think I'd like to +go on till I'm quite big." + +"Well, so you can, can't you?" said Fergus. + +"No," Gratian replied; "boys like me have to stop when they're big +enough to help their fathers at home, and I've no big brother like Tony. +I'll have to stop going to school before very long. I used to think I'd +be very glad. Now I'd be sorry even if I was to be a shepherd." + +"How do you mean?" asked the lady. + +Gratian looked up at her with his soft brown eyes. + +"I used to think being a shepherd and lying out on the heather all +day--alone with the sheep and Watch, like old Jonas--would be the best +life of any. But now I want to know things. I think one can fancy better +when one knows more. And I'd like to do more than fancy." + +"What would you like to do?" asked Fergus's mother. "Would you like to +learn to _make_ music as well as to play it? That is what Fergus wants +to do." + +Gratian shook his head. + +"I don't know," he replied. "I don't know _yet_. And isn't it best not +to plan about it, because I know father will need me on the farm?" + +"Perhaps it is best," she said. But she answered as if thinking of +something else at the same time. + +And then Andrew came out to help Fergus up the steps into the house, +where tea was waiting for them in the library. + +Fergus's mother was rather tired. She had walked some distance to see a +poor woman who was ill that afternoon. + +"Don't ask me to play much to-day, my dear boys," she said. "I never +like to play much when I am tired; it doesn't seem fair to the music." + +"Then you sha'n't play at all, mother darling," said Fergus. "Gratian, +I'll tell you what; you shall tell mother and me a story. That will rest +her nicely." + +Gratian looked up hesitatingly. + +"He tells such nice stories," Fergus went on. + +"Does he often tell them?" asked the lady. + +"Yes, when we are alone," said Fergus. + +"The music makes me think of them very often," said Gratian. "It makes +Fergus see pictures, and it makes me think stories. Sometimes I can see +pictures too, but I think I like stories best." + +"He made a beauty the other day, about a Princess whose eyes were +forget-me-nots, so that whoever had once seen her could never forget her +again; and if they were good people it made them very happy, but if they +were naughty people it made them very unhappy--only it did them all good +somehow in the end. Gratian made it come right." + +"That sounds very pretty," said the lady. "Did that come out of my +music?" + +"No," said the boy, "that story came mostly out of your eyes. I called +you the lady with the forget-me-not eyes the first Sunday in church." + +He spoke so simply that the lady could not help smiling. + +"My eyes thank you for your pretty thoughts of them," she said. "Will +you tell that story again?" + +"No," Fergus interrupted. "I want a new one. You were to have one ready +for to-day, Gratian." + +"I have only a very little one, but I will tell it, if you like," said +Gratian. "It isn't exactly like a story. There isn't anything wonderful +in it like in the one about the Princess, or the one about the +underground fairies." + +"No, that _was_ a beauty," said Fergus. "But never mind if this one +isn't quite so nice," he added, condescendingly. + +So Gratian began. + +"It is about a sea-gull," he said. "You know about them, of course, for +you have been at the sea. This was a little, young sea-gull. It had not +long learnt to fly, and sea-gulls need to fly very well, for often they +have to go many miles without a rest when they are out at sea, unless +there happens to be a ship passing or a rock standing up above the +water, or even a bunch of seaweed floating--that might do for a young +bird that is not very heavy. There was very stormy weather the year this +sea-gull and his brothers and sisters were hatched, and sometimes the +father and mother sea-gulls were quite frightened to let them try to +fly, for fear they should be beaten down by the storm winds and not have +strength to rise again. It is quite different, you see, from little +land-birds learning to fly. They can just flutter a little way from one +twig to another near the ground, so that if they do fall they can't be +much hurt. Sea-gulls need to have brave hearts even when they are quite +little. This sea-gull was very brave, almost too brave. He loved the sea +so dearly that while he was still a nestling, peeping out from his home, +high up on a ledge of rock, at the dancing, flashing waves down below, +he longed to be among them. He felt as if he almost would go mad with +joy if only his mother would let him dash off with her, whirling and +curving about in the air, with nothing below but the great ocean. And he +would scarcely believe her and his father when they told him that it +wasn't so easy to fly as it looked--not at the beginning, and that birds +had to learn by degrees. At last one day the father, who had been out +sniffing about, came in and told the mother it would be a good day for a +beginning. So all the four young ones got ready, and stood at the edge +of the nest in great excitement. I think it must have been very funny +to see them at first--they were so awkward and clumsy. But they didn't +hurt themselves--for the old birds kept them at first among the rocks +where they couldn't fall far. And our sea-gull wasn't quite so sure of +himself the next day, nor quite so impatient to go on flying, and I +daresay he got on better when he had become less conceited. When they +could fly a little better the father and mother took them to a little +bay, where there was nice soft sand, and where the wind blew gently, and +there they got on very well. And there they should have been content to +stay till the spring storms were over and their wings had grown +stronger. They all were quite content except the one I am telling you +of." + +"What was his name?" asked Fergus. + +"He hasn't got one," Gratian replied, "but we can make him one. I +daresay it would be better." + +"Call him White-wings," said Fergus. + +"No," said Gratian, "that won't do," though he didn't say why. "Besides +his wings weren't all white. We'll call him 'Quiver,' because he was +always quivering with impatience. Well, they were all quite content +except Quiver, and he was very discontented. He looked longingly over +the sea, wishing so to be in the midst of the flocks of birds he saw +sparkling in the sunshine; and at last one morning when his father and +mother had gone off for a good fly by themselves, which they well +deserved, poor things, after all their trouble with the little ones, he +stood up in the nest, flapping his impatient wings, and said to the +three others that he too was going off on his own account. The brothers +and sisters begged him not, but it was no use--off he would go, he was +in such a hurry to see the world and to feel independent. Well, he got +on pretty well at first; the sea was far out, and there were several +rocks sticking up which he could rest on, and he found it so easy that +he was tempted to fly out farther than he had intended, going from one +rock to the other. And he didn't notice how far he had gone till he had +been resting a while on a rock a good way out, and then looking round he +couldn't tell a bit where he was, for there was nothing but sea all +round him. He couldn't think what had become of all the other points of +rocks--they seemed to have disappeared. But just as he was beginning to +feel rather frightened a number of gulls flew up and lighted on the +rock. They were all chattering and very excited. + +"'We must make haste,' they said, 'and get to the shore as fast as we +can before the storm is on us. And we must shelter there till we can get +back to our own rocks.' + +"They only rested a moment or two, and then got ready to start again. +Quiver stood up and flapped his wings to attract attention. + +"'May I fly with you?' he said. 