THE CHILDREN OF 
 
 
EDUCATION 1IBH. 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Education 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Louise Farrow Barr 
 
FOUR WINDS FARM 
 
 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE 
 
H. 
 
 FOUR WINDS FARM 
 
 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. MOLESWORTH 
 
 AUTHOK OF "CARROTS," " CUCKOO CLOCK," " GRANDMOTHER DEAR," ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER CRANE 
 
 ISTefo gorfe 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 AND LONDON 
 1893 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1893, 
 BY MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 New uniform edition set up and electrotyped October, 1893. 
 
 Education 
 GIFT 
 
 J. S. Gushing & Co. Berwick & Smith. 
 Boston, Mass.. U.S.A. 
 
r- 
 
 PZ 7 
 < 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 FOUE WINDS FAEM. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE VOICES IN THE CHIMNEY 1 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 AT SCHOOL 13 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 FLYING VISITS 25 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 A RAINBOW DANCE 37 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 GOOD FOR EVIL . .50 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 ORGAN TONES 
 
 Y 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE BIG HOUSE AND THE LADY 76 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 LITTLE FERGUS 89 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Music AND COUNSEL . 102 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 THE STORY OF THE SEA-GULL . 115 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 DRAWN Two WAYS . 130 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 LEARNING TO WAIT 144 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 RUBY AND MAVIS 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WlNFRIED 
 
 CHAPTER TIT. 
 THE PRINCESS WITH THE FORGET-ME-NOT EYES . . 30 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 A BOY AND A BOAT .45 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 THE FISHERMAN'S HUT . 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 BERTRAND ' 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 IN THE TURRET-ROOM 92 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 A NAUGHTY PLAN 106 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 BEGINNINGS? ..... .121 
 
 CHAPTER . 
 " FORGET-ME-NOT LAND" .... . 134 
 
 CHAPTER XT. 
 DOWN THE WELL 145 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 OPENED EYES .... 158 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 AND THUS SHE LED HIM OUT OF THE LARGE, 
 
 COLD HALL Frontispiece 
 
 WAS IT FANCY THAT HE HAD SEEN A WAV- 
 ING, FLUTTERING FORM BESIDE HIM?" To face page 26 
 
 " Now FOR OUR DANCE OUR RAINBOW 
 DANCE, SISTERS NO NEED TO WAKE 
 HIM ROUGHLY. AVE NEED ONLY KISS HIS 
 EYELIDS" "40 
 
 " LOOK HERE, DOLLY," AND HE HELD OUT TO 
 HER THE POOR COPY-BOOK WHICH HE HAD 
 ALREADY TAKEN OUT OF HIS SATCHEL . " 57 
 
 AND WHEN SHE SAT DOWN TO PLAY THE 
 LIGHT SPARKLED AND GLOWED ON HER 
 FAIR HAIR, MAKING IT LOOK LIKE GOLD . " 105 
 
 "ARE YOU NOT WELL, MOTHER ? " HE SAID 
 
 GENTLY "133 
 
 IT WAS FERGUS, LITTLE LAME FERGUS, 
 MOUNTED ON A TlNY HOUGH- COATED 
 PONY, COMING TOWARDS HIM ... " 154 
 
 ix 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " ARE ARE YOU A MERMAID, OR A THAT 
 
 OTHER THING?" ASKED THE CHILD . Frontispiece 
 
 "CAN I ?" HE BEGAN, THEN HESITATED To face page 20 
 
 ' OH RUBY!" SHE SUDDENLY BROKE OFF, 
 
 " DO LOOK HERE OH, HOW LOVELY ! " . " 52 
 
 " MAVIS," SAID THE SOFT YET CLEAR AND 
 THRILLING VOICE, " YOU SEE ME, MY 
 CHILD?" "70 
 
 WlNFRIED DREW FORWARD A CHAIR ; IN AN- 
 OTHER MINUTE HE HAD REACHED DOWN 
 THE CROSS "108 
 
 " BERTRAND LOOK WHERE is MAVIS 
 
 MAVIS AND THE BOAT ; CAN YOU SEE 
 
 THEM?" "129 
 
 "STOP A MOMENT," SAID THE BOY. "STOP 
 
 AND LISTEN HUSH THERE NOW, DO 
 
 YOU HEAR THEM RINGING?" ... " 140 
 
AND THUS SHE LED HIM OUT OF THE LARGE, COLD HALL. page 88. 
 
 Frontispiece , 
 
OUR 
 WINDS 
 FARM. 
 
 BY MKS 
 
 Author of "Carrots'The Cu 
 
First Edition 1887. Reprinted 1891. 
 
TO 
 
 jftlg goimgest IBaiujfjter 
 OLIVE 
 
 I INSCRIBE THIS LITTLE STORY 
 
 WHICH WE THOUGHT OF 
 TOGETHER 
 
 LONDON, June, 1886 
 
"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." 
 
 TJie Child in the House. WALTER II. PATER. 
 
FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 
 
 l 
 
2 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 fancy I feel myself when I think of it the wonder- 
 ful 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 ad- 
 vise you to stand at the farm-house door, unless you 
 want to be hurled out of the way more unceremoni- 
 ously 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 trie 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 
 
THE VOICES IN THE CHIMNEY. 6 
 
 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 
 
4 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 
 
THE VOICES IN THE CHIMNEY. 5 
 
 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. Some- 
 thing 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 stir- 
 ring 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 unsettle dness which 
 struck him. 
 
6 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 " Either she is angry and they are running away, 
 or perhaps that is it she is sending them mes- 
 sages 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 tem- 
 pests 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. Lis- 
 ten, 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 
 
THE VOICES IN THE CHIMNEY. 7 
 
 of the summer. There'll be some fine clays 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 lie 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 u 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. Cony- 
 fer 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 grow- 
 ing 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 
 
8 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 lie 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. 
 
THE VOICES IN THE CHIMNEY. 9 
 
 " 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 any- 
 thing even with his dreams unless he works too 
 AVO 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 
 
10 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 re- 
 membrance 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 him- 
 self 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? Tm 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." 
 
THE VOICES IN THE CHIMNEY. 11 
 
 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 dread- 
 fully 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 Jbnas 
 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 ? " 
 
12 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 "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 work- 
 ing, perhaps ? " she said. " Well, yes without say- 
 ing 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. ERASER 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 yester- 
 day'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 
 13 
 
14 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 a 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 
 
AT SCHOOL. 15 
 
 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 stretch- 
 ing 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 thing 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 
 
16 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 h^ 
 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 bettter 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 mel- 
 
AT SCHOOL. 17 
 
 ancholy, 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 school- 
 master 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 look- 
 ing 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 
 
18 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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. 
 
AT SCHOOL. 19 
 
 " 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 ear- 
 nestly. " 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 school- 
 master, 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. 
 
20 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 " 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 imag- 
 ination 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 
 
AT SCHOOL. 21 
 
 geography lesson. The master drew out the great 
 frame with the big maps hanging on it, and ex- 
 plained 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, clattering, 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 
 
22 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 would scarcely find it out if all the books and "learn- 
 ing " in existence were suddenly made an end of. 
 
 There are mischievous imps among them, neverthe- 
 less, and none was more so than Tony, the miller's 
 son. He meant no harm, bat 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 
 
AT SCHOOL. 23 
 
 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 fast- 
 ening it on. 
 
 44 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 
 
24 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 passses 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 moor- 
 land 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 him- 
 self. " 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 ? " 
 
 The boy turned to look who was speaking. His 
 first thought was that one of his companions, know- 
 
 25 
 
26 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 ing 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 sun- 
 set 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 
 
WAS IT FANCY THAT HE HAD SEEN A WAVING, FLUTTERING FORM BESIDE 
 HIM ? p. 26. 
 
FLYING VISITS. 27 
 
 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 fail- 
 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 
 
28 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 thou- 
 sandth 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 
 
FLYING VISITS. 29 
 
 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 him- 
 self, for just at that moment the farmer's footsteps 
 were heard as he came in to supper. " Anyway I 
 
30 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 interest- 
 ing they seemed now that he really gave his whole 
 attention, and especially since he had tried to under- 
 stand 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 say- 
 ing 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 good-will 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 
 
FLYING VISITS. 31 
 
 it wasn't very late mother had said nothing yet 
 about bedtime. 
 
 " 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 
 
32 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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." 
 
FLYING VISITS. 33 
 
 For a sharp keen gust had suddenly come round 
 the corner, rasping the child's unprotected face 
 almost u 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, 
 
34 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 can you 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." 
 
FLYING VISITS. 35 
 
 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 
 
36 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 EAINBOW 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 
 cosy. 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 ? " 
 
 37 
 
38 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 flutter- 
 ing 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 de- 
 served," 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 par- 
 don, 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 ; 
 
A RAINBOW DANCE. 39 
 
 " 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 discern- 
 ing 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 considera- 
 tions ; 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 
 
40 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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." 
 
 " Never mind all that. / 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 
 
"Now FOR OUR DANCE OUR RAINBOW DANCE, SISTERS NO NEED TO 
 
 WAKE HIM ROUGHLY. "WE NEED ONLY KISS HIS EYELIDS." p. 40. 
 
A RAINBOW DANCE. 41 
 
 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 laugh- 
 ing 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 
 
42 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 back- 
 ground, 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 
 
A RAINBOW DANCE. 43 
 
 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 him- 
 self. " 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. 
 
 u 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 
 dela}^ 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, 
 
44 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 him- 
 self ; " 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 win- 
 
A KAINBOW DANCE. 45 
 
 dow 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 dole- 
 fully. 
 
 "Blew your window open? That's strange," said 
 his father. " The wind's not in the east this morn- 
 ing, 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-fash- 
 ioned 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 any- 
 way, Gratian. You don't look sure of it this morn- 
 ing!" 
 
 " I'm cold, mother, and I've always got to do what 
 
46 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 put- 
 ting 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 morn- 
 ings 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. Arc 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 
 
A KAINBOW DANCE. 47 
 
 there going to be a great storm up in the sky ? per- 
 haps 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 moor- 
 land 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. Sud- 
 denly 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/' 
 
48 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 
 
A RAINBOW DANCE. 49 
 
 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 stag- 
 gered 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 school- 
 room. 
 
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 LonVs 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 some- 
 thing 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 cut- 
 ting one to pieces." 
 
 " Wind ! " repeated Dolly, "I didn't feel any wind. 
 
 50 
 
GOOD FOR EVIL. 51 
 
 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 noth- 
 ing 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." 
 
52 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 " 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 answer- 
 ing 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 
 
GOOD FOR EVIL. 53 
 
 turned away as if ashamed to be grateful for the few 
 kinds 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 sneak- 
 ing 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. 
 
54 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 " 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 school- 
 master returned into his house. 
 
 " I wonder what they were talking about," thought 
 Gratian. But he soon forgot all 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 some- 
 times to play with her little boy and read to him 
 
GOOD FOB EVIL. 55 
 
 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 be- 
 fore 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." 
 
56 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 "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 mustn'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 lie 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. 
 
'LOOK HERB, DOLLY," AND HE HELD OUT TO HER THE POOR COPY-BOOK 
 WHICH HE HAD ALREADY TAKEN OUT OF HIS SATCHEL. p. 57. 
 
GOOD FOE EVIL. 57 
 
 "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 him- 
 self 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 run- 
 ning after me all this time? I would have waited 
 for you if I'd known." 
 
 " 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 ? " 
 
58 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 com- 
 fort 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 
 
GOOD FOR EVIL. 59 
 
 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 to 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 dare say, where the sky is so blue 
 
60 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 him- 
 self 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. 
 
GOOD FOR EVIL. 61 
 
 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 him- 
 self 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. 
 
62 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 " 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 in to 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. 
 
 63 
 
64 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 " 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. 
 
ORGAN TONES. 65 
 
 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 him- 
 self, was generous and rich, and he had spent money 
 in restoring the church and giving a beautiful organ. 
 
66 FOUK WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 
 
ORGAN TONES. 67 
 
 seemed to flash here and there like lightning darts, 
 cutting through and yet melting again into the har- 
 mony. 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 after- 
 noon 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 clos- 
 ing 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 
 
68 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 ov r er the 
 verses which the master always liked the 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, fear- 
 ful 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 
 
ORGAN TONES. 69 
 
 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 I 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- wing's reply. 
 
 " All right all right, but I haven't time to wait. 
 Good-night go od-ni ight," and for once East- 
 wind's voice sounded soft and musical. 
 
70 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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, "Zsay 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 guardian- 
 ship 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 
 
ORGAN TONES. 71 
 
 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 remem- 
 bered 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 dare say." 
 
72 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 dare say." 
 
 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 
 
ORGAN TONES. 73 
 
 " 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 
 
74 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 think- 
 ing 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 any- 
 thing about coming to see me ? " 
 
 " Please, sir, mother's coming this afternoon. I'm 
 to wait and go home with her." 
 
ORGAN TONES. 75 
 
 " All 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." 
 
 76 
 
THE BIG HOUSE AND THE LADY. 77 
 
 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 
 
78 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 
 
THE BIG HOUSE AND THE LADY. 79 
 
 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 dare say," 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 beauti- 
 ful 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 to," 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 
 
80 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 I 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 here 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 can- 
 not come with me ! " 
 
 " And why can't I ? " asked Gratian. " I'm not 
 afraid of the cold." 
 
THE BIG HOUSE AND THE LADY. 81 
 
 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 weia 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 Gra- 
 tian, 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 
 
82 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 and her son have come to stay there for a time 
 relations of the squire's 
 
 " Yes, sir, T 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. 
 
THE BIG HOUSE AND THE LADY. 83 
 
 " 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. 
 
84 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 Gracian. 
 
 " 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 / 
 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." 
 
THE BIG HOUSE AND THE LADY. 85 
 
 "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 011 all comers, tall, stately, 
 and solemn, only now and then moving their heads 
 with silent dignity, as if in reply to observations 
 
8b FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 dis- 
 appointed. 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 
 
THE BIG HOUSE AND THE LADY. 87 
 
 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 Gra- 
 tian 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. 
 
88 FOUR WINDS FAKM. 
 
 "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. 
 
 FOK 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 
 
 89 
 
90 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 pre- 
 pared 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." 
 
LITTLE FERGUS. 91 
 
 "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 ? " 
 
92 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 " 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 leav- 
 ing 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 
 
LITTLE FERGUS. 93 
 
 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 ? 
 
94 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 under- 
 stand." 
 
 " 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 
 
LITTLE FERGUS. 95 
 
 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 some- 
 times 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 that Gratian, 
 "unless you mean that you dream things, and your 
 dreams come true." 
 
 u 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 beau- 
 tiful ? I've not heard her play in church for ever so 
 
96 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 long, but I'm so glad there's an organ here. She 
 plays to me every day. I like music best of every- 
 thing in the world don't you ? " 
 
 To which Gratiafc 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 to- 
 gether, 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." 
 
LITTLE FERGUS. 97 
 
 "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 some- 
 body 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 dare say it is," said Fergus gravely. 
 
 " Won't you get better soon ? " asked Gratian, look- 
 ing 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 dread- 
 ful to Gratian than it would have done to an ordi- 
 nary, 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 
 
98 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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. 
 
LITTLE FERGUS. 99 
 
 " 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 
 
100 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 dare 
 say," said his mother " stories which the winds 
 tell him, perhaps eh, Gratian ? " 
 
 Gratian smiled. 
 
LITTLE FERGUS. 101 
 
 " 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 hun- 
 gry 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 her- 
 self 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 thoughts, 
 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 
 
 102 
 
MUSIC AND COUNSEL. 103 
 
 then he gently wheeled forward the couch on which 
 Fergus was lying, and pushed it through the door- 
 way. 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 nar- 
 row 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 
 
104 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 
 
AND WHEN SHE SAT DOWN TO PLAT, THE LIGHT SPARKLED AND GLOWED 
 
 ON HER FAIR HAIR, MAKING IT LOOK LIKE GOLD. p. 105. 
 
MUSIC AND COUNSEL. 105 
 
 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," 
 
106 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 / 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. l^ow pictures never make you 
 music," 
 
MUSIC AND COUNSEL. 107 
 
 "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. 
 
 u 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. 
 u 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 
 
108 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 
 
MUSIC AND COUNSEL. 109 
 
 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." 
 
110 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 " 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 no\v 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. 
 
MUSIC AND COUNSEL. Ill 
 
 " What is it that amuses you so ? " asked the boy. 
 
 "It's Green-wings you can't see her unfortu- 
 nately 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 dis- 
 pleased 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 
 
112 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 110 longer tired, and not 
 cold just pleasantly warm and comfortable. 
 
 " Gray-wings must have wrapped me up some- 
 how," 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 
 
MUSIC AND COUNSEL. 113 
 
 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 shin- 
 ing 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. 
 
114 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 " Come in and warm yourself it's a cold evening. 
 There's some hot gridle cakes and a cup of Fern- 
 flower'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 sup- 
 per 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 110 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 school- 
 master 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 
 
 115 
 
116 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 in the clouds. I really thought I should never suc- 
 ceed in teaching him anything. You have opened 
 his mind." 
 
 u 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 sur- 
 rounded him. He seems to take in and to feel in- 
 terest 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 school- 
 master. 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 disap- 
 pointment made her think still more of Gratian. 
 
THE STORY OF THE SEA-GULL. 117 
 
 " Cornelius would live again in this child if lie 
 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 an- 
 swered. "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." 
 
118 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 "You will have to look upon them as necessary 
 evils then," said his mother. 
 
 " I usen'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. 
 
THE STORY OF THE SEA-GULL. 119 
 
 And tlien 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 shan'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 pict- 
 ures too, but I think I like stories best." 
 
 " lie made a beauty the other day, about a Prin- 
 cess 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 ? " 
 
120 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 " 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 m&ny 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 
 
THE STORY OF THE SEA-GULL. 121 
 
 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 begin- 
 ning. 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 
 
122 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 next day, nor quite so impatient to go on flying, and 
 I dare say he got on better when be 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 were all quite content except the one I am tell- 
 ing you of." 
 
 " What was his name ? " asked Fergus. 
 
 " He hasn't got one," Gratian replied, "but we can 
 make him one. I dare say 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 for themselves, which they well de- 
 served, poor things, after all there trouble with the 
 little ones, he stood up in the nest, flapping his im- 
 patient 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 
 
THE STORY OF THE SEA-GULL. 123 
 
 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. 
 
 " 4 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. 
 
 " 4 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 prob- 
 ably never get to shore.' 
 
124 FOUR WINDS FAHM. 
 
 " 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, stoop- 
 ing over him. 
 
 " ' I don't think he's going to die,' the boy said. 
 c l'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. 
 
THE STORY OF THE SEA-GULL. 125 
 
 44 4 We can let him out into the garden now, can't 
 we ? ' he said to the gardener, 4 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. 
 4 But first we must clip his wings, else he'd be flying 
 away.' 
 
 44 And he took Quiver up in his arms, and stretch- 
 ing 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 
 miser} r and despair. 
 
 44 4 Poor bird ! ' said the boy ; 4 you shouldn't have 
 clipped his wings, Barnes. It would have been better 
 to let him fly away.' 
 
126 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 " ' 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 
 
THE STOKY OF THE SEA-GULL. 127 
 
 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 
 
128 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 fear- 
 less, 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 breath- 
 lessly ; " did he find his father and mother and the 
 others in the old nest among the rocks ? " 
 
THE STOKY OF THE SEA-GULL. 129 
 
 " Yes," replied Gratian, after a moment's considera- 
 tion, " 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 sun- 
 shine ! 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 
 
 130 
 
DRAWN TWO WAYS. 131 
 
 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 asked 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 Ivan Q 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 
 
132 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 plain tiven ess 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 knit- 
 ting lay on her knee, but her hands were idle. She 
 looked up as Gratian came in. 
 
"ARE YOU NOT WELL, MOTHER?" HE SAID GENTLY. p. 133. 
 
DRAWN TWO WAYS. 133 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " 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 IIOAV she 
 was or to be asked about it. For though her hus- 
 band 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 get- 
 ting so much better. I'm sure his mother deserves 
 he should such a sweet lady as she is." 
 
134 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 grand- 
 mother 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. 
 
DKAWN TWO WAYS. 135 
 
 " 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 
 
136 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 him- 
 self 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, stand- 
 ing 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 under- 
 stand " 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. 
 
DRAWN TWO WAYS. 137 
 
 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 Gratiari 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 wonder- 
 ing 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 some- 
 where, 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 
 
138 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 sometime, 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 
 
DRAWN TWO WAYS. 139 
 
 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, u I've felt it some- 
 times. 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," arid the child leaned his head on his 
 mothers 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 grand- 
 father's steps. But your friends think you should 
 have a better chance of learning and seeing for your- 
 
140 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 self 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. 
 
DRAWN TWO WAYS. 141 
 
 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 look- 
 ing 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 
 
142 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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, when- 
 ever 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. Half- 
 way 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 af eared 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." 
 
DRAWN TWO WAYS. 148 
 
 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. 
 
 144 
 
LEARNING TO WATT. 145 
 
 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 dare say 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 mo- 
 ment it's more strength than comfort that you want. 
 Hold out your arms, my boy, there clasp me tight, 
 
146 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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, rush- 
 ing sensation, again he closed his eyes as if he were 
 falling asleep, and knew no more till he found him- 
 self 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 1 " 
 
 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 
 
LEARNING TO WAIT. 147 
 
 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 lire 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 Avas, 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." 
 
148 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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. u 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 
 
LEARNING TO WAIT. 149 
 
 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, u 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." 
 
150 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 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 dread- 
 fully 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 sheM 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 ; u I'm afraid 
 it may be for altogether. We are not likely to come 
 back to this part of the country again, and my hus- 
 band, 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." 
 
LEARNING TO WAIT. 151 
 
 " 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 any- 
 thing 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 com- 
 panionship 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 
 
152 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 through the rattle and racket, felt a strange excite- 
 ment 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 treacher- 
 ous 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 
 
LEARNING TO WAIT. 153 
 
 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-wing's giant touch, or his cheeks tingling 
 with a sharp blast from mischievous Gray-wings, 
 Gratian laughed with pleasure and daring enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 " 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 
 
154 FOUR WINDS FAKM. 
 
 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 any- 
 where 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. 
 
 " 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 ? 
 
IT WAS FERGUS, LITTLE LAME FERGUS, MOUNTED ON A TINY UOUGH- 
 COATED PONY, COMING TOWARDS HIM! p. 154. 
 
LEARNING TO WAIT. 155 
 
 " 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." 
 
