Four Winds Farm Part 9

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-fas.h.i.+oned 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 a.s.sure 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 pa.s.sing 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, G.o.dmother White-wings," said Gratian, and a gust of wind rus.h.i.+ng 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.