'I'm afraid I don't quite know the way.' + +"They looked at him in surprise. + +"'What are you doing away from your home--a young fledgling like you?' +they said. 'Come with us if you like, it's your only chance, but you'll +probably never get to shore.' + +"Oh how frightened he was, and how he wished he'd stayed at home! But he +flew away with them, for it was, as they said, his only chance, and what +he suffered was something dreadful. And when at last he reached the +shore, it was only to drop down and lie on the sands gasping and +bruised, and, as he thought, dying. A man that was passing, in a hurry +himself to get home before the storm, picked up poor Quiver, half out of +pity, half because he thought his little master might like to have his +feathers if he died, or to make a pet of him if he lived. And Quiver, +who was quite fainting by this time, woke up to find himself lying in a +little sort of tool-house in a garden, with a boy about as big as you, +Fergus, stooping over him. + +"'I don't think he's going to die,' the boy said. 'I've made him a bed +of some hay here in the corner--to-morrow we'll see how he is.' + +"Poor Quiver felt very strange and queer and sad. It took him several +days to get better, and he didn't like the food they gave him, though of +course they meant to be kind. At last, one day he was able to hop about +and even to flap his wings a little. + +"'Now I shall soon be able to fly home again,' he thought joyfully. 'If +once I can get to the sea I'll be sure to meet some gulls who can show +me the way.' + +"And when the boy came to look at him, he was pleased to hear himself +said to be quite well again. + +"'We can let him out into the garden now, can't we?' he said to the +gardener, 'and we'll see if he's such a good slug catcher as you say.' + +"'No fear but he's that, sir,' said the gardener. 'But first we must +clip his wings, else he'd be flying away.' + +"And he took Quiver up in his arms, and stretching out his wings, though +not so as to hurt them, snipped at them with a big sharp pair of +scissors. Quiver didn't feel it, any more than we feel having our nails +cut, but he was dreadfully frightened. And he was still all shaking and +confused when the gardener set him down on the garden path--though he +got better in a minute and looked about him. It was a pretty garden, and +he was pleased to be out in the air again, though he felt something +strange in it, for he had never before been away from the sea. And he +ran a few steps just to try his legs, and then turned round meaning to +say good-bye to the boy and thank him in his sea-gull way for his +hospitality before starting off. Having done this he stretched his wings +to fly--but--oh dear, what was the matter? He could not raise himself +more than a few inches from the ground--wings!--he had none left, and +with a pitiful cry he rolled over on the ground in misery and despair. + +"'Poor bird!' said the boy; 'you shouldn't have clipped his wings, +Barnes. It would have been better to let him fly away.' + +"'He'd never have got to his home; he's too young a bird to fly so far. +And he'll be uncommon good for the slugs, you'll see, sir.' + +"So all the summer poor Quiver spent in the garden. He got more used to +it after a while, but still he had always a pain at his heart. He used +to rush along the paths as if he was in a desperate hurry and eager to +get to the end, and then he would just rush back again. It was the only +way he could keep down his impatience and his longing for the sea. He +used to pretend to himself that when he got to the end of the path he +would feel the salt air and see the waves dancing; but the children of +the house, who of course didn't understand his thoughts, used to laugh +at him and call him 'that absurd creature.' But his heart was too sore +for him to mind, and even catching slugs was very little consolation to +him. + +"And so Quiver lived all through the summer and the autumn till the +winter came round again, and all this time whenever his wings began to +grow longer, Barnes snipped them short again. I don't think there ever +was a bird so severely punished for discontent and impatience. + +"The winter was a dreadfully cold one; there was frost for such a long +time that nothing seemed alive at all--there was not a worm or a slug or +an insect of any kind in the garden. The little boy and his brothers and +sisters all went away when it began to get so cold, but before they +went, they told Barnes that he must not leave Quiver out in the garden; +he must be shut up for the winter in the large poultry house with the +cocks and hens. + +"'For there's nothing for him to eat outside, and you might forget to +feed him, you know,' the children said. + +"So Quiver passed the winter safely, though sadly enough. He had plenty +to eat, and no one teased or ill-used him, but he used sometimes almost +to _choke_ with his longing for freedom and for the fresh air--above +all, the air of the sea. He did not know how long winter lasted; he was +still a young bird, but he often felt as if he would die if he were kept +a prisoner much longer. But he had to bear it, and he didn't die, and he +grew at last so patient that no one would have thought he was the same +discontented bird. There was a little yard covered over with netting +outside the hen-house, and Quiver could see the sky from there; and the +clouds scudding along when it was a windy day reminded him a little of +the waves he feared he would never see again; and the stupid, peaceful +cocks and hens used to wonder what he found to stare up at for hours +together. _They_ thought by far the most interesting thing in life was +to poke about on the ground for the corn that was thrown out to them. + +"At last--at last--came the spring. It came by little bits at a time of +course, and Quiver couldn't understand what made everything feel so +different, and why the sky looked blue again, till one day the +gardener's wife, who managed the poultry, opened the door of the covered +yard and let them all out, and Quiver, being thinner and quicker than +the hens, slipped past her and got out into the garden. She saw him when +he had got there, but she thought it was all right--he might begin his +slug-catching again. And he hurried along the path in his old way, +feeling thankful to be free, but with the longing at his heart, stronger +than ever. It was so long since he had