156 FOUR WINDS FAKM. 
 
 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. 
 
Are 
 
 are you a mermaid ,or a 
 the 
 f. 136 . 
 
 are you a Tnermaia,oT ^ 
 
 .._ olher thing ?' a^ked the 
 child. )J 
 
THE 'CHILDREN' 
 
 'OF "THE 'CASTLE' 
 'BY' 
 
 URS'JIQLESV/OKH 
 
 ILLUSTRATED' BY' 
 
SOME ' ' FOR GET-ME-NOTS ' ' 
 
 FOR 
 
 ar Uenetia 
 
 19 SITMNER PLACE, S.W. 
 19th May, 1890 
 
THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 RUBY AND MAVIS. 
 
 " Hast thou seen that lordly castle, 
 
 That castle by the sea ? 
 Golden and red above it 
 The clouds float gorgeously.'' 
 
 Trans, of Uhland. LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Do you remember Gratian Gratian Conyfer, the 
 godson of the four winds, the boy who lived at the 
 old farm-house up among the moors, where these 
 strange beautiful sisters used to meet? Do you 
 remember how full of fancies and stories Gratian's 
 little head was, and how sometimes he put them into 
 words to please Fergus, the lame child he loved so 
 much? The story I am now going to tell you is one 
 of these. I think it was their favourite one. I can- 
 not say that it is in the very words in which Gratian 
 used to tell it, for it was not till long, long after 
 those boyish days that it came to be written down. 
 But all the same it is his story. 
 
 How long ago it was I cannot say, nor can I tell 
 you exactly where it was. This is not a story for 
 
 l 
 
Z THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 which you will require an atlas, nor a history of 
 England or of any other country, nor a dictionary of 
 dates. All those wise and clever and useful things 
 you may put out of your heads for a bit. I am just 
 going to tell you a story. It was somewhere and 
 somewhen, and I think that will do. 
 
 The "it" was a castle and something else. But 
 first about the castle. It was really worthy of the 
 name, for it was very old and very strong, and in 
 ancient days it had been used as a place of defence, 
 and had a look about it of not having forgotten this. 
 (I am afraid this sounds a very little historical. I 
 must take care.) It was very big too, towering over 
 the sea-washed cliffs on which it stood as if defying 
 the winds and the waves to do their worst, frowning 
 at them with the little round window-eyes of its tur- 
 rets^ like a cross old ogre. But it was a two-faced 
 castle ; it was only on one side the rocky side, 
 where the cliffs went down precipitously to the 
 water that it looked grim and forbidding. Inland, 
 you could scarcely have believed it was the same 
 castle at all. For here, towards the sunny south, it 
 seemed to change into a gracious, comfortable, hospi- 
 tably-inviting mansion ; it did not look nearly so 
 high on this side, for the ivy-covered turrets had 
 more the effect of dimly dark trees in the back- 
 ground, and the bright wide-windowed rooms opened 
 on to trim lawns and terraces gay with flowers. 
 That was the case in summer-time at least. The 
 
RUBY AND MAVIS. 3 
 
 whole look of things varied a good deal according to 
 the seasons. In winter, grim as it was, I don't know 
 but that the fortress-front, so to speak, of the great 
 building had the best of it. For it was grand to 
 watch the waves breaking down below when you 
 knew you were safe and cosy behind the barred panes 
 of the turret windows, those windows pierced in the 
 walls throng 1 ]! such a thickness of stone that each 
 
 O 
 
 was like a little room within a room. And even in 
 winter there were wonderful sunsets to be seen from 
 the children's favourite turret-room the one which 
 had two windows to the west and only one to the 
 cold north. 
 
 For the " something else " was the children. Much 
 more interesting than the castle indeed, what 
 would any castle or any house be without them? 
 Not that the castle was not a very interesting place 
 to live in, as you will hear, but all places, I think, 
 need people to bring out their interest. People who 
 have been, sometimes, and sometimes, people that 
 still are. There was a mixture of both in my castle. 
 But first and foremost I will tell you of the children, 
 whose home it was, and perhaps is yet. 
 
 There were only two of them, only two, that is to 
 say, who lived there regularly ; they were girls, twin- 
 sisters, Ruby and Mavis were their names, and at 
 this time they were nearly twelve years old. I will 
 not say much in description of them, it is best to let 
 you find out about them for yourselves. They were 
 
THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 almost exactly the same size ; Ruby perhaps a very 
 little the taller, and at first sight every one thought 
 them exceedingly like each other. And so they 
 were, so far as the colour of their hair, the shape of 
 their features, their eyes and complexions went. 
 They were pretty little girls, and they made a pretty 
 pair. But the more you got to know them the less 
 alike you got to think them, till at last you began to 
 wonder how you ever could have thought them like 
 at all ! And even almost at the first glance some 
 differences were to be seen. Ruby was certainly the 
 prettier. Her eyes were brighter, her colour more 
 brilliant, her way of walking and holding herself 
 more graceful, even her very manner of talking was 
 more interesting and attractive. 
 
 "What a charming child she is," said strangers 
 always. " Such pretty winning ways, so sweet and 
 unselfish, so clever and intelligent ! What a pity 
 that dull little Mavis is not more like her why, I 
 thought them the image of each other at first, and 
 now I can scarcely believe they are sisters. I am 
 sure poor Ruby must find Mavis very trying, she is 
 so stupid ; but Ruby is so good and patient with her 
 it quite adds another charm to the dear child." 
 
 This opinion or one like it was always the first 
 expressed well, perhaps not always, but almost 
 always. Now I will let you judge for yourselves. 
 
 It was late autumn. So late, that one felt inclined 
 to wish it were already winter, without any thought 
 
KUBY AND MAVIS. 5 
 
 or talk of a milder season. For it was very cold, and 
 thick-walled though the castle was, it needed any 
 amount of huge fires and curtains in front of the 
 doorways and double windows, and, in the modern 
 rooms, hot air or water-pipes to make it comfortable 
 in severe weather. And all these things in winter it 
 had. But the housekeeper had rather old-fashioned 
 and stiff ideas. She did everything by rule. On a 
 certain day in the autumn the winter arrangements 
 were begun, on a certain day in the spring they came 
 to an end. And this, whatever the weather was, 
 not a very good plan, for as everybody knows, the 
 weather itself is not so formal and particular. There 
 are quite warm, mild days sometimes in late Novem- 
 ber, and really bitterly cold ones in April and May. 
 But there would have been no manner of use in try- 
 ing to make old Bertha see this. Winter should stop 
 on a certain day, and summer should come, and vice 
 versd. It had always been so in her time, and Bertha 
 did not like new-fangled ways. 
 
 So everybody shivered, and the more daring ones, 
 of whom Ruby was the foremost, scolded and 
 grumbled. But it was no use. 
 
 " You may as well try to bear it patiently, my 
 dear," said cousin Hortensia, " the mild weather must 
 come soon. I will lend you one of my little shawls 
 if you like. You will feel warmer when you have 
 been out for a run." 
 
 Cousin Hortensia was the lady who lived at the 
 
6 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 castle to teach and take care of the two little girls. 
 For their mother was dead and their father was often 
 away. He had some appointment at the court. I 
 am not sure what it was, but he was considered a very 
 important person. He was kind and good, as you 
 will see, and it was always a great delight to the 
 children when he came home, and a great sorrow 
 when he had to leave. 
 
 Cousin Hortensia was only a very far-off cousin, 
 but the children always called her so. For though 
 she was really with them as a governess as well as a 
 friend, it would not have seemed so nice to call her 
 by any other name. She was very gentle, and took 
 the best care she could of them. And she was clever 
 and taught them well. But she was rather a dreamy 
 sort of person. She had lived for many years a very 
 quiet life, and knew little of the outside world. She 
 had known and loved the twins' mother, and their 
 father too, when they were but boy and girl, for she 
 was no longer young. And she loved Ruby and 
 Mavis, Ruby especially, so dearly, that she could see 
 no fault in them. It was to Ruby she was speaking 
 and offering a shawl. They were sitting in one of 
 the rooms on the south side of the castle, sheltered 
 from the stormy winds which often came whirling 
 down from the north. But even here it was cold, or 
 at least chilly. 
 
 Ruby shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " You always offer me a shawl as if I were seventy, 
 
RUBY AND MAVIS. 7 
 
 cousin Hortensia," she said rather pertly. "It would 
 be much better if you would speak to Bertha, and 
 insist on her having the fires lighted now it is so cold. 
 When I'm grown up I can tell you / won't stand the 
 old thing's tyranny." 
 
 Cousin Hortensia looked rather distressed. There 
 was some sense in what Ruby said, but there were a 
 great many other things to be considered, all of 
 which she could not explain to the children. Bertha 
 was an exceedingly valuable servant, and if she were 
 interfered with and went away it would be almost 
 impossible to get any one like her. For it was neces- 
 sary that the castle should be managed with economy 
 as well as care. 
 
 "I would speak to Bertha if there was anything 
 really important to complain of," she said. " But 
 this weather cannot last, and you are not cold at 
 night, are you ? " 
 
 "No," said Mavis, "not at all." 
 
 " Bertha would never get all the work done unless 
 she took her own way," Miss Hortensia went on. 
 " But I'll tell you what I'll do, Ruby. I will have 
 the fire lighted in my own little room. I don't need 
 to trouble Bertha about that, thanks to your kind 
 father's thoughtf illness. My little wood-cupboard is 
 always kept filled by Tim. And when you come in 
 from your walk we will have tea there instead of 
 here, and spend a cosy evening." 
 
 Ruby darted at Miss Hortensia and kissed her. 
 
8 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " That will be lovely," she said. " And as it's to 
 be a sort of a treat evening, do tell us a story after 
 tea, dear cousin." 
 
 " If you're not tired," put in Mavis. " Cousin 
 Hortensia had a headache this morning," she said to 
 Ruby, turning to her. 
 
 " Rubbish ! " cried Ruby, but she checked herself 
 quickly. " I don't mean that," she went on, " but 
 Mavis is such a kill-joy. You won't be tired will 
 you, dear cousin ? Mavis doesn't care for stories 
 as much as I do. I've read nearly all the books in 
 the library, and she never reads if she can help it." 
 
 " I've enough to do with my lesson-books," said 
 Mavis with a sigh. " And I can scarcely ever find 
 stories to read that I understand. But I like hearing 
 stories, for then I can ask what it means if there 
 comes a puzzling part." 
 
 " Poor Mavis ! " said Ruby contemptuously, " she's 
 always getting puzzled." 
 
 " We must try to make your wits work a little 
 quicker, my dear," said Miss Hortensia. " You 
 will get to like reading when you are older, I dare 
 say. I must look out for some easier story-books for 
 you." 
 
 " But I love hearing stories, cousin," said Mavis. 
 " Please don't think that I don't like your stories. I 
 do so like that one about when you came to the castle 
 once when you were a little girl and about the dream 
 you had." 
 
RUBY AND MAVIS. 9 
 
 " I don't care for stories about dreams," said Ruby. 
 " I like to hear about when cousin Hortensia was a 
 young lady and went to balls at the court. I would 
 love to have beautiful dresses and go to the court. 
 Do you think father will take me when I'm grown 
 up, cousin Hortensia ? " 
 
 " I dare say he will. You will both go, probably," 
 Miss Hortensia replied. " But you must not think 
 too much of it or you may be disappointed. Your 
 mother was very beautiful and everybody admired 
 her when she went out in the world, but she always 
 loved best to be here at the castle." 
 
 Ruby made a face. 
 
 " Then I don't think I'm like her," she said. " I'm 
 very tired of this stupid old place already. And if 
 you tell your dream-story to Mavis, you must tell me 
 the one about how mother looked when she went to 
 her first ball. She was dressed all in white, wasn't 
 she?" 
 
 " No," Mavis answered. " In blue wavy, chang- 
 ing blue, like the colour the sea is sometimes." 
 
 "Blue" Ruby repeated, " what nonsense ! Isn't it 
 nonsense, cousin Hortensia ? Didn't our mother wear 
 all white at her first ball everybody does." 
 
 Miss Hortensia looked up in surprise. 
 
 "Yes, of course," she said. "Who ever told you 
 she wore blue, Mavis ? " 
 
 Mavis grew very red. 
 
 "I wasn't speaking of our mother," she said. "It 
 
10 THE ClIILDllEN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 was the lady you saw in your dream I meant, cousin 
 Hortensia." 
 
 " You silly girl ! " said Ruby. " Isn't she stupid ? " 
 
 Mavis looked ready to cry. 
 
 " You must get out of that habit of not listening 
 to what people say, my dear," said Miss Hortensia. 
 " Now you had better both go out wrap up warmly, 
 and don't stay very long, and when you come in you 
 will find me in my own room." 
 
 " And you'll tell us stories, won't you, dear good 
 cousin ? " said Ruby coaxingly, as she put up her 
 pretty face for a kiss. " If you'll tell me my story, 
 you may tell Mavis hers afterwards." 
 
 "Well, well, we'll see," said Miss Hortensia, 
 smiling. 
 
 "I do so like the story of the blue lady," said 
 Mavis, very softly, as they left the room. 
 
 Five minutes later the twins were standing under 
 the great archway which led to the principal entrance 
 to the castle. At one end this archway opened on 
 to a winding road cut in the rock, at the foot of 
 which was a little sandy cove a sort of refuge 
 among the cliffs. On each side of it the waves broke 
 noisily, but they never entirely covered the cove, 
 even at very high tides, and except in exceedingly 
 rough and stormy weather the water rippled in 
 gently, as if almost .asking pardon for intruding at 
 all. When the sea was out there was a scrambling 
 path among the rocks to the left, by which one could 
 
RUBY AND MAVIS. 11 
 
 make one's way to a little fishing-hamlet about a 
 quarter of a mile off on the west. For, as I should 
 have explained before, the castle stood almost at a 
 corner, the coast-line turning sharply southwards, 
 after running for many miles almost due east and 
 west. 
 
 The proper way to this hamlet was by the same 
 inland road which led to the castle, and which, so 
 the legend ran, was much more modern than the 
 building itself, much more modern at least than the 
 north side of it. That grim fortress-like front was 
 very ancient. It had been built doubtless for a safe 
 retreat, and originally had only been accessible from 
 the sea, being in those days girt round on 'the land 
 side by enormous walls, in which was no entrance of 
 any kind. A part of these walls, ivy-clad and 
 crumbling, still remained, but sufficient had been 
 pulled down to give space for the pleasant sunny 
 rooms and the sheltered garden with its terraces. 
 
 Ruby shivered as she and Mavis stood a moment 
 hesitating in the archway. 
 
 "It is cold here," she said; "the wind seems to 
 come from everywhere at once. Which way shall 
 we go, Mavis ? " 
 
 "It would be a little warmer at the back, perhaps," 
 said Mavis. " But I don't care much for the gardens 
 on a dull day like this." 
 
 "Nor do I," said Ruby, "there's nothing to see. 
 Now at the front it's almost nicer on a dull day than 
 
12 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 when it's sunny except of course for the cold. 
 Let's go down to the cove, Mavis, and see how it 
 feels there." 
 
 It was curious that they always spoke of the for- 
 tress side as the front, even though the southern part 
 of the building was what would have naturally 
 seemed so. 
 
 " I'd like to stay out till sunset and see the colours 
 up in the turret windows," said Mavis, as they clam- 
 bered down the rocky path. " I wish I knew which 
 of these rooms is the one where the blue fairy lady 
 used to come. I do think cousin Hortensia might 
 have found out." 
 
 " Rubbish ! " said Ruby. It was rather a favourite 
 expression of hers, I am afraid. " I don't believe 
 cousin Hortensia ever saw her. It was all a fancy 
 because she had heard about it. If ever she did 
 come, it was ages and ages ago, and I don't believe 
 she did even then. I don't believe one bit about 
 spirits and fairies and dreams and things like that." 
 
 Mavis said nothing, but a puzzled, disappointed 
 look crept into her eyes. 
 
 " Perhaps it's because I'm stupid," she said, " but I 
 shouldn't like to think like you, Ruby. And you 
 know the story wouldn't have come all of itself, and 
 cousin Hortensia, though she calls it a dream, can't 
 really explain it that way." 
 
 " If you know so much about it, why do you keep 
 teasing to have it told again?" said Ruby impatiently. 
 
RUBY AND MAVIS. 13 
 
 " Well, here we are at the cove ; what are we to do 
 now?" 
 
 Mavis looked about her. It was chilly, and the 
 sky was gray, but over towards the w r est there was a 
 lightening. The wind came in little puffs down here, 
 now and again only, for they were well under the 
 shelter of the cliffs. And up above, the old c*stle 
 frowning down upon them his own children, Avhose 
 ancestors he had housed and sheltered and protected 
 for years that counted by centuries suddenly seemed 
 to give a half unwilling smile. It was a ray of thin 
 afternoon sunshine striking across the turret windows. 
 
 " See, see," said Mavis. " The sun's coming out. 
 I'm sure the sky must be pretty and bright round 
 where the cottages are. The sea's quite far enough 
 back, and it's going out. Do let us go and ask how 
 the baby Joan's baby, I mean is to-day." 
 
 " Very well," said Ruby. " Not that I care much 
 how the baby is, but there's rather a nice scrambly 
 way home up behind Joan's house. I found it one 
 day when you had a cold and weren't with me. It 
 brings 3^011 out down by the stile into the little fir- 
 wood just where you'd never expect to find your- 
 self. And oh, Mavis, there's such a queer little 
 cottage farther along the shore, at least just above 
 the shore that way. I saw it from the back, along 
 the scrambly path." 
 
 " I wonder whose it is," said Mavis. " I don't 
 remember any cottage that way. Oh yes, I think I 
 
14 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 remember passing it one day long ago when Joan 
 was our nurse, and she made me run on quick, but 
 she didn't say why." 
 
 " Perhaps it's haunted, or some nonsense like that," 
 said Ruby with her contemptuous air. "I'll ask 
 Joan to-day. And if we pass it I'll walk just as slow 
 as e^er I can on purpose. You'll see, Mavis." 
 
 " We'd better run now," said Mavis. " The sands 
 are pretty firm just here, and cousin Hortensia said 
 we were to make ourselves warm. Let's have a 
 race." 
 
 They had left the cove and were making their 
 way to the hamlet by the foot of the rocks, where at 
 low tide there was a narrow strip of pebbly sand, 
 only here and there broken by out-jutting crags 
 which the children found it very amusing to clamber 
 over. Their voices sounded clear and high in the* 
 air. For the wind seemed to have fallen with the 
 receding tide. By the time they reached the cot- 
 tages they were both in a glow, and Ruby had quite 
 forgotten her indignation at old Bertha's tireless 
 rooms. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 WINFRIED. 
 
 " And somewhat southward toward the noon, 
 Whence lies a way up to the moon ; 
 And thence the fairy can as soon 
 
 Pass to the earth below it." 
 
 DRAYTON. 
 
 JOAN, a pleasant-faced young woman who had 
 once been the children's nurse, and was now married 
 to a fisherman who owned several boats, and was a 
 person of some consequence among the villagers, was 
 standing at the door of her cottage with a baby in 
 her arms as the children came up. Her face beamed 
 with smiles, but before she had time to speak Ruby 
 called out to her. 
 
 " How are you, Joan ? We've come round to ask 
 how baby is, but it's very easy to see he is better, 
 otherwise you wouldn't be so smiling." 
 
 " And here he is to speak for himself, Miss Ruby," 
 said Joan. " How very kind of you to think of him ! 
 And you too, Miss Mavis, my dear. Are you both 
 quite well ? " 
 
 "Yes, thank you, Joan," said Mavis quietly. But 
 Ruby was fussing about the baby, admiring him and 
 petting him in a way that could scarcely fail to gain 
 
 15 
 
16 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 his mother's heart. Joan, however, though fond of 
 both the children, had plenty of discernment. She 
 smiled at Ruby " Miss Ruby has pretty ways with 
 her, there's no denying," she told her husband after- 
 wards, but there was a very gentle tone in her 
 voice as she turned to Mavis. 
 
 "You've had no more headaches, I hope, Miss 
 Mavis? Have you been working hard at your les- 
 
 ?55 
 
 " I have to work hard if I work at all, Joan," said 
 the little girl rather sadly. 
 
 " She's so stupid," said Ruby ; " and she gets her 
 head full of fancies. I dare say that prevents her 
 having room for sensible things. Oh, by-the-bye, 
 Joan, tell us who lives in that queer cottage all by 
 itself some way farther along the coast. I never 
 saw it till the other day it's almost hidden among 
 the rocks. But Mavis says she once passed it with 
 you, and you made her run by quickly. Why did 
 you, Joan ? I do so want to know." 
 
 Joan looked rather at a loss. 
 
 " You mean old Adam's cottage," she said. " I 
 really don't know why people speak against him. 
 He's never done any harm, indeed, he's a kind old 
 man. But he's come from a long way off, and he's 
 not like the other folk, and they got up a tale that 
 there were queer sounds and sights in his cottage 
 sometimes singing and lights late at night, that 
 couldn't be canny. Some spoke of mermaids swim- 
 
WINFRIED. 17 
 
 ming down below in front of his hut and him stand- 
 ing talking to them quite friendly-like. But that's 
 a good while ago now, and I think it's forgotten. 
 And he goes to church regularly. You'll -always be 
 sure of seeing him there." 
 
 " Then why don't people like him ? " said Mavis. 
 
 " Perhaps it's just because he is good and goes to 
 church," said Ruby. " I'm not at all sure that I 
 like extra good people myself. They're so tiresome." 
 
 " He's not one to meddle with others," said Joan. 
 " He keeps very much to himself, and his talking 
 doesn't sound like ours. So they call him a foreigner. 
 Indeed, he's often not heard of or seen for weeks and 
 even months at a time, unless any one's ill or in 
 trouble, and then he seems to know it all of himself, 
 and comes to see if he can help. That's one reason 
 why they think him uncanny." 
 
 "Did he come when baby was ill?" asked Ruby. 
 
 Joan shook her head. 
 
 " No, for a wonder he didn't." 
 
 " Perhaps he's dead," said Ruby indifferently. 
 " We're going past that way, Mavis. Let's peep in 
 and see." 
 
 Mavis grew rather pale. 
 
 "Ruby," she said, "I wish you wouldn't you 
 frighten me." 
 
 " Miss Ruby would be frightened herself. She's 
 only joking," said Joan. "I don't suppose there's 
 aught the matter, still I don't think you'd better 
 
18 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 stop at old Adam's. It isn't like as if he was one 
 of our own folk." 
 
