"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."

[pg 88]

"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."

[pg 89]

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[pg 90] 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[pg 91] 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[pg 92] 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.

[pg 93]

"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[pg 94] 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[pg 95] 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."

[pg 96]

"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[pg 97] 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[pg 98] 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.

[pg 99]

"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.[pg 100] 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[pg 101] 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.