tried to fly in the least that he +had forgotten almost that he had wings, and he just went hurrying along +on his legs. All of a sudden something startled him--a noise in the +trees or something like that--and without thinking what he was doing, he +stretched his wings in the old way. But fancy his surprise; instead of +flopping and lopping about as they had done for so long, ever since +Barnes had cut them, they stood out firm and steady, quite able to +support his weight; he tried them again, and then again, and--it was no +mistake--up he soared, up, up, up, into the clear spring sky, strong and +free and fearless, for his wings had grown again! That was what they had +been doing all the long dull winter; so happiness came to poor Quiver at +last, when he had learnt to wait." + +"And did he fly home?" asked Fergus breathlessly; "did he find his +father and mother and the others in the old nest among the rocks?" + +"Yes," replied Gratian, after a moment's consideration, "he met some +gulls on his way to the sea, who told him exactly how to go. And he did +find them all at home. You know, generally, bird families don't stay so +long together, but these gulls had been so unhappy about Quiver that +they had fixed to stay close to the old ones till he came back. They +always kept on hoping he would come back." + +"I am so glad," said Fergus with a sigh of relief. "How beautiful it +must have been to feel the sea-wind again, and see the waves dancing in +the sunshine! Do you know, Gratian, I was just a little afraid at the +end that you were going to say that Quiver had grown so good that he +went 'up, up, up,' straight into heaven. I shouldn't have liked that--at +least not till he had lived happily by the sea first. And then," Fergus +began to get a little confused, "I don't know about that. _Do_ gulls go +to heaven, mother? You don't mind my thinking dogs do." + +The lady smiled. She had not said anything yet; she seemed to be +thinking seriously. But now she drew Gratian to her and kissed his +forehead. + +"Thank you, dear boy," she said. "I am so glad to have heard one of your +stories." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +DRAWN TWO WAYS + + "When Love wants this, and Pain wants that, + And all our hearts want Tit for Tat." + + MATTHEW BROWNE + + +Gratian almost danced along the moor path on his way home that evening; +he felt so happy. Never had he loved Fergus and his mother so much--he +could not now understand how he had ever lived without them, and like a +child he did not think of how he ever _could_ do so. He let the future +take care of itself. + +It was cold of course. He rather fancied that White-wings was not far +off, and once or twice he stood still to listen. It was some little time +now since he had heard anything of his friends. But at first nothing met +his ear, and he ran on. + +Suddenly a breath--a waft rather of soft air blew over his face. It was +not White-wings, and most certainly not Gray-wings. Gratian looked up +in surprise--he could hardly expect the soft western sister on such a +cold night. + +"Yes, it is I," she said; "you can hardly believe it, can you? I am only +passing by--no one else will know I have been here. I don't generally +come when you are in such merry spirits--I don't feel that you need me +then. But as I was not so very far off, I thought I'd give you a kiss on +my way. So you told them the sea-gull's story--I am glad they liked it." + +"Yes," said Gratian, "they did, indeed. But, Green-wings, I'm glad +you've come, for I wanted to ask you, if they ask me if I made it all up +myself, what can I say? I'm so afraid of telling what isn't true; but +you know I couldn't explain about you and the others. I couldn't if I +tried." + +"You are not meant to do so," replied she quickly. "What have you said +when Fergus has asked you about other stories?" + +"I have said I couldn't explain how I knew them--that sometimes they +were a sort of dream. I didn't want to say I had made them all myself, +though I have _partly_ made them--you know I have, Green-wings." + +"Certainly--it was not I for instance, who told you the very remarkable +fact of natural history that you related at the end of the story?" said +Green-wings with her soft laugh. "You may quite take the credit of that. +But I won't laugh at you, dear. It is true that they are your stories, +and yet a sort of dream. No one but you could hear them--no one would +say that the whispers of the wind talking language to you, are anything +but the reflection of your own pretty fancies. It will be all right--you +will see. But I must go," and she gave a little sigh. + +"Green-wings, darling, you seem a little sad to-night," said Gratian. +"Why is it? Is it that the winter has come?" + +"I am never very merry, as you know. But I am a little sadder than usual +to-night. I foresee--I foresee sorrows"--and her voice breathed out the +words with such an exquisite plaintiveness that they sounded like the +dying away notes of a dirge. "But keep up your heart, my darling, and +trust us all--all four. We only wish your good, though we may show it in +different ways. And wherever I am I can always be with you to comfort +you, if it be but for a moment. No distance can separate us from our +child." + +"And I am most _your_ child, am I not, dear Green-wings?" asked Gratian. +"I knew you the first, and I think I love you the most." + +"My darling, good-night," whispered Green-wings, and with a soft flutter +she was gone. + +There was no mother waiting at the open door for Gratian's return that +evening. + +"It is too cold for standing outside now," he said to himself as he went +in, adding aloud, "Here I am, mother. Did you think I was late?" + +Mrs. Conyfer was sitting by the fire. Her knitting lay on her knee, but +her hands were idle. She looked up as Gratian came in. + +"I am glad you have come, dear," she said; but her voice sounded tired, +and when he was close to her he saw that her face seemed tired also. + +[Illustration: "Are you not well, mother?" he said gently.] + +"Are you not well, mother?" he said gently. + +Mrs. Conyfer looked a little surprised but pleased too. It was new to +her either to think of how she was or to be asked about it. For though +her husband was kind and good, he was plain and even a little rough, as +are the moorland people in general. Gratian had never been rough, but he +had not had the habit of much noticing those about him. Since he had +been so often with Fergus and the lady he had learnt to be more +observant of others, especially of his mother, and more tender in his +manner. + +"Are you not well, mother dear?" he repeated. + +"I'm only a bit tired, my boy," she said. "I'm getting old, I suppose, +and I've worked pretty hard in my way--not to say as if I'd been a poor +man's wife of course, but a farmer's wife has a deal on her mind." + +"And you do everything so well, mother," said Gratian admiringly. "I'm +getting old enough now to see how different things are here from what +they are in many houses. Fergus does so like to hear about the dairy and +the cocks and hens, and about the girdle cakes and all the nice things +you make." + +"He's really a nice little gentleman!" said Mrs. Conyfer, well pleased, +"I _am_ glad to hear he's getting so much better. I'm sure his mother +deserves he should--such a sweet lady as she is." + +For now and then on a Sunday the two boys' mothers had spoken to each +other. + +"Yes, he's _much_ better," said Gratian. "To-day he walked six times up +and down the terrace with only my arm." + +"They weren't afraid to let him out, and it so cold to-day?" said Mrs. +Conyfer. + +"It wasn't so very cold--you usedn't to mind the cold, mother," said the +boy. + +"Maybe not so much as now," she replied. "I think I'm getting rheumatic +like my father and mother before me, for I can't move about so quick, +and then one feels the cold more." + +"What makes people have rheumatics?" asked Gratian. + +"Folk don't have it so much hereabout," his mother answered; "but I +don't belong to the moor country, you know. My home was some way from +this, down in the valley, where it's milder but much damper--and damp is +worst of anything for rheumatism. Dear me, I remember my old grandmother +a perfect sight with it--all doubled up--you wondered how she got about. +But she was a marvel of patience, and so cheery too. I only hope I shall +be like her in that, if I live so long, for it's a sore trial to an +active nature to become so nearly helpless." + +"Had she nobody to be kind to her when she got so ill?" asked Gratian. + +"Oh yes; her children were all good to her, so far as they could be. But +they were all married and about in the world, and busy with their own +families. She was a good deal alone, poor old grandmother." + +"Mother," said Gratian quickly. "If you ever got to be like that, I +would never marry or go about in the world. I'd stay at home to be a +comfort to you. I'd run all your messages and do everything I could for +you. Mother, I wish you'd let me be more use to you now already, even +though you're not so ill." + +Mrs. Conyfer smiled, but there was more pleasure than amusement in her +smile. + +"I do think being at the Big House has done you good, Gratian. You never +used to notice or think of things so much before you went there," she +said. "And you're getting very handy, there's no doubt. I hope I shall +never be so laid aside, but I'm sure you'd do your best, my dear. Now I +think I shall go to bed, and you must be off too. Father's out still--he +and Jonas have so much to see to these cold nights, seeing that all the +creatures are warm and sheltered. There's snow not far off, they were +saying. The wind's in the north." + +Gratian's dreams were very grotesque that night. He dreamt that his +mother was turned into a sea-gull, all except her face, which remained +the same. And she could neither walk nor fly, she was so lame and +stiff, or else it was that her wings were cut--he was not sure which. +Then he heard Green-wings's voice saying, "She only wants a sight of the +sea to make her well. Gratian, you should take her to the sea; call the +cocks and hens to help you;" and with that he thought he opened his eyes +and found himself on the terrace where he had been walking with Fergus, +and there was a beautiful little carriage drawn by about a dozen cocks +and hens; but when he would have got in, Fergus seemed to push him back, +saying, "Not yet, not yet, your mother first," and Fergus kept looking +for Mrs. Conyfer as if he did not know that she was the poor sea-gull, +standing there looking very funny with the little red knitted shawl on +that Gratian's mother wore when it was a chilly morning. And just then +there came flying down from above, Gratian's four friends. Nobody seemed +to see them but himself, and the cocks and hens began making such a +noise that he felt quite confused. + +"Oh, do take poor mother," he called out--for there was no use trying to +make any one else understand--"Green-wings and all of you, do take poor +mother." + +"Not without you, Gratian," replied Gray-wings's sharp voice. "It's your +place to look after your mother," and as she spoke she stooped towards +him and he felt her cold breath, and with the start it gave him he +awoke. + +The door of his room had blown open, and the window was rattling, and +the clothes had slipped off on one side. No wonder he had dreamt he was +cold. He covered himself up again and went to sleep. + +Mrs. Conyfer was up as usual the next morning. She said she was better, +but she limped a little as she walked, and Gratian did not like to see +it, though she assured him it did not hurt her. + +"I shall take a rest on Sunday," she said, "and then you may tend me a +bit, Gratian. He's as handy as a girl," she added, turning to the farmer +with a smile. And Mr. Conyfer patted his son's head. + +"That's right," he said; "always be good to your mother." + +"Winter is really coming," thought Gratian, as he ran to school, and he +glanced up at the sky wondering if snow were at last on the way. + +It held off however for some little time yet. + +It was on the third day after this that Gratian on his way home was +rather surprised to meet Mr. Cornelius returning as if from the Farm. +The school-children knew that the master had been somewhere, for he had +left the school in charge of one or two of the head boys and his sister, +who lived with him and taught the girls sewing. + +He smiled and nodded at Gratian, but did not speak, and the boy could +not help wondering if he had been at Four Winds, and why. And as soon as +he got home he ran eagerly in to ask. + +"Has the master been here, mother? What did he come for?" he called out. + +His father and mother were both together in the kitchen, talking rather +earnestly. + +His father looked at him as he answered-- + +"Yes, Gratian," he said, "Mr. Cornelius has been here. He had something +important to talk to us about. After you have had your tea and done your +lessons we will tell you." + +"I haven't any lessons, father," he replied. "We had time to do them +this afternoon when the master was out." + +So as soon as tea was over he was told what it was. + +"Your friends at the Big House," began the farmer, "are leaving soon. +They daren't stay once it gets really cold. You'll be sorry to lose +them, my boy?" + +Gratian felt a lump rise in his throat, but he tried to answer +cheerfully. + +"Yes, father. They've been so good to me. I knew they'd have to go some +time, but I tried not to think of it. The lady has taught me so many +things I never knew before. I'll try not to forget them." + +"She has been very good to you, and she wants to be still more. That's +what Cornelius came about. I don't want to make you vain, Gratian, but +she thinks, and Cornelius thinks--and they should know--that there's the +making of something out of the common in you--that, if you are taught +and trained the right way, you may come to be something a good bit +higher than a plain moorland farmer." + +Gratian listened with wide-opened eyes. + +"I know," he said breathlessly, "I've felt it sometimes. I don't rightly +know what. I'd like to learn--I'd like to----oh, father, I can't say +what I mean. It's as if there were so many thoughts in me that I can't +say," and