 "Rubbish!" said Ruby again. "I'm off. You 
 can send your husband to see if the old wizard has 
 turned us into frogs or sea-gulls, in case we are not 
 heard of any more. Good-night ; " and off she ran. 
 
 Mavis had to follow her. There was not much 
 fear of Ruby's really doing anything rash, for she was 
 by no means a very brave child, still Mavis always 
 felt uncomfortable when her sister got into one of 
 these wild moods. 
 
 " Good-bye, Joan," she said gently. " I'm so glad 
 baby's better. I dare say Ruby's only joking ; " and 
 then she ran along the path, which just here in the 
 hamlet was pretty level and smooth, after Ruby. 
 
 They had quite half a mile to go before they got 
 to the lonely cottage. It stood some way back from 
 the shore, and great craggy rocks near at hand 
 almost hid it from sight. One might have passed by 
 that way often without noticing that there was any 
 human dwelling-place there. But the children were 
 on the look-out. 
 
 " There," said Ruby, " the old ogre can't be dead : 
 there's smoke coming out of the chimney. And - 
 oh, just look, Mavis, what a big fire he must have; 
 do you seethe red of it in the window?" 
 
 " No," said Mavis, " it's the sun setting. Look out 
 to sea isn't it splendid?" 
 
 But Ruby had set her heart upon exploring the 
 
WINFRIED. 19 
 
 fisherman's hut. She began scrambling up the 
 stones, for there was really nothing worthy of the 
 name of a pathway, quite regardless of the beautiful 
 sight behind her. And as usual, Mavis had to follow, 
 though reluctantly. Still she was not quite without 
 curiosity about the lonely cottage herself. Suddenly, 
 when within a short distance of the hut, Ruby 
 stopped short, and glancing back towards her sister, 
 lifted her hand as if to tell her to be silent and 
 listen. Then Mavis became conscious of the sound 
 of voices speaking not old Adam's voice certainly, 
 for these sounded soft and clear, and now and then 
 came a ripple of silvery laughter, very sweet and 
 very delicate. The little girls, who had drawn near 
 together, looked at each other. 
 
 " Who can it be ? " said Mavis in a whisper. 
 
 " The mermaids," replied Ruby mockingly. " Per- 
 haps old Adam has invited them to tea." 
 
 But as she spoke there came distinctly the sound 
 of the words " Good-bye, good-bye," and then there 
 was silence. 
 
 Somehow both children felt rather frightened. 
 
 " Suppose old Adam's really dead," said Ruby, 
 looking rather pale, " and that these are fairies, or 
 I don't know what, come to fetch him." 
 
 " Angels," said Mavis. " Joan says he's good. 
 But Ruby I shouldn't think angels would 
 laugh." 
 
 She had scarcely said the words when they saw 
 
20 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 running down the rough slope from the hut the 
 figure of a boy. He ran fast and lightly, his feet 
 scarcely seeming to touch the stones ; he was 
 slight and very active-looking ; it was pretty to 
 watch him running, even though as he came close 
 it was plain that he was only a simple fisher-boy, 
 in rough clothes, barefoot and sunburnt. He slack- 
 ened his pace a little as he came near the children, 
 then glancing at them with a smile he lifted his dark 
 blue cap and stopped short. 
 
 " Can I ? " lie began, then hesitated. He had 
 a pleasant face and clear gray eyes, which looked one 
 straight in the face with interest and inquiry. 
 
 " What do you say ? " asked Ruby rather haughtily. 
 
 " I thought perhaps you had lost your way," he 
 answered quietly. " There's not many gentry comes 
 round here ; " and then he smiled, for no very par- 
 ticular reason apparently, though his smile never- 
 theless gave one the feeling that he had a reason 
 if he chose to give it. 
 
 " No, we haven't lost our way," said Ruby ; " we 
 came here on purpose. Do you know the old man 
 who lives up there ? " and she pointed to the hut. 
 " Is it true that there's something queer about him ? " 
 
 The boy looked at her, still smiling. 
 
 " Queer? " he repeated. ^ 
 
 Ruby began to feel annoyed. She tapped her foot 
 impatiently. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " queer. Why do you repeat my 
 
1 ? ' Toe Ij 
 
 "kesitatecL - 
 
WINFRIED. 21 
 
 words, and why don't you say ' Miss,' or ' My Lady ' ? 
 Lots of the people here call me ' My Lady.' Do you 
 know who I am ? " 
 
 The boy's face had grown graver. 
 
 " Yes," he said. " You are the little ladies from 
 the castle. I have seen you sometimes. I have seen 
 you in church. We always call you the little ladies 
 grandfather and I when we are talking. He 
 has told me about you and I've heard about the 
 castle, though I've never been in it. It's very fine. I 
 like to look up at it from the sea." 
 
 Ruby felt a little smoothed down. Her tone be- 
 came more gracious. Mavis, who had drawn near, 
 stood listening with great interest, and as the boy 
 turned towards her the smile came over his face 
 again. 
 
 " Who do you mean by ' grandfather ' ? " asked 
 Ruby eagerly. " Is it old Adam ? I didn't know 
 he had any children or grandchildren." 
 
 " Yes," the bo}^ replied, " I'm his grandson. Was 
 it grandfather you meant when you said he was 
 queer? " 
 
 " Oh," said Mavis, "Ruby didn't mean to be rude. 
 It was only nonsense. People say " 
 
 " They say he's very queer indeed," said Ruby, 
 who had no intention of deserting her colours. " They 
 say he's a kind of a wizard or an ogre, and that you 
 hear all sorts of sounds music and talking and I 
 don't know all what if you're near his cottage in 
 
22 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 the evening, and that there are lights to be seen in 
 it too, not common lights like candles, but much 
 more. Some say he's friends with the mermaids, 
 and that they come to see him is that true ? " and 
 notwithstanding her boasted boldness Ruby dropped 
 her voice a little, and glanced over her shoulder half 
 nervously seawards, as if not quite sure but that 
 some of the tailed ladies in question might be listen- 
 ing to her. 
 
 The boy did more than smile now. He laughed 
 outright ; but his laugh, though bright and ringing, 
 was not the laugh the sisters had heard from the 
 cottage. 
 
 " The mermaids," he said. " No, indeed, poor little 
 things, they never visit grandfather." 
 
 " Well, why do you laugh ? " said Ruby angrily 
 again. " You speak as if there were mermaids." 
 
 " I was thinking of stories I have heard about 
 them," said the boy simply. " But I couldn't help 
 laughing to think of them coming to see grandfather. 
 How could they ever get up these stones ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know, I'm sure," Ruby answered im- 
 patiently. " If he's a wizard he could do anything 
 like that. I wish you'd tell us all about him. You 
 must know, as you live with him." 
 
 " I've not been long with him," said the boy. " He 
 may be friends with the mermaids for all I know. 
 He's friends with everybody." 
 
 " You're mocking at me," said Ruby, " and I won't 
 
WIN FRIED. 23 
 
 have it. I'm sure you could tell me things if you 
 chose." 
 
 " We did hear talking and laughing," said Mavis 
 gently, speaking almost for the lirst time, "and it 
 seemed as if there was some one else there." 
 
 The boy looked at her again, and a very pleasant 
 light came into his eyes more than that, indeed, as 
 Mavis watched him it seemed to her that they 
 changed in colour. Was it the reflection from the 
 sky ? No, there was a mingling of every hue to 
 be seen over by the western horizon certainly, but 
 scarcely the deep clear midsummer sky-blue they 
 suddenly became. 
 
 " What funny eyes you've got," exclaimed the 
 child impulsively. " They're quite blue now, and 
 they weren't a minute ago." 
 
 Ruby stared at him and then at Mavis. 
 
 " Nonsense," she said, " they're not. They're just 
 common coloured eyes. You shouldn't say such 
 things, Mavis ; people will think you're out of your 
 mind." 
 
 Mavis looked very ashamed, but the boy's face 
 flushed up. He looked both glad and excited. 
 
 "If you please, miss," he said, "some people see 
 things that others don't. I don't even mind that 
 nonsense about gran and the mermaids ; those that 
 say it don't know any better." 
 
 Ruby looked at him sharply. 
 
 " Then there is something to know," she said. 
 
24 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " Now you might as well tell us all about it. Is old 
 Adam a wizard ? " 
 
 " That he's not," answered the boy stoutly, "if so 
 be, as I take it, that a wizard means one that has to 
 do with bad spirits unkind and mischief-making 
 and unloving, call them what you will. None of 
 such like would come near gran, or, if they did, he'd 
 soon send them to the right-about. I'd like you to 
 see him for yourself some day, but not to-day, if 
 you'll excuse it. He's very tired. I was running 
 down to the shore to fetch a pailful of sea water to 
 bathe his lame arm." 
 
 " Then we mustn't keep you," said Mavis. " But 
 might we really come to see your grandfather some 
 day, do you think?" 
 
 " I'll ask him," said the boy ; " and I think he'd 
 be pleased to see you." 
 
 " You might come up to the castle if there's any- 
 thing he would like a little soup or anything," 
 said Ruby in her patronising way. " I'll speak to 
 the housekeeper." 
 
 " Thank you, miss," said the boy, but more hesitat- 
 ingly than he had spoken before. 
 
 " What's your name ? " asked Ruby. " We'd 
 better know it, so that you can say who you are 
 when you come." 
 
 " Winfried," he answered simply. 
 
 " Then good-bye, Winfried," said Ruby. " Come 
 on, Mavis ; " and she turned to pursue her way 
 home past the cottage. 
 
WINFRIED. 25 
 
 Win fried hesitated. Then he ran a step or two 
 after them. 
 
 "I can show you a nearer way home to the castle," 
 he said, "and if you don't mind, it would be very 
 kind of you not to P*O near bv our cottage. Grand- 
 
 J O */ O 
 
 father is feeble still did you know he had been 
 very ill? and seeing or hearing strangers might 
 startle him." 
 
 " Then you come with us," said Ruby. " You can 
 tell him who we are." 
 
 " I'm in a hurry to get the salt water," said the 
 boy. " I have put off time already, and if you won't 
 think me rude I'd much rather you came to the cot- 
 tage some day when we could invite you to step in." 
 
 His manner was so simple and hearty that Ruby 
 could not take offence, though she had been quite 
 ready to do so. 
 
 "Very well," she said, "then show us your nearer 
 way." 
 
 He led them without speaking some little dis- 
 tance towards the shore again. After all there was 
 a path not a bad one of its kind, for here and 
 there it ran on quite smoothly for a few yards and 
 then descended by stones arranged so as to make a 
 few rough steps. 
 
 " Dear me," said Ruby, " how stupid we were not 
 to find this path before." 
 
 Winfried smiled. " I scarce think you could have 
 found it without me to show you," he said, " nor the 
 
26 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 short way home either for that matter. See here ; " 
 and having come to ihe end of the path he went on 
 a few steps along the pebbly shore, for here there 
 was no smooth sand, and stopped before a great 
 boulder stone, as large as a hay-cart, which stood out 
 suddenly among the broken rocks. Winfried stepped 
 up close to it and touched it apparently quite gently. 
 To the children's amazement it swung round lightly 
 as if it had been the most perfectly hung door. 
 And there before them was revealed a little Broadway, 
 wide enough for two to walk abreast, which seemed 
 to wind in and out among the rocks as far as they 
 could see. It was like a carefully rolled gravel path 
 in a garden, except that it seemed to be of a peculiar 
 kind of sand, white and glistening. 
 
 Ruby darted forward. 
 
 . " What a lovely path ! " she exclaimed ; " will it 
 take us straight home ? Are you sure it will ? " 
 
 "Quite sure," said Winfried. "You will see your 
 way in no time if you run hand-in-hand." 
 
 " What a funny idea," laughed the child ; and 
 Mavis too looked pleased. 
 
 " I'm quite sure it's a fairy road," she was begin- 
 ning to say, but, looking round, their little guide 
 had disappeared. Then came his voice : 
 
 " Good-night," he said cheerfully. " I've shut-to 
 the stone door, and I'm up on the top of it. Good- 
 night, little ladies. Run home hand-in-hand." 
 
 The girls looked at each other. 
 
WINF1UED. 27 
 
 " Upon my word," exclaimed Ruby, not quite 
 knowing what to say, " if old Adam isn't a wizard 
 his grandson is. I think we'd better get out of this 
 as quick as we can, Mavis." 
 
 She seemed half frightened and half provoked. 
 Mavis, on the contrary, was quite simply delighted. 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder if this was the mermaid's 
 own way to the cottage," she said. "I'm sure old 
 Adam and Winfried aren't wizards ; but I do think 
 they must be some kind of good fairies, or at least 
 they must have to do with fairies. Come along, 
 Ruby, hand-in-hand ; " and she held out her own hand. 
 
 But Ruby by this time had grown cross. 
 
 " I won't give in to such rubbish," she said. " I 
 don't want to go along hand-in-hand like two silly 
 babies. If it was worth the trouble I'd climb up to 
 the top of the stones and go home the proper way." 
 
 This was all boasting. She knew quite well she 
 could not possibly climb up the stone. But she 
 walked on a few steps in sulky dignity. Suddenly 
 she gave a little cry, slipped, and fell. 
 
 " Oh, I've hurt my ankle ! " she exclaimed. " This 
 horrid white gravel is so slippery." 
 
 Mavis was beside her almost before she had said 
 the words, and with her sister's help Ruby got on to 
 her feet again, though looking rather doleful. 
 
 O 7 O O 
 
 " I believe it's all a trick of that horrid boy's," she 
 said. "I wish you hadn't made me come to see that 
 dirty old cottage, Mavis." 
 
28 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 Mavis stared. 
 
 " Me make y ou come, Ruby ? " she said. " Why, 
 it was yourself." 
 
 "Well, you didn't stop it, anyway," said Ruby, 
 "and you seem to have taken such a fancy to that 
 
 J V 1 
 
 boy and his grandfather, and 
 
 " Ruby, we must go home," said Mavis. " Try if 
 you can get along." 
 
 They were " hand-in-hand." There was no help 
 for it now. Ruby tried to walk ; to her surprise her 
 ankle scarcely hurt her, and after a moment or two 
 she even began urging Mavis to go faster. 
 
 " I believe I could run," she said. " Perhaps the 
 bone in my ankle got out of its place and now has 
 got into it again. Come on, Mavis." 
 
 They started running together, for in spite of her 
 boasting Ruby had had a lesson and would not let go 
 of Mavis. They got on famously ; the ground seemed 
 elastic ; as they ran, each step grew at once firmer and 
 yet lighter. 
 
 "It isn't a bit slippery now, is it?" said Mavis, 
 glowing with the pleasant exercise. " And oh, Ruby, 
 do look up at the sky isn't it lovely? And isn't 
 that the evening star coming out that blue light up 
 there ; no, it's too early. See no, it's gone. What 
 could it be ? Why, here we are, at the gate of the 
 low terrace ! " 
 
 They had suddenly, as they ran, come out from 
 the path, walled in, as it were, among the broken 
 
WINFRIED. 29 
 
 rocky fragments, on to a more open space, which at 
 the first moment they scarcely recognised as one of 
 the fields at the south side of the castle. 
 
 Ruby too gazed about her with surprise. 
 
 " It is a quick way home, certainly," she allowed, 
 "but I don't see any star or blue light, Mavis. It 
 must be your fancy." 
 
 Mavis looked up at the sky. The sunset colours 
 were just beginning to fade ; a soft pearly gray veil 
 was slowly drawing over them, though they were 
 still brilliant. Mavis seemed perplexed. 
 
 44 It is gone," she said, "but I did see it." 
 
 "It must have been tho dazzle of the light in your 
 eyes," said Ruby. " I am seeing lots of little suns all 
 over red ones and yellow ones." 
 
 " No, it wasn't like that," said Mavis ; " it was more 
 like " 
 
 " More like what? " asked Ruby. 
 
 " I was going to say more like a forget-me-not up 
 in the sky," said her sister. 
 
 "You sill f/ girl," laughed Ruby. "I never did 
 hear any one talk such nonsense as you do. I'll 
 tell cousin Ilortensia, see if I don't." 
 
 " I don't mind," said Mavis quietly. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE PRINCESS WITH THE FORGET-ME-NOT EYES. 
 
 " For, just when it thrills mo most, 
 The fairies change into phantoms cold, 
 And the beautiful dream is lost ! " 
 
 Miss HORTENSIA was looking out for the little 
 girls as they slowly came up the terraces. 
 
 " There you are at last," she called out. " You 
 are rather late, my dears. I have been round at the 
 other side, thinking I saw you go out that way." 
 
 " So we did," said Ruby. " We went down to the 
 cove and along the shore as far as Oh, cousin 
 Hortensia, we have had such adventures, and last of 
 all, what do you think? Mavis has just seen a for- 
 get-me-not up in the sky." 
 
 Miss Hortensia smiled at Mavis ; she had a par- 
 ticular way of smiling at her, as if she was not per- 
 fectly sure if the little girl were quite like other 
 people. But Mavis, though she understood this far 
 better than her cousin imagined, never felt angry at 
 it. 
 
 " A forget-me-not in the sky," said the lady ; 
 " that is an odd idea. But you must tell me all your 
 adventures when we are comfortably settled for the 
 
 30 
 
THE PRINCESS. 81 
 
 evening. Run in and take your things off quickly, 
 for I don't want you to catch cold, and the air, now 
 the sun is set, is chilly. There is a splendid fire 
 burning, and we shall have tea in my room as I 
 promised you." 
 
 " Oh, how nice," said Ruby. " Come along, Ma- 
 vis. I'm as hungry as a hawk." 
 
 " And you'll tell us stories after tea, cousin Hor- 
 tensia, won't you ? " said Mavis ; " at least you'll tell 
 us about your queer dream." 
 
 " And about mamma's going to court," added 
 Ruby, as she dashed upstairs. For by this time they 
 were inside the house. 
 
 The part of the castle that the children and their 
 cousin and the few servants in attendance on them 
 occupied was really only a corner of it. A short 
 flight of stairs led up to a small gallery running 
 round a side-hall, and out of this gallery opened 
 their sleeping-rooms and what had been their nurs- 
 ery and play-rooms. The school-room and Miss 
 Hortensia's own sitting-room were on the ground- 
 floor. To get to any of the turrets was quite a long 
 journey. They were approached by the great stair- 
 case which ascended from the large white and black 
 tiled hall, dividing, after the first flight, into two 
 branches, each of which led to passages from which 
 other smaller stairs went upwards to the top of the 
 house. The grandest rooms opened out of the tiled 
 hall on the ground-floor, and out of the passages on 
 
32 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 the first floor. From this central part of the house 
 the children's corner was shut of by heavy swing 
 doors seldom opened. 
 
 So when Ruby and Mavis visited the turrets they 
 had to pass through these doors, and go some way 
 along the passages, and then up one of the side 
 stairs up, up, up, the flights of steps getting 
 steeper and narrower as they climbed, till at last 
 they reached the door of the turret-chamber itself. 
 Of these chambers there were two, one in each tur- 
 ret, east and west. The west was their favourite, 
 partly because from it they saw the sunset, and 
 partly because it was nearer their own rooms. They 
 had been allowed to make a sort of private nest of it 
 for themselves, and to play there on rainy days when 
 they could not get out, and sometimes in very cold 
 or snowy weather they had a fire there, which made 
 the queer old room very cheery. There were three 
 windows in each turret, and they were furnished in 
 an odd, irregular way with all sorts of quaint old- 
 fashioned furniture discarded from other parts of the 
 castle. In former days these turret-rooms had some- 
 times been used as guest-chambers when the house 
 was very full of visitors. For the large modern 
 rooms and the hall I have spoken of had been added 
 by the children's grandfather a very hospitable but 
 extravagant man. And before he made these im- 
 provements there were often more guests than it was 
 easy to find room for. 
 
THE PRINCESS. 33 
 
 Ruby and Mavis were not long in taking off their 
 out-door things and "tidying" themselves for their 
 evening in Miss Hortensia's pleasant little room. 
 They made a pretty picture as they ran downstairs, 
 their fair curls dancing on their shoulders, though if 
 I were to describe to you how they were dressed, I 
 am afraid you would think they must have been a 
 very old-world looking little pair. 
 
 " Here we are, cousin Hortensia," exclaimed Ruby 
 as they came in, " and I do hope it's nearly tea-time." 
 
 u Not quite, my dear," Miss Hortensia replied, 
 glancing at a beautifully carved Swiss clock which 
 stood on the mantelpiece ; " the little trumpeter 
 won't tell us it's six o'clock for half an hour yet 
 his dog has just barked twice." 
 
 " Lazy things," said Ruby, shrugging her shoul- 
 ders, "I'd like to shake that old trumpeter some- 
 times." 
 
 " And sometimes you'd like to pat him to sleep, 
 wouldn't you ? " said Mavis. " When cousin Hor- 
 tensia's telling us stories, and he says it's bed- 
 time." 
 
 Miss Hortensia looked at Mavis in some surprise, 
 but she seemed very pleased too. It was not often 
 Mavis spoke so brightly. 
 
 "Suppose you use up the half-hour in telling me 
 stories," said their cousin. "Mine will keep till 
 after tea. What were all the adventures you met 
 with?" 
 
34 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 "Oh," said Ruby, "it was too queer. Did you 
 know, cousin, that there was a short way home from 
 the sea-shore near old Adam's cottage? Such a 
 queer way ; " and she went on to describe the path 
 between the rocks. 
 
 Miss Hortensia looked very puzzled. 
 
 "Who showed it to you?" she said; for Ruby, in 
 her helter-skelter way, had begun at the end of the 
 story, without speaking of the boy Winfried, or 
 explaining why they or she had been so curious 
 about the old man whom the villagers called a 
 wizard. 
 
 "It was the boy," Mavis replied; "such a nice boy, 
 cousin Hortensia, with funny bluey eyes at least 
 they're sometimes blue." 
 
 " Oh, Mavis, do not talk so sillily," said Ruby ; 
 " his eyes aren't a bit blue. She's got blue on the 
 brain, cousin, she really has. Seeing forget-me-nots 
 in the sky too ! I don't think he was a particularly 
 nice boy. He was rather cool. I'm sure we wouldn't 
 have done his grandfather any harm. Did you ever 
 hear of him, cousin ? Old Adam they call him ; " 
 and then she went on to give a rather more clear 
 account of their walk, and all they had seen and 
 heard. 
 
 Miss Hortensia listened attentively, and into her 
 own eyes crept a dreamy, far-away, or rather long- 
 ago look. 
 
