Four Winds Farm Part 10

"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 n.o.body 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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sing 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 pa.s.sage, 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 s.h.i.+ning, 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.