the child leaned his head on his mother's shoulder and burst +into tears. + +The farmer and his wife looked at each other. They were simple +unlettered folk, but for all that there was something in them that +"understood." + +"My boy, my little Gratian," said the mother, in tones that she but +seldom used; "don't cry, my dear. Listen to father." + +And in a moment or two the child raised his still tearful eyes, and the +farmer went on. + +"It's just that," he said. "It's just because you can't rightly say, +that we want you to learn. No one can tell as yet what your talent may +be, or if perhaps it is not, so to speak, but an everyday one after all. +If so, no harm will be done; for you will be in wise hands, and you will +come home again to Four Winds and follow in your father's and +grandfather's steps. But your friends think you should have a better +chance of learning and seeing for yourself than I can give you here. And +the lady has written to her husband, and he's quite willing, and so +it's, so to speak, all settled. You are to go with them when they leave +here, Gratian, and for a year or so you are to have lessons at home with +the little boy, who isn't yet strong enough to go to school. And by the +end of that time it'll be easier to see what you are best fitted for. +You'll have teaching of all kinds--music and drawing, and all sorts of +book-learning. It's a handsome offer, there's no denying." + +And the tears quite disappeared from Gratian's bright eyes, and his +whole face glowed with hope and satisfaction. + +"I'll do my best, father. I can promise you that. You shall have no call +to be ashamed of me. It's very good of you and mother to let me go. But +I shall come home again before very long--I shan't be long without +seeing you?" + +"Oh yes--you shall come home after a while of course. Anyway for a +visit, and to see how it will be best to do. We're not going to give you +away altogether, you may be sure," said the farmer with a little attempt +at a joke. + +But the mother did not speak. She kissed the boy as she rarely kissed +him, and whispered "God bless you, my dear," when she bade him +good-night. + +"I wonder if it's all come of our giving him such an outlandish name!" +said Mrs. Conyfer with a rather melancholy smile. + +And Gratian fell asleep with his mind in a whirl. + +"I should like to talk about it to my godmothers," was almost his last +thought. "I wonder if I shall still see them sometimes when I am far +from Four Winds." + +And the next morning when he woke, he lay looking round his little room +and thinking how much he liked it, and how happy he had been in it. He +was beginning to realise that no good is all good, no light without +shadow. + +But there seemed no shadow or drawback of any kind the next day when he +went to the Big House to talk it all over with the lady and Fergus. +Fergus was too delighted for words. + +"It is like a story in a book, isn't it, Gratian?" he said. "And if you +turn out a great man, then the world will thank mother and me for having +found you." + +Gratian blushed a little. + +"I don't know about being a _great_ man," he said, "but I want to find +out really what it is I can do best, and then it will be my own fault if +I don't do _something_ good." + +"Yes, my boy--that is exactly what I want you to feel," said Fergus's +mother. + +But Gratian was anxious to know what his four friends had to say about +it. + +"I don't think it's very kind of none of you to come to speak to me," +he said aloud on his way home. "I know you're not far off--all of you. +I'm sure I heard Gray-wings scolding outside last night." + +A sound of faint laughter up above him seemed to answer. + +"Oh there you are, Gray-wings, I thought as much," he said, buttoning up +his jacket, for it was very cold. But he had hardly spoken before he +heard, nearer than the laughter had been, a soft sigh. + +"I never forget you--remember, Gratian, whenever you want me--whenever +in sor--row." + +"That's Green-wings," he said to himself. "But why should she talk of +sorrow when I'm so happy--happier than ever in my life, I think. She +_is_ of rather too melancholy a nature." + +He ran on--the door was latched--he hurried into the kitchen. There was +no one there. + +"Where can mother be?" he thought. He heard steps moving upstairs and +turned to go there. Halfway up he met Madge, the servant, coming down. +Her face looked anxious and distressed through all its rosiness. + +"Oh the poor missis," she said. "She's had to go to bed. The pains in +her ankles and knees got so bad--I'm afeared she's going to be really +very ill." + +Gratian ran past her into his mother's room. + +"Don't be frightened," Mrs. Conyfer said at once. "It's only that my +rheumatism is very bad to-day. I'll be better in the morning, dear. I +must be well with you going away so soon." + +And when the farmer came in she met him with the same cheerful tone, +though it was evident she was suffering severely. + +But Gratian sat by her bedside all the evening, doing all he could. He +was grave and silent, for the thought was deep in his heart-- + +"I can't go away--I can't and I mustn't if mother is going to be really +ill. Poor mother! I'm sure my godmothers wouldn't think I should." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +LEARNING TO WAIT + + "If all the beauty in the earth + And skies and hearts of men + Were gently gathered at its birth, + And loved and born again." + + MATTHEW BROWNE + + +But the godmothers seemed to have forgotten him. He went sadly to +bed--and the tears came to his eyes when he remembered how that very +evening he had thought of himself as "happier than he had ever been in +his life." He fell asleep however as one does at nine years old, +whatever troubles one has, and slept soundly for some hours. Then he was +awakened by his door opening and some one coming in. It was his father. + +"Gratian, wake up. Your mother is very ill I'm afraid. Some one must go +for the doctor--old Jonas is the nearest. I can't leave her--she seems +nearly unconscious. Dress yourself as quick as you can, and tell Jonas +to bring Dr. Spense as soon as possible." + +Gratian was up and dressed almost at once. He felt giddy and miserable, +and yet with a strange feeling over him that he had known it all before. +He dared not try to think clearly--he dared not face the terrible fear +at the bottom of his heart. It was his first experience of real trouble. + +As he hurried off he met Madge at the door; she too had been wakened up. +A sudden thought struck him. + +"Madge," he said, "if I'm not back quickly, tell father not to be +frightened. I think I'll go all the way for the doctor myself. It'll +save time not to go waking old Jonas, and I know he couldn't go as fast +as I can." + +Madge looked admiringly and yet half-anxiously at the boy. He seemed +such a little fellow to go all that way alone in the dark winter night. + +"I daresay you're right," she said, "and yet I'm half-afraid. Hadn't you +better ask master first?" + +Gratian shook his head. + +"No, no. It will be all right. Don't trouble him about me unless he +asks," and off he ran. + +He went as