 " It is odd," she said ; " I have a kind of fancy 
 
THE PRINCESS. 35 
 
 that I have heard of the old ' solitary,' for he must 
 be almost a hermit, before. But somehow I don't 
 think it was here. I wonder how long he has lived 
 here ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Ruby. " A good while, I 
 should think. He was here when Joan was our 
 nurse." 
 
 "But that was only two years ago," said Miss 
 Hortensia, smiling. " If he had been here many 
 years the people would not count him so much of a 
 foreigner. And the boy you met has he come to 
 take care of the old man ? " 
 
 " I suppose so. We didn't ask him," said Ruby 
 carelessly. " He was really such a cool boy, order- 
 ing us not to go near the cottage indeed ! I told 
 him he might come up to get some soup or jelly for 
 his grandfather," she went on, with a toss of her 
 head. " I said it, you know, just to put him in his 
 place, and remind him whom he was speaking to." 
 
 " I'm sure he didn't mean to be rude," said Mavis ; 
 " and, cousin, there really was something rather 
 ' fairy ' about him. Isn't it very queer we never 
 heard of that path before ? " 
 
 " Yes," Miss Hortensia replied. " Are you sure 
 you didn't both fall asleep on the shore and dream 
 it all? Though, to be sure, it is rather too cold 
 weather for you to have been overcome by drowsi- 
 ness." 
 
 "And we couldn't both have dreamt the same 
 
36 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 thing if we had fallen asleep," said Mavis, in her 
 practical way. "It wasn't like when you were a 
 little girl and saw or dreamt " 
 
 " Don't you begin telling the story if cousin Hor- 
 tensia's going to tell it herself," interrupted Ruby. 
 " I was just thinking I had forgotten it a good deal, 
 and that it would seem fresh. But here's tea at last 
 I am so glad." 
 
 They were very merry and happy during the meal. 
 Ruby was particularly pleased with herself, having a 
 vague idea that she had behaved in a very grand and 
 dignified way. Mavis's eyes were very bright. The 
 afternoon's adventure had left on her a feeling of ex- 
 pecting something pleasant, that she could hardly 
 put in words. And besides this, there was cousin 
 Hortensia's story to hear. 
 
 When the table was cleared, cousin Hortensia set- 
 tled herself with her knitting in a low chair by the 
 fire, and told the children to bring forward two little 
 stools and seat themselves beside her. They had 
 their knitting too, for this useful art had been taught 
 them while they were so young that they could 
 scarcely remember having learnt it. And the three 
 pairs of needles made a soft click-click, which did 
 not the least disturb their owners, so used were they 
 to it. Rather did it seem a pleasant accompaniment 
 to Miss Hortensia's voice. 
 
 " You want me to toll you the story of my night 
 in the west turret-room when I was a little girl," she 
 
THE PRINCESS. 37 
 
 began. " You have heard it before, partly at least, 
 but I will try to tell it more fully this time. I was 
 a very little girl, younger than you two I don't 
 think I was more than eight years old. I had come 
 here with my father and mother and elder sisters to 
 join a merry party assembled to celebrate the silver 
 wedding of your great>grandparents. Your grand- 
 father himself, their eldest child, was about three and 
 twenty. He was not then married, so it was some 
 time before your father was born. I don't quite 
 know why they had brought me. It seems to me I 
 would have been better at home in my nursery, for 
 there were no children as young as I to keep me 
 company. Perhaps it was that they wished to have 
 me to represent another generation^ as it were, though, 
 after all, that might have been done by my sisters. 
 The elder of them, Jacintha, was then nineteen ; it 
 was she who afterwards married your grandfather, so 
 that besides being cousins of the family, as we were 
 already, I am your grandmother's sister, and thus 
 your great-aunt as well as cousin." 
 
 The little girls nodded their heads. 
 
 " I was so much younger than Jacintha," Miss 
 Hortensia went on, " that your father never called me 
 aunt. He and I have always been Robert and Hor- 
 tensia to each other, and to me he has always been 
 like a younger brother." 
 
 " But about your adventure," said Ruby, who was 
 not of a sentimental turn. 
 
38 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " I am coming to it," said their cousin. " Well, as 
 I said, the party was a merry one. They had danc- 
 ing and music in plenty every evening, and the house, 
 which was in some ways smaller than it is now, was 
 very full. There were a great many bedrooms, 
 though few of them were large, and I and my sisters, 
 being relations, were treated with rather less cere- 
 mony than some of the stranger guests, and put to 
 sleep in the turret-room. I had a little bed in one 
 corner, and my sisters slept together in the same old 
 four-poster which is still there. I used to be put to 
 bed much earlier than they came, for, as I said, there 
 were dancing and other amusements most evenings 
 till pretty late. I was not at all a nervous or fright- 
 ened child, and even sometimes when I lay up there 
 by myself wide awake for the change and the 
 excitement kept me from going to sleep as quickly 
 as at home I did not feel at all lonely. From my 
 bed I could see out of the window, for the turret 
 windows are so high up that it has never been neces- 
 sary to have blinds on them, and I loved to lie there 
 watching the starlit sky, or sometimes, when the 
 moon was bright and full, gazing up at the clouds 
 that went scurrying over her face. One night I had 
 been unusually wakeful. I lay there, hearing now 
 and then very, very faint, far-off sounds of the music 
 down below. It was a mild night, and I think the 
 windows were a little open. At last I must have 
 fallen asleep. When I awoke, or rather when I 
 
THE PRINCESS. 39 
 
 thought I awoke, the room was all in darkness except 
 in one corner, the corner by the west window. 
 There, there was a soft steady light, and it seemed 
 to me that it was on purpose to make me look that 
 way. For there, sitting on the old chair that still 
 stands in the depth of that window was some one I 
 had never seen before. A lady in a cloudy silvery 
 dress, with a sheen of blue over it. My waking, or 
 looking at her, for though it must all have been a 
 dream, I could not make you understand it unless 
 I described it as if it were real, seemed to be made 
 conscious to her, for she at once turned her eyes 
 upon me, then rose sloAvly and came over the room 
 towards me." 
 
 "Weren't you frightened?" said Ruby breath- 
 lessly. In spite of her boasted disbelief in dreams 
 and visions her cousin's story had caught her atten- 
 tion. Miss Hortensia shook her head. 
 
 " Not in the very least," she said. " On the con- 
 trary, I felt a strange and delightful kind of pleasure 
 and wonder. It was more intense than I have ever 
 felt anything of the kind in waking life ; indeed, if 
 it had lasted long I think it would have been more 
 than I could bear Miss Hortensia stopped for a 
 moment and leant back in her chair. " I have felt 
 something of the same," she went on, " when listening 
 to very, very beautiful music music that seemed 
 too beautiful and made you almost cry out for it to 
 stop." 
 
40 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " I've never heard music like that," whispered 
 little Mavis, " but I think I know what you mean." 
 
 C(p Or," continued Miss Hortensia, " sometimes on 
 a marvellously beautiful day what people call a 
 " heavenly " day, I have had a feeling rather like it. 
 A feeling that makes one shut one's eyes for very 
 pleasure." 
 
 " Well," said Ruby, " did you shut your eyes then, 
 or what did you do ? " 
 
 "No," said her cousin. "I could not have shut 
 them. I felt she was looking at me, and her eyes 
 seemed to catch and fasten mine and draw them into 
 hers. It was her eyes above all that filled me with 
 that beautiful wonderful feeling. I can never forget 
 it never. I could fancy sometimes even now, old 
 woman as I am, that I am again the little enraptured 
 child gazing up at the beautiful vision. I feel her 
 eyes in mine still." 
 
 " How funny you are," interrupted Ruby. " A 
 minute ago you said she pulled your eyes into hers, 
 now you say hers came into yours. It would be a 
 very funny feeling whichever it was ; I don't think I 
 should like it." 
 
 Miss Hortensia glanced at her, but gravely. She 
 did not smile. 
 
 " It must be a very c funny ' feeling, as you call it, 
 to a hitherto blind man the first time he sees the sun- 
 shine. I dare say he would find it difficult to describe ; 
 and to a still blind person it would be impossible to 
 
THE PRINCESS. 41 
 
 explain it. I dare say the newly-cured man would 
 not feel sure whether the sun had come into his eyes 
 or his eyes had reached up to the sun." 
 
 Ruby fidgeted. 
 
 " Oh, do go on about the fairy or whatever she 
 was," she said. " Never mind about what I said." 
 
 Miss Hortensia smiled. 
 
 " The lady came slowly across the room to me," 
 she went on, "and stood by my bed, looking down 
 at me with those wonderful blue eyes. Then she 
 smiled, and it seemed as if the light about her grew 
 still brighter. I thought I sat up in bed to see her 
 better. 4 Are you a fairy ? ' I said at last. She 
 smiled still more. c If } r ou like, you ma}^ call me a 
 fairy,' she answered. ' But if I am a fairy my home 
 must be fairyland, and this turret-room is one of my 
 homes. So you are my guest, my little girl.' I did 
 not mind her saying that. I smiled too. ' I've never 
 seen you here before,' I said. And she laughed a 
 little I never heard anything so pretty as her 
 laugh. 'No,' she replied, 'but I have seen you and 
 every one that has ever been here, though every one 
 has not seen me. Now listen, my child. I wanted 
 you to see me because I have something to say to 
 you. There will come a time when you will be 
 drawn two ways, one will be back here to the old 
 castle by the sea, after many years ; many, many 
 years, as you count things. Choose that way, for 
 you will be wanted here. Those yet unborn will 
 
42 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 want you, for they will want love and care. Look 
 into my eyes, little girl, and promise me you will 
 come to them.' And in my dream I thought I gazed 
 again into her eyes, and I felt as if their blue light 
 was the light of a faith and truth that could not be 
 broken, and I said, ' I promise.' And then the fairy 
 lady seemed to draw a gauze veil over her face, and 
 it grew dim, and the wonderful eyes were hidden, 
 and I thought I fell asleep. In reality, I suppose, I 
 had never been awake." 
 
 " And when you did wake up it was morning, I 
 suppose, and it had all been a dream ? " asked Ruby. 
 
 Miss Hortensia gave a little sigh. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I suppose it had been a dream. 
 It was morning, bright morning, the sun streaming 
 in at the other window when I awoke, and I never 
 saw the fairy lady again not even in a dream. 
 But what she had said came true, my dears. Many, 
 many years after, when I was already beginning to 
 be an old woman, it came true. I am afraid I had 
 grown selfish life had brought me many anxieties, 
 and I had lived in a great city where there was much 
 luxury and gaiety, and where no one seemed to have 
 thought for anything but the rush of pleasure and 
 worldly cares. I had forgotten all about my beauti- 
 ful vision, when one day there came a summons. 
 Your sweet young mother had died, my darlings, 
 and your poor father in his desolation could think of 
 no one better to come and take care of his little girls 
 
THE PRINCESS. 43 
 
 you were only two years old than his old cousin. 
 And so I came ; and then there crept back to me the 
 remembrance of my dream. I had indeed been drawn 
 two ways, for the friends I might have gone to live 
 with were rich and good-natured, and they promised 
 me everything I could wish. But I thought of the 
 two little motherless ones, here in the old castle by 
 the sea, in want of love and care as she had said, and 
 I came." 
 
 Miss Hortensia stopped. Even Ruby was im- 
 pressed by what she had heard. 
 
 "Dear cousin," she said, "it was very good of 
 you." 
 
 "And have you never seen the beautiful lady 
 again?" said Mavis. "She told you the west turret 
 was her own room, didn't she? Have you never 
 seen her there ? " 
 
 Miss Hortensia shook her head. 
 
 "You forget, dear, it Avas only a dream. And 
 even if it had been more than that, we grow very 
 far away from angels and fairies as we get old, I 
 fear." 
 
 "Not you" Mavis said; "you're not like that. 
 And the lady must have been so pleased with you 
 for caring for us, I wonder she hasn't ever come to 
 see you again. Do you know," she went on eagerly, 
 after a moment's pause, " I have a feeling that she is 
 in the west turret-room sometimes ! " 
 
 Miss Hortensia looked at the child in amazement. 
 
44 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 Mavis's quiet, rather dull face seemed transformed; 
 it was all flushed and beaming, her eyes sparkling 
 and bright. 
 
 " Mavis ! " she said, " you look as if you had seen 
 her yourself. But it was only a dream, you mustn't 
 let my old-world stories make you fanciful. I am 
 too fanciful myself perhaps I have always loved 
 the west turret, and that was why I chose it for your 
 play-room when you were little dots." 
 
 " I'm so glad you did," said Mavis, drawing a long 
 breath. 
 
 After that they were all rather silent for a while. 
 Then Ruby claimed Miss Hortensia's promise of the 
 story or description rather of the grand court ball 
 at which her mother's beauty had made such a sensa- 
 tion, and when that was ended, the little trumpeter 
 announced, much to the children's displeasure, that 
 it was time to go to bed. 
 
 " We have had a cosy evening," said Mavis, as she 
 kissed Miss Hortensia. 
 
 " And, oh Ruby," she said, as her sister and she 
 were going slowly upstairs, " dorft you wish we might 
 sleep in the turret-room ? " 
 
 " No indeed," Ruby replied, in a most decided tone, 
 " I certainly don't." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A BOY AND A BOAT. 
 
 " Are little boats alive ? 
 And can they plan and feel ? ' ' 
 
 "A." 
 
 " IF you please, there's a boy at the kitchen-door 
 asking for the young ladies," said the young maid- 
 servant Ulrica, who generally waited on Ruby and 
 Mavis. 
 
 They were just finishing their morning lessons 
 with Miss Hortensia, and Mavis was putting away 
 the books, a task which usually fell to her share. 
 
 Miss Hortensia gave a little start. 
 
 " A boy," she exclaimed, " what kind of a boy? It 
 can't be oh no of course not. How foolish I am. 
 At the kitchen-door, did you say, Ulrica? Who 
 is it?" 
 
 " Oh, I know ! " cried Ruby, jumping up with a 
 clatter, delighted to avoid finding out the mistake in 
 a sum which Miss Hortensia had told her she must 
 correct. " It's Winfried ; I'm sure it is. He's come 
 for some soup or something. I told him he might, 
 but I do think it's rather greedy to have come the 
 very next day. Mayn't I go and speak to him, 
 cousin ? " 
 
 45 
 
46 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " Well, yes, I suppose so. No, I think it would be 
 better for him to come in here. Show the boy in 
 here, Ulrica at least ask him if he is old Adam's 
 grandson." 
 
 In a minute or two the door was again opened. 
 
 " If you please, ma'am," said Ulrica's voice as 
 before, "it's it's the boy." 
 
 " The boy " walked in ; he held his cap in his 
 hand, and made a sort of graceful though simple 
 obeisance to the ladies. He did not seem the least 
 shy, yet neither was there a touch of boldness about 
 him. On his face was the slight but pleasant smile 
 that had more than once lighted it up the day before, 
 and his eyes, as he stood there full in the bright 
 gleam of the window for it was a clear and sunny 
 day were very blue. 
 
 Ruby came forward. 
 
 " Oh, it's you, is it ? " she said, with the half- 
 patronising good humour usual to her when not put 
 out. "I thought it was. It's Winfried, cousin 
 Hortensia ; the boy I told you of. I suppose you've 
 come for some soup for your grandfather." 
 
 Winfried smiled, a little more than before. Mavis 
 crept forward ; she wished she could have said some- 
 thing, but she was afraid of vexing Ruby. 
 
 "No, miss," said Winfried, "I did not come for 
 that, though grandfather said it was very kind of 
 you, and some day perhaps " he stopped short. 
 " I came to bring you this which I found on the rocks 
 
A BOY AND A BOAT. 47 
 
 down below our cottage ; " and lie held out a little 
 silver cross. Ruby started, and put her hand up to 
 her neck. 
 
 " Oh dear," she said, " I never knew I had lost it. 
 Are you sure it isn't yours, Mavis? I've got my 
 cord on." 
 
 " Yes, but the cross must have dropped off," said 
 Mavis. " I have mine all right." 
 
 And so it proved. Both little sisters wore these 
 crosses, which were exactly alike. Ruby took hers 
 from Winfried, and began examining it to see how it 
 had got loose. Miss Hortensia came forward. 
 
 " It was very good of you to bring the little cross," 
 she said kindly ; for something about the boy at- 
 tracted her very much. "Ruby, my dear," she went 
 on half reprovingly. Ruby started and looked up. 
 " I am sure you are very much obliged ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, of course I am," said the little girl care- 
 lessly. " It certainly was very sharp of you to find 
 it," she added with more interest. 
 
 " I can generally find things," said Winfried 
 quietly. 
 
 " Is there anything we can do for your grand- 
 father?" asked Miss Hortensia. "I am sorry to hear 
 he's so ill." 
 
 The boy shook his head ; a sad look passed across 
 his bright face. 
 
 "Yes," he said, " he's pretty bad sometimes. But 
 some days he's much better. He's better to-day. 
 
48 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 There's one thing he would like," he went on, " he 
 told me to ask you if some day the young ladies 
 might come to see him ; he said I might ask " 
 
 Ruby interrupted 
 
 " Why, how funny you are," she said ; " that was 
 just what we wanted yesterday, and you wouldn't 
 let us go near the cottage. You said we'd startle 
 him." 
 
 " He was very tired yesterday," said Winfried ; 
 " and you see he wasn't looking for you." 
 
 " He was chattering and laughing all the same 
 or somebody was," said Ruby. " We heard them 
 don't you remember? " 
 
 Winfried did not speak. But he did not seem 
 vexed. 
 
 "I believe it was the mermaids after all," Ruby 
 went on. " Cousin Hortensia, if you let us go there 
 the mermaids will steal us." 
 
 " No, indeed," exclaimed Winfried eagerly. 
 
 Miss Hortensia smiled at him. 
 
 u I am not afraid," she said. " Tell your grand- 
 father the young ladies shall certainly go to see him 
 some day soon." 
 
 "To-morrow," said Mavis, speaking almost for the 
 first time. " Oh, do say we may go to-morrow it's 
 our half-holiday." 
 
 " Very well," said Miss Hortensia. " Are you sure 
 you can find your way ? I can send Ulrica 
 you." 
 
A BOY AND A BOAT. 49 
 
 " Mayn't I come to fetch the young ladies?" asked 
 Winfried. " I know all the short cuts." 
 
 " I should think you did," laughed Ruby. " We 
 told cousin Hortensia all about that queer path 
 through the rocks. Shed never seen it either." 
 
 " I'll take you quite as nice a way to-morrow," said 
 the boy composedly. " May I go now please ? " he 
 added, turning to Miss Hortensia. " Grandfather 
 may be wanting me, and thank you very much ; " and 
 in another moment he was gone. 
 
 Miss Hortensia was quite silent for a minute or 
 two after he had left the room. 
 
 " Cousin," began Ruby ; but her cousin did not 
 seem to hear. " Cousin" repeated the child im- 
 patiently. 
 
 Miss Hortensia looked up as if awakened from 
 a brown study. 
 
 " Did you speak, my dear? " she said. 
 
 " Yes, of course I did. I want you to say some- 
 thing about that queer boy. I suppose you think 
 him very nice, or you wouldn't let Mavis and me 
 go to his cottage. You're generally so frightened 
 about us." 
 
 "I do think he is a very nice boy," said Miss Hor- 
 tensia. " I am sure he is quite trustworthy." 
 
 " / believe he's a bit of a fairy, and I'm sure his 
 old grandfather's a wizard," murmured Ruby. "And 
 I quite expect, as I said to Joan, that we shall be 
 turned into sea-gulls or frogs if we go there." 
 
50 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " I shouldn't mind being a sea-gull," said Mavis. 
 " Not for a little while at least. Would you, cousin 
 Hortensia ? " 
 
 But Miss Hortensia had not been listening to their 
 chatter. 
 
 "My dears," she said solemnly, "I will tell you 
 one reason why I should be glad for you sometimes 
 to have Winfried as a companion if he is as good and 
 manly as he seems. I have had a letter from your 
 father, telling me of a new guest we are to expect. 
 It is a cousin of yours a little nephew of your 
 father's your aunt Margaret's son. He is an only 
 child, and, your father fears, a good deal spoilt. He 
 is coming here because his father is away at sea and 
 his mother is ill and must be kept quiet, and Ber- 
 trand, it seems, is very noisy." 
 
 " Bertrand," repeated Ruby, " oh, I remember 
 about him. I remember father telling us about him 
 he is a horrid boy, I know." 
 
 "Your father did not call him a horrid boy, I'm 
 sure," said Miss Hortensia. 
 
 " No," said Mavis, " he only said he was spoilt. 
 And he said he was a pretty little boy, and nice in 
 some ways." 
 
 " Well, we must do our best to make him nicer," 
 said Miss Hortensia ; " though I confess I feel a 
 little uneasy you have never been accustomed to 
 rough bearish ways. And if Winfried can be with 
 you sometimes he might help you with Bertrand." 
 
A BOY AND A BOAT. 51 
 
 " When is he coming ? " asked Ruby. 
 
 "Very soon, but I do not know the exact day. 
 Now run off, my dears ; there is time for you to have 
 half an hour's play in the garden before dinner." 
 
 It was curious that of the two little girls Mavis 
 seemed the more to dislike the idea of the expected 
 guest. 
 
 " Ruby," she said rather dolefully, " I do wish 
 Bertrand weren't coming. He'll spoil everthing, and 
 we shan't know what to do with him." 
 
 " There's not much to spoil that I see," said Ruby. 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Oh, our nice quiet ways. Cousin Hortensia tell- 
 ing us stories and all that," said Mavis. " And I'm 
 sure Winf ried won't want to have to look after a rough, 
 rude little boy. It's quite different with us Win- 
 fried likes us because we're ladies, you know, and 
 gentle and nice to him." 
 
 Ruby laughed. 
 
 " How you go on about Winfried Winf ried ! " 
 she said mockingly. " I think it's a very good thing 
 Bertrand is coming to put him down a bit a com- 
 mon fisher-boy ! I wonder at cousin Hortensia. I'm 
 sure if father knew he wouldn't be at all pleased, but 
 I'm not going to tell him. I mean to have some fun 
 with Master Winfried before I have done with him, 
 and I expect Bertrand will help me." 
 
 " Ruby ! " exclaimed Mavis, looking startled, " you 
 don't mean that you are going to play him any tricks ? " 
 
52 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 Ruby only laughed again, more mockingly than 
 before. 
 
 " I'd like to lock him up in the haunted room in 
 the west turret one night," she said. "I do hope 
 he'd get a good fright." 
 
