Mrs. Molesworth

“ 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." ”

“ 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." ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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." ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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 ”

“ 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." ”

“ 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." ”

“ 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?" ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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 [Pg 37] 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. ”

“ 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." ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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?" ”

“ 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 [Pg 122] 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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.
[Pg 51]
"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." ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”