quickly as he could find his way--it was not a _very_ dark +night--till he was fairly out on the moorland path. Then he stood still. + +"White-wings, Green-wings--whichever of you hears me, come and help me. +Dear Green-wings, you said you always would comfort me." + +"So she would, surely," said a voice, firmer and colder than hers, but +kindly too, "but at this moment it's more strength than comfort that you +want. Hold out your arms, my boy, there--clasp me tight, don't start at +my cold breath. That's right. Why, I can fly with you as if you were a +snow-flake!" + +And again Gratian felt the strange, whirling, rushing sensation, again +he closed his eyes as if he were falling asleep, and knew no more till +he found himself standing in the village street, a few doors from the +doctor's house, and felt, rather than heard, a clear cold whisper of +"Farewell, Gratian, for the present." + +And the next morning the neighbours spoke of the sudden northern blast +that had come rushing down from the moors in the night, and wondered it +had not brought the snow with it, little thinking it had brought a +little boy instead! + +Dr. Spense was soon awakened, and long as the time always seems to an +anxious watcher by a sick-bed, Farmer Conyfer could scarcely believe his +ears when he heard the rattle of the dogcart wheels up the steep road, +or his eyes when the doctor, followed by Gratian, came up the staircase. + +"My boy, but you have done bravely!" said the father in amazement. +"Doctor, I can't understand how he can have been so quick!" + +The doctor turned kindly to Gratian. + +"Go down, my good child, and warm yourself. I saw the sparkle of a nice +fire in the kitchen--it is a bitter night. I will keep my promise to +you; as I go away I'll look in." + +For Gratian, though not able to tell much of his mother's illness, had +begged the doctor to promise to tell him the truth as to what he thought +of her. + +"I'd rather know, sir, I would indeed, even if it's very bad," he had +said tremblingly. + +And as he sat by the kitchen fire waiting, it seemed to him that never +till now had he in the least understood how he loved his mother. + +It was a queer, boisterous night surely. For down the chimney, +well-built and well-seasoned as it was, there came a sudden swirl of +wind. But strangely enough it did not make the fire smoke. And Gratian, +anxious though he was, smiled as a pretty green light seemed suddenly to +dance among the flames. And he was neither surprised nor startled when a +soft voice whispered in his ear: + +"I am here, my darling. I _would_ come for one moment, though +White-wings has been trying to blow me away. Keep up your heart--and +don't lose hope." + +And just then the doctor came in. + +"My boy," he said, as he stood warming his hands at the blaze, "I will +tell you the truth. I am afraid your poor mother is going to be ill for +a good while. She has not taken care of herself. But I have good hopes +that she will recover. And you may do a good deal. I see you are +sensible, and handy, I am sure. You must be instead of a daughter to her +for a while--it will be hard on your father, and you may be of great +help." + +Gratian thanked him, with the tears, which would not now be kept back, +in his eyes. And promising to come again that same day, for it was now +past midnight, the doctor went away. + +Some days passed--the fever was high at first, and poor Mrs. Conyfer +suffered much. But almost sooner than the doctor had ventured to hope, +she began to get a little better. Within a week she was out of danger. +And then came Fergus's mother again. She had already come to ask for +news of her little friend's mother, and in the first great anxiety she +said nothing of the plans that had been made. But now she asked to see +the farmer, and talked with him some time downstairs while Gratian +watched by his mother. + +"I am so thankful to be better--so very thankful to be better before you +go, Gratian," said the poor woman. + +"Oh yes, dear mother, we cannot be thankful enough," the boy replied. "I +will never forget that night--the night you were so very ill," he said +with a shiver at the thought of it. + +"I shall not be able to write much to you, my child," she said. "The +doctor says my hands and joints will be stiff for a good while, but that +I must try not to fret, and to keep an easy mind. I will try--but it +won't be easy for me that's always been so stirring. And I shall miss +you at first, of course. But if you're well and happy--and it would have +been sad and dull for you here with me so different." + +Just then the farmer's voice came sounding up the stairs. + +"Gratian," it said, "come down here." + +The boy obeyed. But first he stooped and kissed the pale face on the +pillow. + +"Dear mother," he said. + +His father was standing by the kitchen fire when he went in, and the +lady was seated in one of the big old arm-chairs. She looked at him with +fresh love and interest in her sweet blue eyes. + +"Dear Gratian," she said, "Fergus is fretting for you sadly. Your father +has been telling me what a clever sick-nurse you are. And indeed I was +sure of it from your way with Fergus. I am so very, very glad your dear +mother is better." + +"She will miss him a good deal at first, I'm afraid," said the farmer, +"but I must do my best. It's about your going, my boy--the lady has +already put it off some days for your sake. It's very good of you, +ma'am--_very_ good. I'll get him ready as well as I can. You'll excuse +it if his things are not just in such shipshape order as his mother +would have had them." + +"Of course, of course," she replied. "Then the day after to-morrow. I +_daren't_ wait longer--the doctor says Fergus must not risk more cold as +yet." + +Gratian had listened in silence. But now he turned, first to his father +and then to the lady, and spoke. + +"Father, dear lady," he began, "don't be vexed with me--oh don't. But I +can't go now. I've thought about it all these days--I'm--I'm +_dreadfully_ sorry," and here his voice faltered. "I wanted to learn and +to understand. But it wouldn't be right. I know it wouldn't. Mother +would not get well so quick without me, perhaps she'd never get well at +all. And no learning or seeing things would do me really good if I knew +I wasn't doing right. Father--tell me that you think I'm right." + +The lady and the farmer looked at each other; there were tears in the +lady's eyes. + +"Is he right?" asked Gratian's father. + +She bent her head. + +"I'm afraid he is," she said, "but it is only fair to let him quite +understand. It isn't merely putting it off for a while, Gratian," she +went on; "I am afraid it may be for altogether. We are not likely to +come back to this part of the country again, and my husband, though +kind, is a little peculiar. He has a nephew whom he will send for as a +companion to Fergus if you don't come. We should like you better, but it +is our duty to do something for Jack, and Fergus needs a companion, so +it seems only natural to take him instead of sending him away to +school." + +"Of course," said the farmer, looking at his son. + +"Yes, I understand," said