 Mavis seemed to have recovered from her alarm. 
 
 " I don't believe he'd mind the least scrap," she 
 said; "that shows you don't understand him one bit. 
 He'd like it ; besides, you say yourself you think he's 
 a fairy boy, so why should he be afraid of fairies ? " 
 
 " Nobody's afraid of fairies, you silly girl. But if 
 cousin Hortensia saw anything in the turret and I 
 don't believe she did, it wasn't a fairy, it was quite 
 different more a sort of witch, I suppose." 
 
 "You're always talking of witches and wizards," 
 retorted Mavis, who seemed to be picking up a spirit 
 which rather astonished Ruby. "Jlike thinking of 
 nicer things angels and oh Ruby ! " she suddenly 
 broke off, " do look here oh, how lovely ! " and 
 stooping down she pointed to a thick cluster of tur- 
 quoise blossoms, almost hidden in a corner beneath 
 the shrubs. Aren't they darlings ? Really its enough 
 to make one believe in fairies or kind spirits of some 
 kind to find forget-me-nots like these in Novem- 
 ber ! " and she looked up at her sister with delight 
 dancing in her eyes. 
 
 Even Ruby looked surprised. 
 
 " They are beauties," she said; " and I'm almost sure 
 they weren't there yesterday. Didn't we come round 
 by here, Mavis ? " 
 
~0li Ruby! ' &e suddenly hr 
 off/ do look Vierc oV>,lnow love 
 -ly I J p. 52 
 
A BOY AND A BOAT. 53 
 
 " Not till it was nearly dark. We ran in this way, 
 you know, after we came out of Winfried's path," 
 said Mavis. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I remember," Ruby replied, and a half 
 dreamy look stole over her face. 
 
 They were standing on the lower terrace. This 
 side of the castle, as I have said, was much more shel- 
 tered and protected than the other, but still already 
 in November it was bleak and bare. The evergreen 
 shrubs had begun to look self-satisfied 'and important, 
 as I think they always do in late autumn, when their 
 fragile companions of the summer are shivering to- 
 gether in forlorn misery, or sinking slowly and sadly, 
 leaf by leaf, brown and shrivelled, into the parent 
 bosom of Mother Earth, always ready to receive and 
 hide her poor children in their day of desolation. 
 Nay, more, far more than that does she for them in 
 her dark but loving embrace ; not a leaf, not a tiniest 
 twig is lost or mislaid all, everything, is cared for 
 and restored again, at the sun's warm kiss to creep 
 forth in ever fresh and renewed life and beauty. For 
 all w r e see, children dear, is but a type, faint and 
 shadowy, of the real things that are. 
 
 Then a strange sort of irritation came over Ruby. 
 The soft wondering expression so new to her disap- 
 peared, and she turned sharply to Mavis. 
 
 " Rubbish ! " she said. " Of course they were there 
 yesterday. But they shan't be there to-morrow 
 here goes;" and she bent down to pick the little 
 flowers. 
 
54 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 Mavis stopped her with a cry. 
 
 " Don't gather them, Ruby," she said. " Poor little 
 things, they might stay in their corner in peace, and 
 we could come and look at them every day. They'd 
 wither so soon in the house." 
 
 Ruby laughed. She was much more careless than 
 actually unkind, at least when kindness cost her 
 little. 
 
 " What a baby you are," she said contemptuously. 
 " You make as much fuss as when I wanted to take 
 the thrush's eggs last spring. Wouldn't you like to 
 give your dear Winfried a posy of them ? " 
 
 "No," Mavis answered, "he wouldn't like us to 
 gather them ; there are so few and they do look so 
 sweet." 
 
 The next day was clear and bright, but cold ; 
 evidently winter was coming now. But old Bertha 
 had started the fires at last, as the date on which it 
 was the rule at the castle for them to begin on was 
 now past. So inside the house it was comfortable 
 enough in the inhabited part of it at least; though 
 in the great unused rooms round the tiled hall, where 
 all the furniture was shrouded in ghostly-looking 
 linen covers, and up the echoing staircase, and up 
 still higher in the turret-rooms where the wind 
 whistled in at one window and out again at the 
 opposite one, where Jack Frost's pictures lasted the 
 same on the panes for days at a time dear, dear, it 
 was cold, even Bertha herself allowed, when she had 
 
A BOY AND A BOAT. 55 
 
 to make her weekly tour of inspection to see that all 
 was right. 
 
 "I will ask Miss Hortensia not to let the little 
 ladies play in the west turret this Avinter," thought 
 the old woman. " I'm sure it was there Miss Mavis 
 caught her cold last Christmas. A good fire indeed! 
 It'd take a week of bonfires to warm that room." 
 
 But old Bertha was mistaken, as you will see. 
 
 There was no thought of playing in the west 
 turret this half-holiday, however, for it was the right 
 sort of day for a bright winter walk. And while the 
 afternoon was still young, Ruby and Mavis, warmly 
 wrapt up in their fur-lined mantles and hoods, were 
 racing downstairs to Winfried, who had come punct- 
 ually and was waiting for them, so Ulrica had come 
 in to say, at the door in the archway on the sea side 
 of the castle. 
 
 " What are you here for ? " was Ruby's first greet- 
 ing. " Why didn't you come to the garden side ? 
 Aren't you going to take us by the path between the 
 rocks, down below the field ? " 
 
 " No, Miss Ruby," said the boy, his cap in his 
 hand. " We're going another way to-day. I think 
 you will like it just as well. We must go down to 
 the cove first." 
 
 "/ don't mind," said Ruby, dancing on in front of 
 the two others ; " but I'm afraid Mavis has been 
 dreaming of that nice cosy little path. She wouldn't 
 let me even look for the entrance to it yesterday; 
 she said we should wait for you to show it us." 
 
56 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " I think Miss Mavis will like to-day's way just as 
 well," Winfried repeated. 
 
 They were some little distance down the cliff by 
 this time. It was very clear and bright ; for once, 
 the waves, even though the tide was close up to the 
 shore, seemed in a peaceful mood, and only as a 
 distant murmur came the boom of their dashing 
 against the rocks, round to the right beyond the 
 little sheltered nook. Winfried stood still for a 
 moment and gazed down seawards, shading his eyes 
 with his hand, for winter though it was, the after- 
 noon sunshine was almost dazzling. 
 
 "What is it? What are you looking for?" asked 
 Ruby, coming back a step or two and standing beside 
 him. " Do come on ; it's too cold to hang about." 
 
 For once Winfried was less polite than usual. 
 He did not answer Ruby, but turned to Mavis, who 
 was a little behind. 
 
 "Do you see anything?" he asked. 
 
 And Mavis, following his eyes, answered, " Yes 
 there's oh, there's a little boat drifting in a tiny 
 boat is it drifting ? No ; there's some one in it, 
 some one with a blue cloak; no, it must have been 
 the waves just touching; the waves are so blue 
 to-day." 
 
 The boy gave a little sigh of satisfaction. 
 
 " I thought so," he said. Then he sprang forward 
 eagerly : " Come on," he cried, " we mustn't be late." 
 
 Ruby followed, not too pleased. 
 
A BOY AND A BOAT. 57 
 
 " I've as good eyes as Mavis," she said. " Why 
 didn't you ask me? I don't believe there's a boat at 
 all." 
 
 But even Ruby had to give in when in a few 
 minutes they found themselves at the edge of the 
 cove, on the little half-circle of sand which was all 
 that the sea left uncovered at full tide. For there 
 was a boat, a most unmistakable and delightful boat, 
 though scarcely larger than a sofa, and looking like a 
 perfect toy as it rocked gently on the rippling water. 
 
 " Goodness ! " said Ruby, and it must be allowed 
 that goodness is a prettier word than rubbish, 
 " how in the world did that boat come here ? Did 
 you bring it, Winfriecl ? No, for if you had you 
 wouldn't have been looking to see if it had come. 
 But is it your boat ? " 
 
 " No," answered the boy ; " it's lent me, on purpose 
 for you and Miss Mavis. Get in, please." 
 
 Ruby came forward, but hesitated. 
 
 "Are you sure it's safe?" she said. "You know 
 the sea is very rough round there near the village. 
 And this is such a very little boat." 
 
 Winfried laughed. 
 
 " It's as safe as as the safest thing you can 
 think of," he said. "You're not afraid, Miss Mavis." 
 
 For all answer the little girl sprang into the boat ; 
 it danced under her feet, but she only laughed. 
 
 " Come on, Ruby," she called out ; " it's lovely." 
 
 Ruby stepped in cautiously. The little boat was 
 
58 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 most dainty and pretty. There were cushions for 
 the little girls, and one or two soft rich coloured 
 shawls, of a fashion and material such as they had 
 never seen before. 
 
 " Dear me," said Ruby, settling herself in the most 
 comfortable place and drawing the pretty rugs round 
 her, " what a nice little boat ! Your friends must be 
 very rich, Winfried. But I know what I know;" 
 and she shook her head mysteriously. 
 
 " What do you mean, Ruby ? " said Mavis. 
 
 Winfried was busy with his oars and did not seem 
 to be attending to them. Ruby leant forward and 
 whispered, close into her sister's ear, " Mermaids ! " 
 Then seeing or thinking that the boy was not listen- 
 ing, she went on. "You know mermaids are very 
 rich. They dive down into the shipwrecked vessels 
 and fish up all the treasures. I dare say these shawls 
 have come from some strange country, right over at 
 the other side of the world. Indeed, some people say 
 that the horrid things sing to make the sailors turn 
 to look for them and get their ships all in among the 
 rocks." 
 
 Mavis looked puzzled. 
 
 " I don't think that's mermaids" she said. " There's 
 another name for those naughty, unkind creatures." 
 
 "Syrens," came Winfried's voice from the other 
 end of the boat. And he looked up with a smile at 
 the little girls' start of surprise. " Don't be afraid," 
 he said, "my friends are neither mermaids nor syrens ; 
 
A BOY AND A BOAT. 59 
 
 you're not going to be shipwrecked in this boat, I 
 promise you." 
 
 Somehow the boy seemed to have gained a new 
 kind of dignity now that the children were, so to say, 
 his guests. Ruby said, " Thank you," quite meekly 
 and submissively for her. 
 
 Then they were all quite silent for a while, only 
 the plash of Winfried's oars broke the stillness. And 
 somehow out there on the water it seemed to have 
 grown warmer, at least the children felt conscious of 
 neither cold nor heat, it was just perfectly pleasant. 
 And the sun shone on mildly. There was a thorough 
 feeling of " afternoon," with its quiet and mystery 
 and yet faint expectation, such as one seldom has 
 except in summer. 
 
 " It is lovely," said Mavis presently ; " only I'm a 
 little afraid I'm getting sleepy." 
 
 "No, you needn't be afraid," said Winfried; and 
 just as he said the words, Mavis started, as some- 
 thing flitted against her cheek. 
 
 " Ruby, Ruby! "she exclaimed, "did you see it? 
 A butterfly a blue butterfly in November ! Oh, 
 where has it gone to?" and she gazed all round 
 anxiously. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE FISHERMAN'S HUT. 
 
 "... There are tilings which through the gazing eye 
 Reach the full soul and thrill it into love." 
 
 To MY CHILD. 
 
 RUBY burst out laughing. 
 
 " You've been asleep and dreaming, you silly girl," 
 she said. " Winfried, do you hear ? Mavis says a 
 blue butterfly flew past." 
 
 " It kissed my cheek," said Mavis. 
 
 Winfried smiled : " It's quite possible," he said. 
 
 Ruby was just turning upon him with her laughter, 
 when something made Tier jump in turn. Something 
 cold and damp touched her hand : she had taken her 
 glove off and was dabbling idly in the water. 
 
 " Ugh," she said, " I do believe that was a toad." 
 
 The laugh was against her now. 
 
 " A toad, Ruby, out at sea ! What are you think- 
 ing of?" said Mavis. "You needn't make fun of my 
 butterfly if you talk of toads." 
 
 " Well, it was something slimy and horrid like a 
 toad," said Ruby. " Perhaps it was only a fish. But 
 whatever it was, I believe it was a trick of Winfried's. 
 I'm sure, positive sure, you're a wizard, Winfried." 
 
 GO 
 
THE FISHERMAN'S HUT. 61 
 
 She was half in fun and half in earnest. But the 
 boy took it quite composedly. 
 
 "No, I'm not," he said; "and no more is gran. 
 But people don't understand, you see. If they 
 see that one's a bit different from others they've no 
 words for it but wizard and uncanny, and they get 
 frightened when it should be just the other way." 
 
 This was much more of a speech than the fisher- 
 boy was in the habit of making. Both the children 
 listened with interest. 
 
 " How is your gran different from others ? " asked 
 Ruby. 
 
 " You'll see it in his face ; at least, I think you 
 will," said Winfried. " But now I mustn't talk, we're 
 close to the little creek." 
 
 He got the boat in most cleverly, to a very tiny 
 creek, where was a little landing-place, and leading 
 upwards from it a flight of steps cut in the rock. 
 
 " How funny, how very funny we never saw this 
 place before," exclaimed the little girls. " Do you 
 keep the boat here, Winfried ? " 
 
 " Sometimes," he replied, " but not to-day. We 
 won't need it again." 
 
 He folded up the shawls and laid them neatly on 
 the cushions, then he drew in the oars, and in another 
 moment he had helped the children to get on shore, 
 and all three had mounted several of the rock steps 
 when Winfried called to them to stop for a moment. 
 
 " Look down," he said ; and as he spoke, the little 
 
62 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 girls saw something moving there below where they 
 had just landed. It was the little boat; calmly and 
 steadily it was moving out to sea, though it had no 
 sails, and the oars were lying just as Winfried had 
 drawn them in. 
 
 "O Winfried," exclaimed Ruby; "the dear little 
 boat, it's drifting out, it will be lost. Can't you 
 jump into the water and drag it back ? " 
 
 "It's all right," said the boy. "It's going home 
 till it's needed again. I only wanted you to see how 
 quietly it goes off, once its business is done." 
 
 And he turned and began to whistle softly as he 
 went on up the steps. 
 
 "JVow," said Ruby, half triumphant and half 
 frightened, in a whisper to Mavis, " now, can you say 
 he's not a wizard? I think cousin Hortensia was 
 very silly to let us come with him, but it was all you, 
 Mavis, going on about him so. If we're not turned 
 into toads or lizards before we get home, I " 
 
 " Butterflies would be nicer," said Mavis, laughing. 
 " I'll ask Winfried and his gran to make me into a 
 blue butterfly, and you can be a yellow one if you 
 like." 
 
 She seemed to have caught something of Win- 
 fried's happy confidence. Ruby looked at her in 
 surprise, but it was mixed with anger. What she 
 was going to have said I don't know, for just then 
 their guide called out again. 
 
 "Here we are," he said, "if you'll stoop your 
 
THE FISHERMAN'S HUT. 63 
 
 heads a little ; " and looking up, the children saw 
 before them a narrow, low archway, at the entrance 
 to which the steps stopped. Ruby hung back a 
 little, but Mavis ran forward. 
 
 "It's all right, Ruby," she called back; "and oh, 
 what a pretty garden ! Do come quick." 
 
 Ruby followed. It was only necessary to stoop 
 for a moment or two, then she found herself beside 
 her sister, and she could not help joining in her ex- 
 clamation of pleasure. Somehow or other they had 
 arrived at the back of the cottage, which at this side, 
 they now saw, stood in a pretty and sheltered garden. 
 Perhaps garden is hardly the word to use, for though 
 there were flowers of more than one kind and plants, 
 there were other things one does not often see in a 
 garden. There were ever so many little bowers and 
 grottoes, cleverly put together of different kinds of 
 queerly-shaped and queerly-coloured fragments of 
 rock ; there were two or three basins hollowed out 
 of the same stones, in which clear water sparkled, 
 and brilliant seaweed of every shade, from delicate 
 pink to blood-red crimson, glowed ; there were shells 
 of strange and wonderful form, and tints as many as 
 those of the rainbow, arranged so that at a little 
 distance they looked like groups of flowers in 
 short, Ruby was not far wrong when returning to 
 her old idea, she whispered to Mavis, " It's a mer- 
 maid's garden. And I only hope," she went on 
 in the same tone, " we shan't find that somehow or 
 
64 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 other he has got us down under the sea without our 
 knowing." 
 
 Mavis broke into a merry laugh. 
 
 " Don't be afraid," she said. " Look up ; there's 
 the good old sun, smiling as usual, with no water 
 between him and us. And see here, Ruby," and she 
 ran forward, " there are earth flowers too, as well as 
 sea ones." 
 
 She was right ; on a border sheltered by the wall 
 of the cottage were great masses of fern, still green 
 and luxuriant, and here and there among them 
 clumps, brilliantly blue, of the tender, loving forget- 
 me-not. 
 
 " It's just like that bunch of it we found on our 
 terrace," said Mavis, joyfully. "I really could be- 
 lieve you had brought a root of it and planted it there 
 for us, Winfried. I never saw such beauties." 
 
 " Gran loves it," was all the boy said. Then he 
 led them round to the front of the house, and opened 
 the door for them to enter. 
 
 Inside the cottage all was very plain, but very, 
 very neat and clean. In an old-fashioned large 
 wooden arm-chair by the fire sat old Adam. He 
 looked very old, older than the children had ex- 
 pected, and a kind of aw~e came over them. His 
 hair was white, but scarcely whiter than his face, 
 his hands were unusually delicate and refined, though 
 gnarled and knotted as are those of aged people. 
 He looked up with a smile, for his sight was still 
 good, as his visitors came in. 
 
THE FISHERMAN'S HUT. 65 
 
 " You will forgive my not standing up, my dear 
 little ladies," he said. " You see I am very old. It 
 is good of you to come to see me. I have often seen 
 you, oftener than you knew, since you were very 
 tiny things." 
 
 " Have you lived here a long time, then ? " asked 
 Ruby. ' 
 
 " It would seem a long time to you, though not to 
 me," he said with a smile. " And long ago before 
 that, I knew your grandmother and the lady who 
 takes care of you. When I was a young man, and a 
 middle-aged man too for that matter, my home was 
 where theirs was. So I remember your mother 
 when she was as little as you." 
 
 " Oh, how nice," exclaimed Mavis. " Was our 
 mother like us, Mr. Adam?" 
 
 " You may be very like her if you wish," he said 
 kindly. 
 
 But their attention was already distracted. On a 
 small table, close beside the old man's chair, in what 
 at first sight looked like a delicate china cup, but 
 was in reality a large and lovely shell, was a posy, 
 freshly gathered apparently, of the same beautiful 
 forget-me-nots. 
 
 " Oh, these are out of your garden," said Ruby ; 
 " how do you manage to make them grow so well and 
 so late in the year?" 
 
 " The part of the garden where they grow is not 
 mine," said Adam quietly; "it belongs to a friend 
 
66 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 who tends it herself. I could not succeed as she 
 does." 
 
 " Is is she a mermaid ? " asked Ruby, her eyes 
 growing very round. 
 
 "No, my dear. Mermaids' flowers, if they have 
 any, would scarcely be like these, I think." 
 
 "You speak as if there are no such things as 
 mermaids ; do you not think there are ? " said 
 Mavis. 
 
 Old Adam shook his head. 
 
 " I have never seen one ; but I would never take 
 upon myself to say there is nothing but what I've 
 seen." 
 
 " Tell us about the friend who plants these in your 
 garden," said Ruby, touching the forget-me-nots. 
 " Could it have been she who put some on the 
 terrace at the castle for us ? " 
 
 " Maybe," said the old man. 
 
 " Is she a lady, or or a fairy, or what is she, if 
 she's not a mermaid ? " asked Ruby. 
 
 Before the old man could answer, Winfried's voice 
 made her start in surprise. 
 
 " She's a princess," he said ; and he smiled all over 
 his face when he saw Ruby's astonishment. 
 
 " Oh ! " was all she said, but her manner became 
 more respectful to both Adam and his grandson from 
 that moment. 
 
 Then the old man made a sign to Winfried, and 
 the boy went out of the room, coming back in a 
 
THE FISHERMAN'S HUT. 67 
 
 moment with a little plain wooden tray, on which 
 were two glasses of rich tempting-looking milk and 
 a basket of cakes, brown and crisp, of a kind the 
 children had never seen before. He set the tray 
 down on a table which stood in the window, and 
 Adam begged the children to help themselves. 
 
 They did so gladly. Never had cake and milk 
 tasted so delicious. Ruby felt rather small when she 
 thought of her condescending offer of soup from the 
 castle kitchen. 
 
 " But then," she reflected, " of course I didn't 
 knoAv how could I ? that a princess comes to see 
 them. I dare say she sends them these delicious cakes. 
 I wish Bertha could make some like them." 
 
 " I never saw cakes like these before," said little 
 Mavis. " They are so good." 
 
 Old Adam seemed pleased. 
 
 " My boy isn't a bad cook," he said proudly, with 
 a glance at Winfried. 
 
 " Did you make them ? " said Ruby, staring at 
 Winfried. " I thought perhaps as a princess comes 
 to see you that she sent you them they are so very 
 good." 
 
 Winfried could not help laughing: something in 
 Ruby's speech seemed to him so comical. 
 
 Then at the little girls' request he took them out 
 again to examine some of the wonders of the grotto- 
 garden. He fished out some lovely sprays of sea- 
 weed for them, and gave them also several of the 
 
68 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 prettiest shells ; best of all, lie gathered a sweet 
 nosegay of the forget-me-nots, which Mavis said she 
 would take home to cousin Hortensia. And then, as 
 the sun by this time had travelled a long way down- 
 wards, they ran in to bid old Adam good-bye, and to 
 thank him, before setting off homewards. 
 
 " How are we going ? " asked Ruby. " You've sent 
 away the boat." 
 
 " I could call it back again, but I think we had 
 better go a shorter way," said Winfried. "You're 
 not frightened of a little bit of the dark, are you? 
 There's a nice short cut to the rock path through one 
 of the arbours." 
 
 The little girls followed him, feeling very curious, 
 and, perhaps, just a tiny scrap afraid. He led them 
 into one of the grottoes, which, to their surprise, they 
 found a good deal larger than they had expected, for 
 it lengthened out at the back into a sort of cave. 
 This cave was too dark for them to see its size, but 
 Winfried plunged fearlessly into its recesses. 
 
 " I must see that the way is clear," he said, as he 
 left them ; " wait where you are for a few minutes." 
 
 Ruby was not very pleased at being treated so 
 unceremoniously. 
 