Gratian. "But it doesn't make any difference. +If I never learnt anything more--of learning, I mean--if I never left +Four Winds or saw any of the beautiful places and things in the world, +it _shouldn't_ make any difference. I couldn't ever be happy or--or--do +anything really good or great," he went on, blushing a little, "if I +began by doing wrong--could I?" + +"He is right," said his father and Fergus's mother together. + +And so it was settled. + +The person the most difficult to satisfy that he _was_ right was--no, +not Fergus--sorry as he was he loved his own mother too much not to +agree--poor Mrs. Conyfer herself, for whom the sacrifice was to be made. +Gratian had to talk to her for ever so long, to assure her that it was +for his own sake as well--that he would have been too miserable about +her to have got any good from his new opportunities. And in the end she +gave in, and allowed herself to enjoy the comfort of her little boy's +care and companionship during her long weary time of slow recovery. + +Fergus and his mother did not leave a day too soon. With early January +the winter spirits, chained hitherto, broke forth in fury. Never had +such falls of snow been known even in that wild region, and many a night +Gratian, lying awake, unable to sleep through the rattle and racket, +felt a strange excitement at the thought that all this was the work of +his mysterious protectors. + +"White-wings and Gray-wings seem really going mad," he thought once or +twice. But the sound of laughter, mingling with the whistling and +roaring and shrieking in the chimney, reassured him. + +"No fear, no fear," he seemed to hear; "we must let our spirits out +sometimes. But you'd better not go to school for a day or two, small +Gratian, all the same." + +And several "days or two" that winter it was impossible for him to go to +school, or for any one to come to the Farm, so heavy and dark even at +mid-day were the storm-clouds, so deep lay the treacherous snow-drifts. +Not even the doctor could reach them. But fortunately Mrs. Conyfer was +by this time much better. All she now required was care and rest. + +"Oh, mother dear, how glad I am that I did not leave you!" Gratian would +often say. "How dull and dreary and long the days would have seemed! You +couldn't even have got letters from me." + +And the lessons he learnt in that winter of patient waiting, of quiet +watching and self-forgetfulness, bore their fruit. + +And his four friends did not forget him. There came now and then a soft +breath from the two gentle sisters whose voices were hushed to all +others for a time, and more than once in some mysterious way Gratian +felt himself summoned out to the lonely moorland by the two whose +carnival time it was. + +And standing out there with the great sweep of open country all around +him, with his hair tossed by White-wings's giant touch, or his cheeks +tingling with a sharp blast from mischievous Gray-wings, Gratian laughed +with pleasure and daring enjoyment. + +"I am your child too--Spirits of the North and East. You can't frighten +me. I defy you." + +And the two laughed and shouted with wild glee at their foster-child's +great spirit. + +"He does us credit," they cried, though old Jonas passing by heard +nothing but a shriek of fresh fury up above, and shouted to Gratian to +hasten within shelter. + +But winter never lasts for ever. Spring came again--slow and +reluctant--and it was long before Gray-wings consented to take her +yearly nap and let her sister of the west soothe and comfort the +storm-tossed country. And then, as day by day Gratian made his way to +school, he watched with awakened and ever-awaking eyes the exquisite +eternal beauty of the summer's gradual approach, till at last +Golden-wings clasped him in her arms one morning and told him her joy at +being able to return. + +"For I love this country, though no one will believe it," she said. "The +scent of the gorse and the heather is delicious and refreshing after the +strong spice perfumes of my own home;" and many a story she told the +child, and many a song she sang to him through the long summer +days--which he loved to spend in his old way, out among the heather with +Jonas and Watch and the browsing sheep. + +For the holidays had begun. His mother was well, quite well, by now, +and Gratian was free to do as he chose. + +He was out on the moors one day--a lovely cloudless day, that would have +been sultry anywhere else--when old Jonas startled him by saying +suddenly: + +"Did you know, Master Gratian, that the gentry's come back to the Big +House?" + +Gratian sat straight up in his astonishment. + +"No, Jonas. How did you hear it?" + +"Down in the village, quite sudden-like. It was all got ready for them +last week, but there's been none of us down there much lately." + +Gratian felt too excited to lie still and dream any more. + +[Illustration: It was Fergus, little lame Fergus, mounted on a tiny +rough-coated pony, coming towards him!] + +"I'll ask mother if I may go and see," he said jumping up. And off he +ran. But an unexpected sight met him at a stone's throw from the Farm. +It was Fergus, little lame Fergus, mounted on a tiny rough-coated pony, +coming towards him! And the joy of the meeting who could describe? + +"We tried to keep it a secret till it was quite sure," said the boy. +"There was some difficulty about it, but it is all settled now. Father +has taken the Big House from our cousin, and we are to live at it half +the year. We are all there--my sisters--and my big brother comes +sometimes--and mother of course. All except Jack. Jack has gone to sea. +He was very nice, but he hated lessons--he only wanted to go to sea. So +we want you now, Gratian--my own Gratian. I have a tutor, and you are to +learn with me all the summer and to go away with us in the winter now +your mother is well, so that you will find out what you want to be. It +is for me we have come here. I must always be lame, Gratian. The doctors +can't cure me," and the bright voice faltered. "But I shall get strong +all the same if I live here in this beautiful air. And I shall be very +happy, for I can learn to play on the organ--and that makes up for all." + +And all came about as Fergus said. + +The summer and the autumn that followed, Gratian studied with his +friend's tutor. And the winter after, greatly to his mother's joy, he +went away as had been planned before. But not for ever of course. No +great length of time passed without his returning to his birthplace. + +"I should die," he said sometimes, "if I could not from time to time +stand at the old porch and feel the breath of the four winds about me." + +This is only the story of the very opening of the life of a boy who +lived to make his mark among men. How he did so, how he found his voice, +it is not for me to tell. But he had early learnt to choose the right, +and so we know he prospered. + +Besides--was he not the godchild of the Four Winds of Heaven? + +THE END. + + + + +Mr. A. C. SWINBURNE, in _The Nineteenth Century_, writes:-- + + "It seems to me not at all easier to draw a lifelike child than to + draw a lifelike man or woman: Shakespeare and Webster were the + only two men of their age who could do it with perfect delicacy + and success: at least, if there was another who could, I must + crave pardon of his happy memory for my forgetfulness or ignorance + of his name. Our own age is more fortunate, on this single score + at least, having a larger and far nobler proportion of female + writers; among whom, since the death of George Eliot, there is + none left whose touch is so exquisite and masterly, whose love is + so thoroughly according to knowledge, whose bright and sweet + invention is so fruitful, so truthful, or so delightful as Mrs. + Molesworth's. Any chapter of _The Cuckoo Clock_ or the enchanting + _Adventures of Herr Baby_ is worth a shoal of the very best novels + dealing with the characters and fortunes of mere adults." + +MRS. MOLESWORTH'S +STORY BOOKS FOR CHILDREN. + +With Illustrations by WALTER CRANE. + +_In Crown 8vo. Price 4s. 6d. each._ + + FOUR WINDS FARM. + "US:" An Old-Fashioned Story. + CHRISTMAS TREE LAND. + TWO LITTLE WAIFS. + + * * * * * + +_In Globe 8vo. 2s. 6d. each._ + + TELL ME A STORY. + THE TAPESTRY ROOM: A Child's Romance. + A CHRISTMAS CHILD: A Sketch of Boy Life. + GRANDMOTHER DEAR. + ROSY. + "CARROTS," Just a Little Boy. + THE CUCKOO CLOCK. + THE ADVENTURES OF HERR BABY. + + * * * * * + + SUMMER STORIES FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. 4s. 6d. + + * * * * * + +MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON. + + + + +MACMILLAN'S STORY BOOKS +FOR CHILDREN. + + * * * * * + +_In Globe 8vo. 2s. 6d. each._ + +=Our Year.= By the Author of "John Halifax, Gentleman." + +=Little Sunshine's Holiday.= By the Author of "John Halifax, Gentleman." + +=When I was a Little Girl.= By the Author of "St. Olave's." + +=Nine Years Old.= By the Author of "When I was a Little Girl," etc. + +=A Storehouse of Stories.= Edited by CHARLOTTE M. YONGE. 2 Vols. + +=Agnes Hopetoun's Schools and Holidays.= By Mrs. OLIPHANT. + +=The Story of a Fellow Soldier.= By FRANCIS AWDRY. (A Life of Bishop +Patteson for the Young.) With a Preface by CHARLOTTE M. YONGE. + +=Ruth and her Friends:= A Story for Girls. + +=The Heroes of Asgard:= Tales from Scandinavian Mythology. By A. and E. +KEARY. + +=The Runaway.= By the Author of "Mrs. Jerningham's Journal." + +=Wandering Willie.= By the Author of "Conrad the Squirrel." + +=The White Rat,= and other Stories. By Lady BARKER. With Illustrations by +W. J. HENNESSY. + +=Pansie's Flour Bin.= By the Author of "When I was a Little Girl." With +Illustrations by ADRIAN STOKES. + +=Milly and Olly;= or A Holiday among the Mountains. By Mrs. T. H. WARD. +With Illustrations by Mrs. ALMA TADEMA. + +=Hannah Tarne:= A Story for Girls. By MARY E. HULLAH. With Illustrations +by W. J. HENNESSY. + + * * * * * + +MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON. + + + + +NEW BOOKS FOR CHILDREN. + + * * * * * + +_Two new books by Mr. Lewis Carroll._ + +=Alice's Adventures Underground.= Being a facsimile of the original MS. +Book, afterwards developed into "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland." By +LEWIS CARROLL. With Twenty-seven Illustrations by the Author. Crown 8vo. +_Just Ready._ + +=The Game of Logic.= By LEWIS CARROLL. Crown 8vo. 3s. + + * * * * * + +=Madame Tabby's Establishment.= By Miss HUGHES. With Illustrations. Crown +8vo. 4s. 6d. + +=The Tale of Troy.= Done into English by AUBREY STEWART, M.A., late Fellow +of Trinity College, Cambridge. Globe 8vo. 4s. 6d. + +=The Moon Maiden,= and other Stories. By JESSY E. GREENWOOD. Crown 8vo. +_Immediately._ + + * * * * * + +_With One Hundred Pictures by Mr. Linley Sambourne._ + +=Charles Kingsley's Water Babies:= A Fairy Tale for a Land Baby. A New +Edition, with One Hundred Pictures by LINLEY SAMBOURNE. Fcap. 4to. 12s. +6d. + + The _Times_ says: "Altogether, the volume can be recommended as of + exceptional merit." + +=Truth in Tale.= Addresses chiefly to Children. By the Right Rev. WILLIAM +BOYD CARPENTER, D.D., Bishop of Ripon. Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d. + +=Charlie Asgarde.= A Tale of Adventure. By ALFRED ST. JOHNSTON, Author of +"Camping among Cannibals." Crown 8vo. 5s. + +=The French Prisoners.= By EDWARD BERTZ. Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d. + +=Anyhow Stories, Moral and Otherwise.= By Mrs. W. K. CLIFFORD. Illustrated +by DOROTHY TENNANT. Crown 8vo. 1s.; cloth, 1s. 6d. + + "They are unique among tales intended for children, alike for + their quaintness of humour, their gentle pathos, and the subtlety + with which lessons, moral and otherwise, are conveyed to children, + and perhaps to their seniors as well."--_Spectator._ + + * * * * * + +_By Charlotte M. Yonge. With Illustrations. Globe 8vo. 4s. 6d. each._ + + =The Little Duke.= New Edition. + =The Prince and the Page.= + =P's and Q's.= New Edition. + =Little Lucy's Wonderful Globe.= New Edition. + =The Lances of Lynwood.= + + * * * * * + +_With upwards of One Hundred Pictures by Walter Crane._ + +=Grimm's Fairy Tales.= A Selection from the Household Stories. Translated +from the German by LUCY CRANE. Crown 8vo. 6s. + + * * * * * + +=Children's Poetry.= By the Author of "John Halifax, Gentleman." Globe +8vo. 4s. 6d. + +=The Adventures of a Brownie.= By the Author of "John Halifax, Gentleman." +With Illustrations by Mrs. ALLINGHAM. New Edition. Globe 8vo. 4s. 6d. + +=Alice Learmont:= A Fairy Tale. By the Author of "John Halifax, +Gentleman." With Illustrations by JAMES GODWIN. New Edition, revised by +the Author. Globe 8vo. 4s. 6d. + +=The Tennyson Birthday Book.= Edited by EMILY SHAKESPEAR. In two sizes. +(1) Extra fcap. 8vo Edition on Handmade Paper with red lines. 5s. (2) +18mo. 2s. 6d. + + * * * * * + +By CHARLES KINGSLEY. + +_Crown 8vo. 6s. each._ + +=The Heroes;= or Greek Fairy Tales for my Children. With Illustrations. + +=The Water Babies:= A Fairy Tale for a Land Baby. With Illustrations by +Sir NOEL PATON, R.S.A., and P. SKELTON. + +=Glaucus;= or The Wonders of the Sea-Shore. With Coloured Illustrations. + +=The Hermits.= + +=Madam How and Lady Why;= or First Lessons in Earth-Lore for Children. +Illustrated. + +=At Last:= A Christmas in the West Indies. With numerous Illustrations. + + * * * * * + +MISS YONGE'S NOVELS AND TALES. + +With Illustrations. _Crown 8vo. 6s. each._ + + The Heir of Redclyffe. + Heartsease. + Hopes and Fears. + The Daisy Chain. + Pillars of the House. 2 Vols. + The Clever Woman of the Family. + Magnum Bonum. + Unknown to History. + Stray Pearls. + The Armourer's 'Prentices. + Dynevor Terrace. + The Young Stepmother. + The Trial. + My Young Alcides. + The Three Brides. + The Caged Lion. + The Dove in the Eagle's Nest. + Love and Life. + The Chaplet of Pearls. + Lady Hester and the Danvers Papers. + The Two Sides of the Shield. + Nuttie's Father. + + * * * * * + +MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Four Winds Farm, by Mrs. Molesworth + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR WINDS FARM *** + +***** This file should be named 39748.txt or 39748.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/7/4/39748/ + +Produced by Annie McGuire. 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