 " I don't call waiting here a quick way of getting 
 home," she said, " and I hate the dark. I've a good 
 mind to run out and go back the regular way, 
 Mavis." 
 
 " Oh no," Mavis was beginning, but just then both 
 
69 
 
 children started. It seemed to have grown suddenly 
 dark outside, as if a cloud or mist had come over the 
 sky ; and as they gazed out, feeling rather bewildered, 
 a clear voice sounded through the grotto. 
 
 " Ruby ; Mavis," it said. 
 
 Ruby turned to Mavis. 
 
 "It's a trick of that boy's," she said. " He wants 
 to startle us. He has no business to call us by our 
 names like that. I'll not stay ; " and she ran out. 
 Mavis was following her to bring her back when a 
 ray of light scarcely a ray, rather, I should say, a 
 soft glow seemed to fill the entrance to the grotto. 
 And gradually, as her eyes got used to it, she dis- 
 tinguished a lovely figure a lady, with soft silvery- 
 blue garments floating round her and a sweet grave 
 face, was standing there looking at her. A strange 
 thrill passed through the child, yet even as she felt 
 it she knew it was not a thrill of fear. And some- 
 thing seemed to draw her eyes upwards a touch she 
 could not have resisted if she had wished till they 
 found their resting-place in meeting those that were 
 bent upon her those beautiful, wonderful blue eyes, 
 eyes like none she had ever seen, or nay, she had 
 heard of such eyes they were like those of the fairy 
 lady in her old cousin's dream. And now Mavis 
 knew in part why the strange vision did not seem 
 strange to her; why, rather, she felt as if she had 
 always known it would come, as if all her life she 
 had been expecting this moment. 
 
70 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " Mavis," said the soft yet clear and thrilling voice, 
 " you see me, my child ? " 
 
 " Yes," said the little girl, speaking steadily, though 
 in a whisper, "I see you, and I see your eyes. Who 
 are you ? I may ask you, may I not? " 
 
 The fairy if fairy she was smiled. 
 
 " I have many names," she said; "but if you like 
 you may think of me by the one Winfried loves. He 
 calls me ' Princess with the Forget-me-not Eyes,' or 
 4 Princess Forget-me-not.' ' 
 
 " Yes," said Mavis, " I like that ; and I will never 
 forget you, princess." 
 
 Again the lovely vision smiled. 
 
 " No, my child, you never will, for to tell you a 
 secret, you cannot, even if you wished. Afterwards, 
 when you know me better, you will see how well my 
 name suits me. But it does not seem to all a sweet 
 name, as I think it always will to you," and she 
 sighed a little. " There are those who long to forget 
 me ; those who wish they had never seen me." 
 
 The sadness in her eyes was reflected in the 
 child's. 
 
 " How can that be ? " asked Mavis. 
 
 The blue-eyed princess shook her head. 
 
 " Nay, my darling, I cannot tell you, and I scarce 
 would if I could," she said gently. But then a 
 brighter look came over her face again. "Don't look 
 so sad. They change again some of them, and seek 
 me as earnestly as they would have before fled from 
 
Vm5 voice, "you see me , my child *? ' 
 
 * ** ,. 
 
THE FISHERMAN S HUT. <1 
 
 me. And some day you may help and guide such 
 seekers, simple as you are, my little Mavis. Now I 
 must go call Ruby she would not stay for me ; 
 she has not yet seen me. But she heard my voice, 
 that is better than nothing. Good-bye, little Mavis, 
 and if you want me again before I come of myself, 
 seek me in the west turret." 
 
 Mavis's face lighted up. 
 
 " Then it was you you are cousin Hortensia's 
 fairy, and it wasn't a dream after all. And of course 
 you must be a fairy, for that was ever, ever so long 
 ago. She was a little girl then, and now she is quite 
 old, and you look as young as as - 
 
 " As who or what ? " asked the princess, smiling 
 again. 
 
 " As the Sleeping Beauty in the wood," replied 
 Mavis, after deep consideration. 
 
 At this the princess did more than smile ; she 
 laughed, the same clear delicate laugh which the 
 children had heard that day in the distance. 
 
 And Mavis laughed too ; she could not help it. 
 
 " May I tell cousin Hortensia ?" she asked. "Oh 
 do say I may." 
 
 " You may," said Forget-me-not, " if if you can" 
 
 And while Mavis was wondering what she meant, 
 a breath of soft wind seemed to blow past her, and 
 glancing up, the princess was gone ! 
 
 Mavis rubbed her eyes. Had she been asleep ? It 
 seemed a long time since Winfried told her and Ruby 
 
72 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 to wait for him in the grotto ; and where was Ruby ? 
 Why did she not come back ? Mavis began to feel 
 uneasy. Surely she had been asleep for was she 
 asleep still? Looking round her, she saAV that she 
 was no longer in the grotto-cave behind old Adam's 
 cottage, but standing in the archway at the. sea side 
 of the castle the archway I have told you of into 
 which opened the principal entrance to the grim old 
 building. And as she stood there, silent and per- 
 plexed, uncertain whether she was not still dream- 
 ing, she heard voices coming near. The first she 
 could distinguish was Ruby's. 
 
 " There you are, Mavis, I declare," she exclaimed. 
 "Now it's too bad of you to have run on so fast 
 without telling, and I've been fussing about you 
 all the way home, though Winfried said he was 
 sure we should find you here. How did you get 
 back?" 
 
 " How did you? " asked Mavis in return. "And 
 why didn't you come back to me in the grotto ? I - 
 I waited ever so long, and then ' but that was all 
 she could say, though a smile broke over her face 
 when she thought of what she had seen. 
 
 " You look as if you had been asleep," said Ruby 
 impatiently. 
 
 " And having pleasant dreams," added Winfried. 
 "But all's well that ends well. Won't you run in 
 now, my little ladies, and let Miss Hortensia see that 
 I've brought you safe back. It is cold and dark 
 standing out here, and I must be off home." 
 
73 
 
 " Good-night, then," said Ruby ; " you're a very 
 queer boy, but you brought me home all right any- 
 way, and those cakes were very good." 
 
 " You will come to see us soon again, won't you, 
 Winfried?" said Mavis, who felt as if she had a great 
 deal to ask which only he could answer, though with 
 Ruby there beside her she could not have explained 
 what she wanted to know. 
 
 " To be sure I will, if you want me," said the boy. 
 "Don't be puzzled, Miss Mavis, pleasant dreams 
 don't do any one harm." 
 
 And as they pushed open the great, nail-studded 
 door which was never locked till after nightfall, 
 Winfried ran off. 
 
 They stood still for a moment just inside the en- 
 trance. They could hear him whistling as he went, 
 smoothly at first, then it seemed to come in jerks, 
 going on for a moment or two and then suddenly 
 stopping, to begin again as suddenly. 
 
 " He's jumping down the cliff. I can hear it by 
 his whistle," said Ruby. " How dangerous ! " 
 
 " He's very sure-footed," said Mavis with a little 
 sigh. She was feeling tired and was it a dream? 
 If so, how had she got home ? Had the fairy lady 
 wrapped her round in her cloak of mist and flown 
 with her to the castle? Mavis could not tell, and 
 somehow Ruby did not ask her again. 
 
 " How did you come home, Ruby ? " Mavis asked 
 as they were going along the passage to their sitting- 
 room. 
 
74 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " Oh," said Ruby, " Winfried took me down some 
 steps, and then up some others, and before I knew 
 where we were, we were in the rock path not far 
 from home. It was like magic. I can't make out 
 that boy," she said mysteriously ; " but we're not 
 turned into frogs or toads yet. Here we are, cousin 
 Hortensia," she went on, as the good lady suddenly 
 appeared at the end of the passage, " safe home from 
 the wizard's haunts." 
 
 But Miss Hortensia only smiled. 
 
 "I was not uneasy," she said. "I thought you 
 would be quite safe." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BERTRAND. 
 
 "But the unkind and the unruly, 
 And the sort who eat unduly, 
 
 * * * * 
 
 There is cniite a different story." 
 
 Good and Bad Children. Louis STEVENSON. 
 
 THEY were just beginning tea, and Ruby's tongue 
 was going fast as she described to Miss Hortensia all 
 that happened that afternoon, while Mavis sat half- 
 dreamily wondering what the fairy lady had meant 
 by saying she might tell her cousin about her " if she 
 could" when there came a sudden and unusual 
 sound that made them all start. It was the clanging 
 of the great bell at the principal entrance on the 
 south side the entrance by which, you remember, 
 all visitors, except those coming by sea, came to the 
 castle. 
 
 "Who can that be ? " exclaimed Ruby, jumping up 
 and looking very pleased Ruby loved any excite- 
 ment. " Can it be father ? What fun if he's come 
 to surprise us ! Only I hope he won't have forgotten 
 our presents. He generally asks us what we want 
 before he comes." 
 
 Mavis had grown a little pale ; somehow the 
 
 75 
 
7b THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 things that Ruby was frightened of never alarmed 
 her, and yet she was more easily startled by others 
 that Ruby rather enjoyed. 
 
 " I hope it isn't a message to say that anything is 
 the matter with dear father," she said anxiously. 
 
 Miss Hortensia got up from her seat and went to 
 the door. She did not seem frightened, but still 
 rather uneasy. 
 
 " I'm afraid," she began, " I'm afraid and yet I 
 should not speak of it that way ; it is not kind. But 
 I did so ask them to give us notice of his coming." 
 
 She had left the room almost before she had fin- 
 ished speaking. The children looked at each other. 
 
 " 1 say, Mavis," said Ruby, "it's Bertrand ! Don't 
 you think we might run out and see ? " 
 
 " No," Mavis replied decidedly, " certainly not. 
 Cousin Hortensia would have told us to come if she 
 had wanted us." 
 
 But they went to the open door and stood close 
 beside it, listening intently. Then came the sound 
 of old Joseph's steps along the stone passage from 
 the part of the house which he and Bertha Joseph 
 was Bertha's husband inhabited, then the drawing 
 back of the bolts and bars, and, most interesting and 
 exciting of all, a noise of horses stamping and shak- 
 ing their harness as if glad to have got to the end of 
 their journey. Then followed voices ; and in a 
 minute or two the children heard Miss Hortensia 
 coming back, speaking as she came, 
 
BERTRAND. 77 
 
 " You must be very cold, my clear boy, and hungry 
 too," she was saying. " We are just beginning tea, 
 so you had better come in at once as you are." 
 
 "It's terribly cold, and that fool of a driver 
 wouldn't come any faster ; he said his horses were 
 tired. I wish / could have got a cut at them 
 what are horses for?" was the reply to Miss Hor- 
 tensia's kind speech. 
 
 Mavis touched Ruby. 
 
 " Come in. Cousin Hortensia wouldn't like to see 
 us standing at the door like this," she said. 
 
 They sat down at their places again, only getting 
 up as Miss Hortensia came in. 
 
 She was followed by a boy. He was about the 
 height of the twins, broad and strong-looking, 
 wrapped up in a rich fur-lined coat, and with a 
 travelling cap of the same fur still on his head. He 
 was dark-haired and dark-eyed, a handsome boy with 
 a haughty, rather contemptuous expression of face 
 an expression which it did not take much to turn 
 into a scowl if he was annoyed or put out. 
 
 "These are your cousins, Bertram! ; your cousins 
 Ruby and Mavis you have heard of them, I am 
 sure, though you have never met each other before." 
 
 Bertrand looked up coolly. 
 
 " I knew there were girls here," he answered. 
 " Mother said so. But I don't care for girls I told 
 mother so. I'm awfully hungry ; " and he began to 
 pull forward a chair. 
 
78 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE 
 
 " My dear," said Miss Hortensia, " do you know 
 you have not taken off your cap yet? You must 
 take off your coat too, but, above all, your cap." 
 
 Bertrand put up his hand and slowly drew off his 
 cap. 
 
 " Mother never minds," he said. But there was a 
 slight touch of apology in the words. 
 
 Then, more for his own comfort evidently than 
 out of any sense of courtesy, he pulled off his heavy 
 coat and flung it on to a chair. The little girls had 
 not yet spoken to him, they felt too much taken 
 aback. 
 
 " Perhaps he is shy and strange, and that makes 
 him seem rough," thought Mavis, and she began 
 drawing forward another chair. 
 
 " Will you sit here ? " she was saying, when Ber- 
 trand pushed past her. 
 
 " I'll sit by the fire," he said, and he calmly set- 
 tled himself on what he could not but have seen was 
 her seat or Ruby's; " and I'm awfully hungry," he 
 went on. " At home I have dinner, at least if I 
 want it, I do. It's only fit for girls to have tea in 
 this babyish way." 
 
 He helped himself to a large slice of cake as he 
 spoke ; and not content with this, he also put a big 
 piece of butter on his plate. Miss Hortensia glanced 
 at him, and was evidently just going to speak, but 
 checked herself. It was Bertrand's first evening, and 
 she was a very hospitable person. But when Ber- 
 
BERTRAND. 79 
 
 trand proceeded to butter his cake thickly, Ruby, 
 never accustomed to control her tongue, burst out. 
 
 " That's cake, Bertram!," she said. " People don't 
 butter cake" 
 
 "Don't they just?" said the boy, speaking with 
 his mouth full. " I do, I know, and at home mother 
 never minds." 
 
 " Does she let you do whatever you like ? " asked 
 Ruby. 
 
 " Yes," said Bertrand ; " and whether she did or 
 not I'd do it all the same." 
 
 Then he broke into a merry laugh. It was one 
 of the few attractive things about him, beside his 
 good looks, that laugh of his. It made him seem for 
 the time a hearty, good-tempered child, and gave one 
 the feeling that he did not really mean the things he 
 said and did. And now that his hunger was ap- 
 peased, and he was warm and comfortable, he became 
 much more amiable. Ruby looked at him with ad- 
 miration. 
 
 " I wish I lived with your mother," she said, " how 
 nice it must be to do always just what one likes I " 
 
 "Do you think so?" said Mavis. "I think it 
 would be quite miserable." 
 
 " Quite right, Mavis," said Miss Hortensia. "When 
 I was a child I remember reading a story of a little 
 girl who for a great treat one birthday was allowed to 
 do just what she wanted all day, and oh dear ! 
 how unhappy she was before evening came." 
 
80 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 Bertrancl stared at her with his big eyes. Some 
 eyes are very misleading ; his looked now and then 
 as if he had nothing but kind and beautiful thoughts 
 behind them. 
 
 " What a fool she must have been," he said 
 roughly. And poor Miss Hortensia's heart sank. 
 
 The evening was not a long one, for Bertrand was 
 tired with his journey, and for once willing to do as 
 he was told, by going to bed early. A room near his 
 cousins' had been preparing for him, and though not 
 quite ready, a good fire made it look very cosy. 
 They all went upstairs with him to show him the 
 way. As they passed the great baize door which 
 divided their wing from the rest of the house, Ber- 
 trand pushed it open. 
 
 " What's through there ? " he asked, in his usual 
 unceremonious way. 
 
 " Oh, all the rest of the castle," said Ruby impor- 
 tantly. 
 
 Bertrand peered through. It was like looking 
 into a great church with all the lights out, for this 
 door opened right upon the gallery running round 
 the large hall. 
 
 u What a ramshackle old cavern ! " said Bertrand. 
 A blast of cold air rushed in through the doorway as 
 he spoke and made them all shiver. 
 
 "Nonsense, Bertrand," said Miss Hortensia, more 
 sharply than she had yet spoken to him. "It is a 
 splendid old house." 
 
BERTRAND. 81 
 
 " You should see the staircases up to the turrets," 
 said Ruby. " They are as high as as I don't know 
 what. If you are naughty we can put you to sleep 
 in the west turret-room, and they say it's haunted." 
 
 "/shouldn't mind that," laughed Bertrand. 
 
 " Nor should I," said Ruby boastfully. " Mavis 
 here is a dreadful coward. And oh, Bertrand 
 I'll tell you something to-morrow. I have such an 
 idea. Don't you love playing tricks on people 
 people who set themselves up, you know, and preach 
 at you ? " 
 
 Her 'last words were almost whispered, and Miss 
 Hortensia, who had gone on in front they had 
 closed the swing door by this time did not hear 
 them. But Mavis caught what Ruby said, and she 
 waited uneasily for Bertrand's answer. 
 
 " Prigs, you mean," he said. " I hate prigs. Yes, 
 indeed, I'll join you in any game of that kind. You 
 should have seen how we served a little wretch at 
 school who tried to stop us teaching a puppy to swim 
 such a joke the puppy could scarcely walk, 
 much less swim. So we took Master Prig and made 
 him swim instead. It was winter, and he caught a 
 jolly cold, and had to leave school," 
 
 " Did he get better ? " said Mavis, in a strange voice. 
 
 " Don't know, I'm sure. I should think not. His 
 mother was too poor to pay for a doctor, they said. 
 He'd no business to be at school with gentlemen," 
 said Bertrand brutally. 
 
82 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 Mavis gasped. Then suddenly, without saying 
 good-night to any one, she rushed down the passage 
 to the room she shared with her sister ; and there 
 Ruby found her a few minutes later on her knees 
 and all in the dark. 
 
 " What's the matter with you ? Cousin Hortensia 
 told me to say good-night to you for her. It wasn't 
 very civil to fly off like that the first night Bertrand 
 was here. I'm sure cousin Hortensia thought so 
 too," said Ruby carelessly. " My goodness, are you 
 crying?" as the light she carried fell on Mavis's tear- 
 stained face. 
 
 " Cousin Hortensia didn't hear" said Mavis. " Oh, 
 Ruby, I can't bear it." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " That wicked boy. Oh, Ruby, you can't say you 
 like him?" 
 
 " I think he's lots of fun in him," said Ruby won- 
 deringly. " He's only a boy ; you are so queer, 
 Mavis." But catching sight again of her sister's 
 expression she suddenly changed. " Poor little 
 Ma vie," she cried, throwing her arms round her, 
 "you're such a goose. You're far too tender- 
 hearted." 
 
 Mavis clung to her, sobbing. 
 
 " Oh, Ruby, my Ruby," she said, " don't speak 
 like that. I couldn't bear you to get hard and 
 cruel." 
 
 But Ruby was, for her, wonderfully gentle and 
 
BERTRAND. 83 
 
 kind, and at last the two little sisters kissed each 
 other, promising that nothing should ever come 
 between them. 
 
 A good night's rest and a huge breakfast put 
 Master Bertrand into a very fairly amiable humour 
 the next morning. He flatly refused, however, to do 
 any lessons, though it was intended that he should ; 
 and Miss Hortensia, judging it best to make a virtue 
 of necessity, told him he should have his time to him- 
 self for three days, after which he must join the 
 twins in the school-room. 
 
 " For these three days," she said, " I will give 
 Ruby and Mavis a half-holiday, so that they may go 
 about with you and show you everything. But if 
 you do not come regularly and punctually to lessons 
 after that, I will not give your cousins any extra 
 holidays while you are here." 
 
 She spoke firmly, and Bertrand looked at her with 
 surprise. He was surprised indeed into unusual 
 meekness, for he said nothing but " All right." 
 
 They gave him some directions as to where he 
 would be most likely to amuse himself and with 
 safety. Indeed, unless one were determined to hurt 
 oneself, there were no really dangerous places about 
 the castle ; in spite of the cliffs and the sea, Ruby 
 and Mavis had played there all their lives without 
 ever getting into mischief. 
 
 " He is not a stupid boy," said Miss Hortensia, 
 after giving her instructions to Bertrand, "and I 
 
8-4 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 have no doubt he can take care of himself if he 
 likes." 
 
 "I'm sure he wouldn't like to hurt himself," said 
 Ruby with a little contempt ; " he's the sort of boy 
 that would hate pain or being ill." 
 
 "It is to be hoped nothing of that kind will 
 happen while he is here," said Miss Hortensia. 
 "But I can only do my best. I did not seek the 
 charge, and it would be quite impossible to shut him 
 up in the house." 
 
 " He'd very likely try to get out of the window 
 if you did, cousin Hortensia," said Mavis with her 
 gentle little laugh. She was feeling happy, for Ruby 
 had continued kind and gentle this morning. "And 
 if I were a boy I'm not sure but that I would too, if 
 I were shut up." 
 
 "Well, let us get to our work," said Miss Hortensia 
 with a resigned little sigh. 
 
 Lessons were over ; Ruby and Mavis had had their 
 usual morning run along the terrace, had brushed 
 their hair and washed their hands, and were standing 
 up while Miss Hortensia said grace before beginning 
 dinner, when Bertrand appeared. 
 
 He came banging in, his cap on his head, his 
 boots wet and dirty, his cheeks flushed, and his 
 eyes bright with running and excitement. He 
 looked very pretty notwithstanding the untidy state 
 he was in, but it was impossible to welcome him 
 cordially; he was so rude and careless, leaving the 
 
BERTRAND. 85 
 
 door wide open, and bringing in a strong fishy smell, 
 the reason of which was explained when he flung 
 down a great mass of course slimy seaweed he had 
 been carrying. 
 
 " You nasty, dirty boy," said Ruby, turning up her 
 nose and sniffing. 
 
 " Really, Bertrand, my dear," began Miss Hortensia, 
 " what have you brought that wet seaweed here for ? 
 It cannot stay in this room." 
 
 " I'll take it away," said Mavis, jumping up. 
 
 "What harm does it do?" said Bertrand, sitting 
 down sideways on his chair. " I want it. I say 
 you're not to go pitching it away, Mavis. Well, 
 when am I to have something to eat?" 
 
 " Go and wash your hands and hang up your coat 
 and come and sit straight at the table and then I 
 will give you your dinner," said Miss Hortensia 
 drily. 
 
 " Why can't you give it me now ? " said Bertrand, 
 with the ugly scowl on his face. 
 
 " Because I will not," she replied decidedly. 
 
 The roast meat looked very tempting, so did the 
 tart on the sideboard. Bertrand lounged up out of 
 his seat, and in a few minutes lounged back again. 
 Eating generally put him into a better temper. 
 When he had got through one plateful and was 
 ready for another, he condescended to turn to his 
 companions with a more sociable air. 
 
 " I met a fellow down there on the shore," he 
 
86 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 said, jerking his head towards where he supposed the 
 sea to be ; " only a common chap, but he seems to 
 know the place. He was inclined to be cheeky at 
 first, but of course I soon put him down. I told him 
 to be there this afternoon again ; we might find him 
 useful, now he knows this place." 
 
 Ruby's eyes sparkled. 
 
 "I'm very glad you did put him down," she said. 
 "All the same " then she hesitated. 
 
 " Do you know who he is? " asked Bertrand. 
 
 " He's the best and nicest and cleverest boy in all 
 the world," said little Mavis. 
 
 Bertrand scowled at her and muttered something 
 of which " a dirty fisher-boy," was all that was audi- 
 ble. Miss Hortensia's presence did overawe him a 
 little. 
 
 " I am afraid there can be no question of any of 
 you going out this afternoon," she said, glancing out 
 of the window as she spoke ; "it is clouding over 
 all over. You must make up your minds to amuse 
 yourselves indoors. You can show Bertrand over 
 the house that will take some time." 
 
 "May we go up into the turret-rooms and every- 
 where ? " said Ruby. 
 
 " Yes, if you don't stay too long. It is not very 
 cold, and you are sure to keep moving about. There 
 now comes the rain." 
 
 Come indeed it did, a regular battle of wind arid 
 water; one of the sudden storms one must often 
 
BERTRAND. 87 
 
 expect on the coast. But after the first outburst the 
 sky grew somewhat lighter, and the wind went down 
 a little, the rain settling into a steady, heavy pour 
 that threatened to last several hours. For reasons of 
 her own, Ruby set herself to coax Bertrand into a 
 good humour, and she so far succeeded that he con- 
 descended to go all over the castle with them, even 
 now and then expressing what was meant to be 
 admiration and approval. 
 
 " It isn't ramshackle, anyway," said Ruby. " It's 
 one of the strongest built places far or near." 
 
 " If I were a man and a soldier, as I mean to be," 
 said Bertrand boastfully, " I'd like to cannonade it. 
 You'd see how it'd come toppling over." 
 
 " You wouldn't like to see it, I should think," said 
 Mavis. "It's been the home of your grandfathers 
 just as much as of ours. Don't you know your 
 mother is our father's sister? " 
 
 Bertrand stared at her. 
 
 " What does it matter about old rubbishing grand- 
 fathers and stuff like that?" he said. " That was 
 what that fisher-fellow began saying about the castle, 
 as if it was any business of his." 
 
 "Yes indeed," said Ruby, "he's far too fond of 
 giving his opinion." She nodded her head mysteri- 
 ously. " We'll have a talk about him afterwards, 
 Bertrand." ' 
 
 " Ruby," began Mavis in distress ; but Ruby pushed 
 her aside. 
 
88 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " Mind your own business," she said, more rudely 
 than Mavis had ever heard her speak. 
 
 " It's all Bertrand," said Mavis to herself, feeling 
 ready to cry. " I'm sure they are going to plan some 
 very naughty unkind thing." 
 
 They were on their way up the turret-stair now ; 
 the west turret. They had already explored the 
 other side. Suddenly a strange feeling came over 
 Mavis ; she had not been in this part of the castle 
 since the adventure in the grotto. 
 
 " She said she comes to the west turret still," 
 thought the child ; " just as she did when cousin 
 Hortensia was a little girl. I wonder if she only 
 comes in the night ? I wonder if possibly I shall see 
 her ever up here? If I did, I think I would ask her 
 to stop Bertrand making Ruby naughty. I am sure 
 dear Princess Forget-me-not could make anybody do 
 anything she liked." 
 
 And she could not help having a curious feeling of 
 expecting something, when Ruby, who was in front, 
 threw open the turret-room door. 
 
 " This is the haunted room, Bertrand," she said, 
 and there was a mocking tone in her voice. " At 
 least so Mavis and cousin Hortensia believe. Cousin 
 Hortensia can tell you a wonderful story of a night 
 she spent here if you care to hear it." 
 
 Bertrand laughed contemptuously. 
 
 "I'd like to see a ghost uncommonly," he said. 
 " It would take a good lot of them to frighten me" 
 
BERTRAND. 89 
 
 " That's what I say," said Ruby. " But the room 
 looks dingy enough, doesn't it ? I don't think I ever 
 saw it look so dingy before." 
 
 " It looks as if it was full of smoke," said Bertrand, 
 sniffing about ; " but yet I don't smell smoke." 
 
 There was something strange. Mavis saw it too, 
 and much more clearly than did the others. To her 
 the room seemed filled with a soft blue haze ; far 
 from appearing " dingy," as Ruby said, she thought 
 the vague cloudiness beautiful ; and as she looked, it 
 became plain to her that the haze all came from one 
 corner, where it almost seemed to take form, to 
 thicken and yet to lighten ; for there was a glow and 
 radiance over there by the window that looked 
 towards the setting sun that did not come from any 
 outside gleam or brightness. No indeed. For the 
 rain was pouring down, steadily and hopelessly, with 
 dull pitiless monotony from a leaden sky. Scarcely 
 could you picture to yourself a drearier scene than 
 the unbroken gray above, and unbroken gray be- 
 neath, which was all there was to be seen from the 
 castle that afternoon. Yet in Mavis's eyes there 
 was a light, a reflection of something beautiful and 
 sunshiny, as she stood there gazing across the room, 
 with an unspoken hope in her heart. 
 
 The others did not see the look in her face, or 
 they saw it wrong, Ruby especially, strange to say. 
 
 " What are you gaping at, Mavis ? " she said. 
 " You do look so silly." 
 
90 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 Bertrand stared at her in his turn. 
 
 " She looks as if she was asleep, or dreaming," he 
 said curiously. 
 
 Mavis rubbed her eyes. 
 
 " No, no," she said brightly, " I'm not." 
 
 And then she tried to be very kind and merry 
 and pleasant to the others. She felt as if " some- 
 body " was watching, and would be pleased. And 
 Bertrand was a little bit gentler and softer than he 
 had yet been, almost giving Mavis a feeling that in 
 some faint far-off way the sweet influence was over 
 him too. 
 
 But Ruby was very contradictory. She ran about 
 making fun of the old furniture and mocking at Miss 
 Hortensia's story till she got Bertrand to join with 
 her, and both began boasting and talking very 
 foolishly worse than foolishly indeed. More than 
 once Mavis caught words and hints which filled her 
 with distress aud anxiety. She knew, however, that 
 when Ruby was in this kind of humour it was less 
 than useless to say anything, now above all that she 
 had got Bertrand to back her up. 
 
 Suddenly the boy gave an impatient exclamation. 
 
 "I hate this cockloft," he said. "It's so stuffy 
 and choky, and that smoke or mist has got into 
 my eyes and makes them smart. Come along, Ruby, 
 do." 
 
 " It's not stuffy. I think it's dreadfully cold," she 
 replied. " But I'm sure I don't want to stay here. 
 
BEKTRAND. 91 
 
 The mist's quite gone not that I ever saw any 
 really; it was only with the room being shut up, I 
 suppose. I'm quite ready to go ; let's run down and 
 get a good warm at the school-room fire, and I'll tell 
 you something a grand secret, Bertrand." 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 IN THE TURRET-ROOM. 
 
 " The wind with the clouds is battling, 
 Till the pine-trees shriek with fear." 
 
 PAN. 
 
 THEY ran off, leaving Mavis alone in the turret- 
 room. Poor Mavis! all her happy and hopeful feel- 
 ings were gone. 
 
 " It is no use," she said to herself ; " I can't stop 
 Ruby. Bertrand will just make her as naughty as 
 himself. Oh, hoiv I do wish he had never come ! 
 All our happiness is spoilt." 
 
 And feeling very sorry for herself, and for every 
 one concerned except Bertrand, towards whom, I 
 fear, her feelings were more of anger than grief, 
 Mavis sat down on one of the capacious old chairs 
 that stood beside her and began to cry quietly. Sud- 
 denly a strange sensation came over her through 
 her, rather. She drew her handkerchief from her 
 eyes and looked up she had to look up and 
 yes, there it was again, there they were again. The 
 wonderful unforgetable blue eyes, so searching, so 
 irresistible, so tender. Sweet and perfectly loving as 
 they were, it was yet impossible to meet them with- 
 out a half-trembling thrill, And the first thought 
 
 92 
 
IN THE TURRET-ROOM. 93 
 
 that flashed through the little girl was, " How could 
 I bear her to look at me if I had been naughty?" 
 
 " Naughty " she had not been, but she felt her 
 cheeks flush look down she could not, as she said 
 to herself that she was afraid she had been 
 
 The word was taken out of her thoughts and 
 expressed just as she came to it. 
 
 " Silly," said the clear soft voice. " Silly little 
 Mavis. What is it all about? Is everything going 
 wrong at the first trial ? " 
 
 Then as Mavis gazed, the silvery-blue mist grew 
 firmer and less vague, and gradually the lovely form 
 and features became distinct. 
 
 " Oh dear princess," said the child, " I am so glad 
 you have come. Yes,*I dare say I am silly, but I 
 am so unhappy ; " and she poured out all her troubles. 
 " I shall not be unhappy any more," she ended up, 
 " now I know you. are true. I had almost begun to 
 fancy you were all a dream." 
 
 Forget-me-not smiled, but for a moment or two 
 she did not speak. Then she said 
 
 " What is it you are afraid of Ruby doing Ruby 
 and Bertrand? " 
 
 " Playing some unkind trick on Winfried," replied 
 Mavis eagerly ; " or even worse for Ruby knows 
 that would hurt him most on his old grandfather. 
 It would be so horrid, so wicked," and Mavis's voice 
 grew tearful again, " when they have been so kind to 
 us. Oh dear princess, will you stop them? " 
 
94 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 Forget-me-not looked at her gravely. 
 
 " My child," she said, " do they not know it would 
 be wrong to do such a thing?" 
 
 " Yes," Mavis replied, " of course they do." 
 
 " Then how could I stop them ? I mean to say, 
 what would be the good of stopping them, if they 
 know already it is wrong?" said the princess. 
 
 Mavis looked puzzled. 
 
 "But if if they were to hurt or frighten old 
 Adam or Winfried?" she said. 
 
 Forget-me-not smiled again. 
 
 " Ah yes," she said, " that I can promise you shall 
 not be. But beyond that, if it is in their hearts 
 wilfully to do what they know to be wrong, I fear, 
 little Mavis, I fear they must do it, and perhaps learn 
 thereby. When people know 
 
 Mavis's eyes told that she understood ; she looked 
 very grave, but still somewhat relieved. 
 
 " I am glad you won't let it hurt Winfried or his 
 grandfather," she said. " But oh, I can't bear Ruby 
 to be made naughty by that horrid boy," and she 
 seemed on the point of bursting into tears. " Dear 
 princess," she went on, " couldn't you speak to her 
 - the way you do to me ? You make me feel that I 
 would I would do anything you told me." 
 
 " Dear child, Ruby cannot hear me yet ; she can- 
 not see me. If she could, she would feel as you. 
 Be patient, Mavis. Love her as you have always 
 done ; that will not be difficult. But that is not all. 
 You must try to love Bertrand too." 
 
IN THE TURRET-ROOM. 95 
 
 Mavis's face grew very long. 
 
 " I don't think I can" she said at last. 
 
 "But you must, sooner or later, and it may as 
 well be sooner. I will tell you one thing a secret, 
 which perhaps will make it easier for you. I mean 
 to make him love me before I have done with him, 
 though he may begin by hating me." 
 
 The little girl looked very grave. 
 
 " And Ruby ? " she said. " I should care most for 
 Ruby to love you." 
 
 Strange to say, Forget-me-not's eyes looked sadder 
 than when she had been talking of Bertrand. 
 
 " It may be more difficult," she murmured, so low 
 that Mavis hardly caught the words. 
 
 " Oh no, dear princess," she said eagerly, " Ruby 
 isn't anything like as naughty as Bertrand. You 
 mustn't fancy that. She's just just she doesn't 
 think " 
 
 " I know," said Forget-me-not ; but that was all, 
 and her eyes still looked sad. 
 
 Then she glanced round. The old room seemed 
 like a background to her lovely figure, it was like 
 gazing at a picture in a dark setting. 
 
 " I must go," she sard, " and when I go you will be 
 all in the dark. The clouds are so heavy and the 
 day is getting on. Can you find your way all down 
 the stair alone, Mavis ? The others have not thought 
 about leaving you up here alone." 
 
 "I don't think I mind," said Mavis ; but her voice 
 
96 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 was a little tremulous, for the corner where the 
 door was, across the room from where Forget-me-not 
 stood, loomed dark and gloomy. 
 
 The princess smiled. 
 
 " Yes you do, dear. Don't tell stories. I was 
 only trying your courage a tiny bit. Come here, 
 darling." 
 
 Mavis crept nearer her, nearer than she had yet 
 been. 
 
 " I am afraid of soiling your lovely dress," she said. 
 " My pinafore's rather dirty ; we've been playing all 
 over the dusty rooms, you see." 
 
 Then Forget-me-not laughed. Her talking was 
 charming, her smile was bewitching, her grave sad 
 looks were like solemn music what words have we 
 left to describe her laugh ? I can think of none. I 
 can only tell you that it made little Mavis feel as if 
 all the birds in the trees, all the flowers in the fields, 
 all the brooks and waterfalls, all the happy joyous 
 things in the world had suddenly come together with 
 a shout no, shout is too loud and rough, with a 
 warble and flutter of irrepressible glee. 
 
 "Oh," said Mavis, "how beautiful it is to hear 
 you, princess, and how 
 
 She did not finish her sentence. In another 
 moment she felt herself lifted up up in the air 
 ever so far, it seemed, and then cosily deposited most 
 comfortably on Forget-me-not's shoulder. It was 
 years and years since Mavis had thought herself 
 
IN THE TURRET-ROOM. 97 
 
 small enough to ride even on her father's shoulder 
 great, strong, tall father and the princess who 
 looked so slight and fairy-like, how could she be so 
 strong? Yet the arms that had lifted her were 
 strong, strong and firm as father's, nay stronger. 
 And the hand that held her up in her place was so 
 secure in its gentle grasp that the little girl felt she 
 could not fall, and that is a very pleasant feeling, I 
 can assure you. * 
 
 " Shut your eyes, Mavis," said Forget-me-not, " I 
 am quick in my movements. You are quite firm 
 there now I have thrown my scarf over you. I am 
 going to take you rather a round-about way, I warn 
 you." 
 
 A soft whirr and rush where were they? Out 
 of the window somehow they had got, for Mavis felt 
 the chilly air and heard the swish of the rain, though 
 strange to say the chill seemed only a pleasant fresh- 
 ness, and the raindrops did not touch her. Then 
 up, up dear, dear, where were they off to ? Had 
 Forget-me-not suddenly turned into the old woman 
 who goes up to brush away the cobwebs in the sky ? 
 Mavis laughed as the fancy struck her ; she did not 
 care, not she, the higher the better, the faster they 
 flew the merrier she felt. Till at last there came a 
 halt. Forget-me-not stopped short with a long 
 breath. 
 
 " Heigh-ho ! " she exclaimed, "I've given you a toss 
 up, haven't I ? Look out, Mavis ; we've come ever 
 
98 THE CHILDKEX OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 so far, peep out and you'll see the stars getting 
 ready to bid you good-evening. It's quite clear, of 
 course, up here above the clouds." 
 
 Mavis opened her eyes and peeped out from the 
 folds of Forget-me-not's scarf, which, light as it was, 
 had yet a marvellous warmth about it. 
 
 Clear, I should think it was clear! Never had 
 Mavis pictured to herself anything so beautiful as 
 that evening sky, up " above the clouds," as the 
 princess had said. I have never seen it, so I cannot 
 very well describe it ; indeed, I should be rather 
 afraid to do so on hearsay, for I should be sure to 
 make some mistake, and to name the wrong planets 
 and constellations. 
 
 " Oh," said Mavis, " how nice ! " 
 
 It was rather a stupid little word to say, but 
 Forget-me-not was too " understanding " to mind. 
 
 " Look about you well for a minute or two. Who 
 knows when you may have such a chance again ? " 
 and for a little there was silence. Then " Shut your 
 eyes again, dear, and clasp me tight ; little girls are 
 apt to get giddy in such circumstances. Yes, that's 
 right." 
 
 " The stars are like your eyes," said Mavis. 
 
 Then again the soft rush ; a plunge downwards 
 this time, which made Mavis need no second bidding 
 to clasp her friend closely. There came over her a 
 misty, sleepy feeling. She could not have told 
 exactly when they stopped ; she only felt a sort of 
 
IN THE TURRET-ROOM. 99 
 
 butterfly kiss on her eyes, and a breath that sounded 
 like good-night, and then she was standing in the 
 school-room by the fire ; the lamp was lighted, it 
 looked bright and cosy, and Mavis had never felt 
 happier or stronger in her life. 
 
 " That nice fresh air has brightened me up so," she 
 said to herself. But her hands were rather cold. 
 She went close up to the fire to warm them. There 
 was no one in the room. 
 
 " I wonder where Ruby and Bertrand are," thought 
 Mavis. Just then she heard Miss Hortensia's voice. 
 
 " Poor dear," she was saying. " Ruby, how could 
 you be so thoughtless? I must get lights at once 
 and' go and look for her." 
 
 " We've called and called up the stair, but she 
 didn't answer," said Ruby in rather an ashamed tone 
 of voice. 
 
 "Called," repeated Miss Hortensia, "why didn't 
 you yo?" 
 
 " It was so dark when we remembered about her, 
 and " 
 
 " You were afraid, I suppose," said her cousin. 
 " Really ; and yet you would leave poor Mavis all 
 alone and a great boy like you, Bertrand." 
 
 " / wasn't afraid, but I wasn't going to bother to go 
 up all that way. She could come down by herself," 
 said Master Bertrand rudely. 
 
 But before Miss Hortensia could reply again Mavis 
 ran out. 
 
100 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " Here I am, dear cousin," she said. " I'm all 
 right." And indeed she did look all right, as she 
 stood there sideways in the doorway, the light from 
 the room behind her falling on her pretty hair and 
 fair face. 
 
 " The dear child," thought Miss Hortensia. " No 
 one could say Mavis isn't as pretty as Ruby now." 
 And aloud she exclaimed : " My darling, where have 
 you been ? And were you afraid up there in the dark 
 all by yourself? " 
 
 " Why didn't you come with us ? " said Ruby 
 crossly. " It was all your own fault." 
 
 "I didn't mind," said Mavis. "I'm only sorry 
 cousin Hortensia was frightened. I'm all right, you 
 see." 
 
 " I was frightened about you too," grumbled Ruby. 
 
 " I wasn't," said Bertrand with a rough laugh. 
 "There's nothing to frighten one up in that cock- 
 loft ; dingy, misty place that it is." 
 
 " Misty ! " exclaimed Miss Hortensia in surprise, 
 " what does the child mean ? " 
 
 " Bertrand will say the turret was full of blue 
 smoke," said Ruby, " and that it hurt his eyes." 
 
 " It did," said the boy ; " they're smarting still." 
 
 Mavis smiled. Miss Hortensia seemed perplexed, 
 and rather anxious to change the subject. 
 
 " I do hope," she said, " that to-morrow will be fine, 
 so that Bertrand and you, Ruby, may get rid of some 
 of your spirits out-of-doors." 
 
IN THE TURRET-ROOM. 101 
 
 " I hope too that it will be fine," said Ruby mean- 
 ingly. " Bertrand and I have planned a very long 
 walk. You needn't come," she went on, turning to 
 Mavis, " if you think you'd be tired." 
 
 " I don't get tired quicker than you do," said Mavis 
 quietly. Her heart sank within her at Ruby's tone ; 
 for though she was glad to think Forget-me-not would 
 prevent any harm to old Adam or Winfried, she did 
 not like to think of Ruby's heartlessness and folly. 
 And when she glanced at Bertrand and saw the half- 
 scornful smile on his face, it was all she could do to 
 keep back her tears. 
 
 All that evening the rain kept pouring down in 
 torrents, and the wind beat on the window, shaking 
 even the heavy frames, like a giant in a fury, deter- 
 mined to make his way in. 
 
 " What a storm," said Miss Hortensia more than 
 once, with a little shiver. " I cannot bear to think of 
 the poor souls at sea." 
 
 Bertrand laughed. 
 
 " It would be great fun to see a shipwreck, if one 
 was safe out of harm's way. I wouldn't mind stay- 
 ing up in that musty old turret a whole afternoon to 
 have a good view." 
 
 Even Ruby was startled. 
 
 " Oh Bertrand," she said, " you can't know what a 
 shipwreck means if you speak like that." 
 
 " I've read stories of them," said the boy, " so I 
 should know." 
 
102 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 There was a very slight touch of something in his 
 tone which made Mavis wonder if he really meant 
 all the naughty things he said. She glanced up at 
 him quickly. 
 
 " If there ever were a shipwreck here," she said, " I 
 know who'd help and who wouldn't." 
 
 Bertrand's face hardened at once. 
 
 " That's meant for me,' he retorted ; " for me and 
 that precious lout of a friend of yours. You think 
 him so grand and brave ! Ah well ! wait a bit and 
 see. When people don't know their proper place they 
 must be taught it." 
 
 Mavis drew herself up. 
 
 " Yes," she said, u we will wait a bit and see. But 
 it won't be the sort of seeing you'll like perhaps." 
 
 " You've no business to speak like that," said 
 Ruby. "I think you're quite out of your mind 
 about that common boy and his grandfather or 
 else and I shouldn't wonder if it was that, they've 
 bewitched you, somehow." 
 
 She dropped her voice with the last words, for she 
 did not want her cousin to hear. But Miss Hortensia, 
 though she was busily counting the rows of her knit- 
 ting at the other end of the room, noticed the tone of 
 the children's voices. 
 
 " Come, come, my dears," she said, " no wrangling 
 it would be something quite new here. I do hope" 
 she added to herself, " that it will be fine to-morrow ; 
 it is so much better for children when they can get 
 out." 
 
IN THE TURRET-ROOM. 103 
 
 It was fine " to-morrow " ; very fine. It was almost 
 impossible for the little girls to believe that so few 
 hours before the storm spirits had been indulging in 
 their wild games, when they looked out of their 
 window on to the bright clear wintry sky, where 
 scarcely a cloud was to be seen, the sun smiling 
 down coldly but calmly ; not a breath of wind mov- 
 ing the great fir-trees on the south side of the castle. 
 Yet looking a little closer there were some traces 
 of the night's work ; the ground was strewn with 
 branches, and the last of the leaves had found their 
 way down to their resting-place on old Mother Earth's 
 brown lap. 
 
 In spite of her anxieties, Mavis could not help 
 her spirits rising. 
 
 44 What a nice afternoon Ruby and I might have 
 had with Winfried, if only Bertrand hadn't come," 
 she thought. 
 
 Ruby was all smiles and gaiety. 
 
 " Perhaps," Mavis went on to herself, " perhaps 
 she's really going to be nice and good. And if we 
 two keep together, we can stop Bertrand being very 
 naughty." 
 
 Miss Hortensia was anxious for them to profit by 
 the fine day. She had not much faith in the clear 
 thin sunshine's lasting, she said, and she shortened 
 the lessons so that dinner might be very early, and 
 the afternoon free. 
 
 It was still very bright and fine when the three 
 
104 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 children found themselves standing at the entrance 
 of the archway, on the sea side of the castle. 
 
 " Which way shall we go ? " said Mavis. 
 
 " Oh, down to the shore," Ruby replied. " We 
 may," she went on, with a very slight glance in 
 Bertrand's direction, and a tone in her voice which 
 struck Mavis oddly, though she scarcely knew why 
 " we may meet Winfried." 
 
 " Yes," said Bertrand in an off-hand way. "I told 
 the fellow we might be somewhere about if it was 
 fine to-day, and I said he might as well have his boat 
 ready. I don't mind paying him for the use of it. 
 I've any amount of pocket-money ; " and he thrust 
 his hands into his pockets, jingling the coins which 
 were in them. 
 
 Mavis thought to herself that she had never dis- 
 liked him as much as now. But she said nothing, 
 and they all three walked on. The pathway soon 
 became steep and rugged, as I have told you. Ruby 
 and Mavis were accustomed to it, and Bertrand was 
 a strong, well-made boy. Still none of them were 
 agile and nimble as the fisher-lad. 
 
 " You should see Winfried running down here," 
 
 O 
 
 said Ruby ; " he goes like a stag, or a chamois, 
 rather." 
 
 She glanced at Bertrand as she spoke. Notwith- 
 standing her alliance with him, there was something 
 in Ruby's nature that made it impossible for her to 
 resist vexing him by this little hit. 
 
IN THE TURRET-ROOM. 105 
 
 The black look came over the boy's face. 
 
 " What do you mean by that ? " he muttered. " I'm 
 not going to " 
 
 " Rubbish, Bertrand," interrupted Ruby. "I never 
 said anything about you. Winfried's a fisher-boy; 
 it's his business to scramble about." 
 
 Then she went close up to her cousin and whis- 
 pered something to him, which seemed to smooth 
 him doAvn, though this only made Mavis more anx- 
 ious and unhappy. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A NAUGHTY PLAN. 
 
 The boatie rows, the boatie rows, the boatie rows f u' weel." 
 
 THEY were nearly at the cove, when they caught 
 sight of a scarlet cap moving up and down among 
 the rocks. 
 
 "There's Winfried," cried Mavis joyfully. She 
 could not help having a feeling of safety when the 
 fisher-lad was with them, in spite of her fears about 
 the mischief the other two w^ere planning. " Win- 
 fried, Winfried," she called, " here we are." 
 
 He glanced up with his bright though rather mys- 
 terious smile. 
 
 " I knew you'd be coming," he said quietly. 
 
 " Of course you did," said Bertrand in his rough, 
 rude way, " considering I told you to meet us here. 
 Have you got that boat of yours ready? " 
 
 " Yes," said Winfried, and he pointed towards the 
 cove. There, sure enough, was the little boat, bright 
 and dainty, the sun shining on its pretty cushions 
 and on the white glistening oars. 
 
 Bertrand was running forward, when there came a 
 sudden exclamation from Ruby. She had put up 
 her hand to her neck. 
 
 106 
 
A NAUGHTY PLAN. 107 
 
 " Oh, my cross," she cried, " my little silver cross. 
 I forgot to fetch it from the turret-room. I left it 
 there last night, and I meant to go and get it this 
 morning. And I daren't go on the sea without it 
 Fd be drowned, I know I should be." 
 
 Mavis looked at her. 
 
 " Ruby," she said, " I don't think you could have 
 left it up there. You had no reason to take it off up 
 there." 
 
 " Oh, but I did, I did," said Ruby. " I have a 
 trick of taking it off; the cord gets entangled in my 
 hair. I know it's there." 
 
 " I'll fetch it you," said Bertrand, with perfectly 
 astounding good-nature. And he actually set off up 
 the rocky path. Winfried started forward. 
 
 " I will go," he said. " I can run much faster than 
 he," and he hastened after Bertrand. 
 
 But Bertrand had exerted himself unusually. He 
 was already some way up before Winfried overtook 
 him. 
 
 " No," he said, when Winfried explained why he 
 had come, " I want to go. But you may as well 
 come too. I want to carry down my fishing-tackle 
 I'd forgotten it. You haven't got any in the boat, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 " No," said Winfried, " it would keep us out too 
 long. It's too cold for the little ladies, and we 
 should have to go too far out to sea." 
 
 " I'll bring it all the same," said Bertrand dog- 
 
108 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 gedly ; " so mind your own business." But as Win- 
 fried walked on beside him without speaking, he 
 added more civilly, " you may as well look at it and 
 tell me if it's the right kind. It's what my father 
 gave me." 
 
 "I'm pretty sure it's not right," said Winfried. 
 " The fishing here is quite different to anything 
 you've ever seen. And anyway we cannot keep 
 your cousins waiting while we look at it." 
 
 They were at the arched entrance by now. 
 
 " Well, then," said Bertrand, " you run up and 
 look for the cross. No need for two of us to tire 
 our legs. I'll wait here." 
 
 Winfried entered the castle, and after one or two 
 wrong turnings found himself on the right stair. 
 He knew pretty exactly where he had to go, for he 
 had often looked up at the west turret from the out- 
 side. But just as he got to the door he was over- 
 taken by Bertrand, who had naturally come straight 
 up without any wrong turnings. 
 
 " What a time you've been," said Bertrand, push- 
 ing in before him. "Now, let's see where did 
 Ruby say she'd left her cross ? Oh yes, hanging up 
 there ; she must have stood on a chair to reach it." 
 And sure enough, on a nail pretty high up on the 
 wall hung the little ornament. 
 
 Winfried drew forward a chair ; in another minute 
 he had reached down the cross. 
 
 " Here it is," he said, turning to Bertrand. But 
 

 p. 1 08 
 
A NAUGHTY PLAN. 109 
 
 he spoke to the air ! Bertram! was gone. Wmfried's 
 face flushed ; but he controlled himself. He walked 
 quietly to the door and turned the handle. It did 
 not open. It was locked from the outside. He was 
 a prisoner ! 
 
 " I knew something of the kind would come," he 
 said to himself. " What will they do now ? Poor 
 little Mavis ! I must trust her to the princess." 
 
 But he could not help a feeling of bitter anger. 
 It was no light punishment to the active, energetic 
 boy to have to spend all the bright afternoon hours 
 shut up here like an old owl in a church tower. And 
 he knew that till some one came to let him out, a 
 prisoner he verily was. For he might have shouted 
 his voice hoarse, no one down below could have 
 heard him. And the chance of any one in the castle 
 coming up was very small. 
 
 "What will gran think?" he said to himself. 
 " And, if these naughty children try to play him 
 any trick. I know Ruby more than half believes all 
 that nonsense about his being a wizard and about the 
 mermaids, and Bertrand will egg her on." 
 
 He went to the window and stood looking out, 
 trying to keep down the dreadful restless caged feel- 
 ing which began to come over him. 
 
 " How can I bear it ? " he said. " If I had tools 
 now, and could pick the lock ; but some of these old 
 locks are very strong, and I have nothing. If only I 
 had wings ; " and he gazed again out of the window. 
 
110 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 When he turned round, though it was quite bright 
 and sunny outside, it almost seemed as if the evening 
 haze had somehow got into the room before its time. 
 It was filled with a thin bluish mist. Winfried's 
 eyes brightened. 
 
 " My princess ! " he exclaimed. " Are you there ?" 
 
 A little laugh answered him, and gradually the 
 mist drew together and into shape, and Forget-me- 
 not stood before him. 
 
 "My boy," she exclaimed, "I am surprised at you. 
 Why, you were looking quite depressed I " 
 
 Winfried reddened. 
 
 " It was the horrid feeling of being locked up," he 
 said. " I never felt it before, and it seems such a 
 shame, such a mean trick. I wouldn't have minded 
 a stand-up fight with any fellow, but 
 
 " Of course you wouldn't ; but you've got a good 
 bit farther than that, I hope, Winfried," she said with 
 a smile. "And besides, Bertrand is much smaller 
 than you. And it had to be, you know. I have ex- 
 plained enough to you you and little Mavis ; it 
 had to be." 
 
 Winfried started. 
 
 " That's another thing," he said. " I am uneasy 
 about her. What will they do ? They don't under- 
 stand the boat, you know, princess, and she is alone 
 with them." 
 
 Forget-me-not smiled again. 
 
 " How faithless you are to-day, Winfried," she 
 
A NAUGHTY PLAN. Ill 
 
 said. " Mavis will be getting before you if you don't 
 take care, simple and ignorant as she is. Can't you 
 trust her to me ? " And as the boy's face brightened, 
 " Come," she said, " I see you are recovering your 
 usual ground, so I will tell you how I am going to 
 do. But first, shut your eyes, Winfried; and here, 
 wrap the end of my scarf round you. You might 
 feel giddy still, though it's not the first time. 
 Ready? that's right there now, give me your 
 hand we're up on the window ledge. You were 
 wishing for wings isn't this as good as wings ? " 
 * * * ***** 
 
 Bertrand rushed down as much as he could rush, 
 that is to say, over the steep and rough path to the 
 shore where the sisters were waiting. 
 
 " Have you got it? " asked Mavis eagerly. 
 
 " What ?" asked Bertrand, out of breath. 
 
 "What? Why, Ruby's cross, of course, that you 
 went for. And where is Winfried?" 
 
 " All right," said Bertrand, in a curious voice ; 
 "he's coming directly. We're to get into the boat 
 and go on a little way, keeping near the shore. He's 
 coming down another way." 
 
 (Yes, Bertrand, that he is ! ) 
 
 Mavis looked up anxiously. 
 
 " And the cross? " she said. 
 
 " Winfried's got it," he said. Which was true. 
 Then he turned away, the fact being that he was so 
 choking with laughter that he was afraid of betraying 
 himself. 
 
112 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 u Ruby," he called, u come and help me to drag the 
 boat a little nearer ; " and as Ruby came close he 
 whispered to her, " I've done it splendidly he's 
 shut up in his tower ! Locked in, and the locks are 
 good strong ones now we can have a jolly good 
 spree without that prig of a fellow Only don't let 
 Mavis know till we're safe out in the boat." 
 
 Ruby jumped with pleasure. 
 
 " What fun ! " she exclaimed. " How capital ! 
 You have been clever. Bertrand. But take care, or 
 Mavis will suspect something. Quick, Mavis," she 
 went on, turning to her sister, " help us to pull in the 
 boat. There, we can jump in now, Bertrand. You 
 and Mavis steady it while I spring ; " and in another 
 moment she was in the boat, where her sister and 
 Bertrand soon followed her. 
 
 All seemed well : the sky was clear and bright, 
 the sun still shining. The faces of two of the party 
 were sparkling with glee and triumph. But Mavis 
 looked frightened and dissatisfied. 
 
 " I wish Winfried had come back with you, 
 Bertrand," she said. " Why didn't he ? Did cousin 
 Hortensia keep him for anything ? " 
 
 " Goodness, no," said Bertrand. "What a fuss you 
 make, child ! He's all right ; you can look out for 
 him, and tell me if you see him coming. I shall 
 have enough to do with rowing you two." 
 
 " Winfried doesn't find the boat hard to row," said 
 Mavis ; " it's your own fault if it is hard. You might 
 
A NAUGHTY PLAN. 113 
 
 as well wait for him ; he'd see us as he comes clown 
 the cliffs." 
 
 "Oh no, that would be nonsense," said Ruby 
 hastily ; " besides, he's not coming that way. You 
 heard Bertrand say so. I could row too, Bertrand," 
 she went on. 
 
 But the boy had already got his oars in motion, 
 and though he was neither skilful nor experienced, 
 strange to say the little boat glided on with the 
 utmost ease and smoothness. 
 
 " There now," said Bertrand, considerably sur- 
 prised, to tell the truth, at his own success, " didn't I 
 tell you I could row ? " 
 
 "No," said Mavis bluntly, "you said just this 
 moment you'd have enough to do to manage it." 
 
 "Mavis, why are you so cross?" said Ruby. "Jt 
 is such a pity to spoil everything." 
 
 She spoke very smoothly and almost coaxingly, 
 but Mavis looked her straight in the eyes, and Ruby 
 grew uncomfortable and turned away. But just then 
 a new misgiving struck Mavis. 
 
 " Bertrand," she cried, " either you can't manage 
 the boat, or you're doing it on purpose. You're not 
 keeping near the shore as you said you would. You're 
 going right out to sea ; " and she jumped up as if she 
 would have snatched the oars from him. 
 
 " Sit down, Mavis," said Ruby. " I'm sure you 
 know you should never jump about in a boat. It's 
 all right. Don't you know there's there's a current 
 hereabouts ? " 
 
114 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 Current or no, something there was, besides Ber- 
 trand's rowing, that was rapidly carrying them away 
 farther and farther from the shore. Mavis looked at 
 Bertrand, not sure whether he could help himself or 
 not. But 
 
 " Winfried wouldn't have told you to keep near 
 the shore if you couldn't," she said; "he knows all 
 about the currents." 
 
 Bertrand turned with a rude laugh. 
 
 "Does he indeed?" he said. "It's more than I 
 do; but all the same this current, or whatever it is 
 that is taking us out so fast, has come just at the 
 right minute. I never meant to keep near in, there's 
 no fun in that. We're going a jolly good Avay out, 
 and when we're tired of it we'll come back and land 
 close to the old wizard's cottage. Ruby and I are 
 going to play him a trick ; we want to catch him with 
 the mermaids Ruby heard singing the other day. If 
 we set the villagers on him, they'll soon make an end 
 of him and his precious grandson." 
 
 " Yes," said Ruby spitefully ; " and a good riddance 
 they'd be. That Winfried setting himself up over 
 us all." 
 
 Mavis grew pale. 
 
 " Ruby ; Bertrand," she said, " you cannot mean to 
 be so wicked. You know the villagers are already 
 set against old Adam rather, even though he has been 
 so good to them, and if you stir them up they 
 might kill him if they really thought he was a 
 wizard." 
 
A NAUGHTY PLAN. 115 
 
 " We're not going to do anything till we know for 
 ourselves," said Ruby. " We're first going to the 
 cottage really to find out if it's true. You know 
 yourself, Mavis, we did hear some one singing and 
 speaking there the other day who wasn't to be seen 
 when we got there. And I believe it was a mermaid, 
 or or a syren, or some witchy sort of creature." 
 
 Mavis was silent. She had her own thoughts 
 about the voice they had overheard, thoughts which 
 she could not share with the others. 
 
 " Oh, dear Princess Forget-me-not," she said to 
 herself, " why don't you make them see you, and 
 understand how naughty they are?" 
 
 For the moment she had forgotten the princess's 
 promise that neither Winfried nor his grandfather 
 should suffer any harm, and she felt terribly frightened 
 and unhappy. 
 
 " Where is Winfried? " she said at last. " He will 
 see us going out to sea when he comes down to the 
 shore, and if he tells cousin Hortensia she can easily 
 get some of the fishermen to come after us. They 
 can row far quicker than you." 
 
 Bertrand stopped rowing to laugh more rudely 
 than before. 
 
 "Can they?" he said. "I doubt it. And as for 
 Winfried telling why, he doesn't know ; he's locked 
 in safe and sound in the west turret ! He'll be quite 
 comfortable there for as long as I choose to leave 
 him, and however he shouts no one can hear him. 
 
116 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 Not that there's much fear of any of those lumbering 
 boats overtaking us if they tried why 
 
 He took up the oars again as he spoke, but before 
 he began to row he half started and glanced round. 
 No wonder ; the boat was gliding out to sea without 
 his help, quite as fast as when he was rowing. 
 
 " How how it drifts ! " he said in a rather queer 
 tone of voice. " Is there a current hereabouts, Ruby? " 
 
 " I suppose so," said Ruby. " Try and row the 
 other way, that'll soon show you." 
 
 But it was all very well to speak of " trying." No 
 efforts of Bertrand's had the very slightest effect on 
 the boat. On it sped, faster and faster, as if laughing 
 at him, dancing along the water as if it were alive 
 and enjoying the joke. Bertrand grew angry, then, 
 by degrees, frightened. 
 
 " It isn't my fault," he said. " I don't pretend to 
 know all about the currents and tides and nonsense. 
 You shouldn't have let me come out here, Ruby." 
 
 Ruby was terrified, but angry too. 
 
 " It isn't my fault," she said. " You planned it 
 all ; you know you did. And if we're all " 
 
 " Be quiet, Ruby," said Mavis, who alone of the 
 three was perfectly calm and composed. " If it stops 
 you and Bertrand carrying out your naughty plan, I 
 am very glad if we are taken out to sea." 
 
 " That's too bad of you," said Ruby, angry in spite 
 of her terror. " I believe you'd rather we were 
 drowned than that your precious Winfried and his 
 
A NAUGHTY PLAN. 117 
 
 grandfather should get what they deserve. And we 
 are going to be drowned, or anyway starved to 
 death. We're going faster and faster. Oh, I do 
 believe there must be a whirlpool somewhere near 
 here, and that we are going to be sucked into it." 
 
 She began to sob and cry. Bertrand, to do him 
 justice, put a good face upon it. He looked pale 
 but determined. 
 
 " This is what comes of having to do with people 
 like that," he said vindictively. " I believe he's 
 bewitched the boat to spite us. I'll have another 
 try, however." 
 
 But it was all no use. The boat, slight and fragile 
 as it seemed, resisted his efforts as if it were a living 
 thing opposing him. Crimson with heat and vexa- 
 tion, the boy muttered some words, which it was to 
 be hoped the girls did not catch, and flung down the 
 oars in a rage. One fell inside, the other was just 
 slipping over the edge when Mavis caught it. 
 Strange to say, no sooner was it in her hold than the 
 motion stopped ; the boat lay still and passive on the 
 water, swaying gently as if waiting for orders. 
 
 " We've got out of the current," exclaimed Ruby. 
 "Try, Mavis, can you turn it?" 
 
 It hardly seemed to need trying. The boat turned 
 almost, as it were, of itself, and in another moment 
 they were quietly moving towards the shore. Nor 
 did it seem to make any difference when Bertrand 
 took the oars from Mavis and resumed his rowing. 
 
118 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " If I only waited another moment," lie said. 
 " We got out of the current just as you caught the 
 oar, Mavis." 
 
 She shook her head doubtfully. 
 
 " I don't know. I don't think it was that," she 
 said. " But anyway now it is all right again, and 
 we are going back, you and Bertrand, Ruby, will not 
 think of playing any trick, or setting the villagers on 
 to old Adam." 
 
 " Why not, pray ? " said Bertrand. " And " 
 
 " I don't see what has made any difference," said 
 Ruby pertly. " Suppose the. horrid things had be- 
 witched the boat, is that any reason for not showing 
 them up ? You think it's all your wonderful clever- 
 ness that got the boat round, do you, Mavis ? " 
 
 " No, I don't. I think a good many things I'm 
 not going to tell you," said the little girl. " But 
 one thing I will tell you, /will not leave the boat or 
 come on shore unless you promise me to give up 
 your naughty cruel plan." 
 
 She spoke so firmly that Ruby was startled. And 
 indeed her own words seemed to surprise Mavis 
 herself. It was as if some one were whispering to 
 her what to say. But on Bertrand they made no 
 impression. 
 
 "You won't, won't you?" he said. " Ah, well, 
 we'll see to that." 
 
 They were close to the shore by this time. The 
 marvellous boat had " got over the ground," I was 
 
A NAUGHTY PLAN. 119 
 
 going to say I mean the water even more quickly 
 than when going out to sea. And in another minute, 
 thanks to something no doubt Bertrand thought 
 it was thanks to his wonderful skill they glided 
 quietly into the little landing-place where Winfried 
 had brought them two days ago. 
 
 Up jumped Ruby. 
 
 " That's capital," she said. " We can easily make 
 our way to the old wizard's cottage from here. And 
 before we peep in on him himself, Bertrand, we may 
 as well look round his garden, as he calls it. It is 
 the queerest place you ever saw, full of caves and 
 grottoes." 
 
 Both Bertrand and she had jumped on shore. 
 
 " Come on, Mavis," cried they. " What are you 
 so slow about? " 
 
 For Mavis sat perfectly still in her place. 
 
 " I am not coming on shore," she said quietly, 
 " not unless you promise to give up whatever mis- 
 chief it is that you are planning." 
 
 " Nonsense," said Bertrand. " You just shall 
 come ; tell her she must, Ruby, you're the eldest." 
 
 " Come, Mavis," said Ruby. " You'd better come, 
 for everybody's sake, I can tell you," she added mean- 
 ingly. " If you're there you can look after your 
 precious old wizard. I won't promise anything." 
 
 " No," Mavis repeated. " I will not come. We 
 have no right to go forcing ourselves into his cottage. 
 It is as much his as the castle is ours, and you know 
 
120 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 you have locked up Winfried on purpose so that he 
 can't get out. No, I will not go with you." 
 
 " Then stay," shouted Bertrand, " and take the 
 consequences." 
 
 And he dragged Ruby back from the boat. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 BEGINNINGS ? 
 
 "Very wrong, very wrong, 
 Very wrong and bad." 
 
 CHILD WORLD. 
 
 " LET'S run on fast a little way," said Bertrand, 
 " to make her think we won't wait for her. That 
 will frighten her, and she will run after us, you'll 
 see. Don't look round, Ruby." 
 
 In his heart lie really did not believe that Mavis 
 would change her mind or run after them. And he 
 did not care. Indeed, he much preferred having 
 Ruby alone, as he knew he could far more easily 
 persuade her by herself to join in his mischievous 
 schemes. But he felt that she was half-hearted 
 about leaving her sister, and so he did not hesitate to 
 trick her too. 
 
 They hurried on for some distance. Then Ruby, 
 who was growing both tired and cross, pulled her 
 hand away from Bertrand. 
 
 " Stop," she said. " I'm quite out of breath. And 
 I want to see if Mavis is coming." 
 
 Bertrand had to give in. They were on higher 
 ground than the shore, and could see it clearly. 
 There lay the little boat as they had left it, and 
 
 121 
 
122 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 Mavis sitting in it calmly. To all appearance at 
 least. 
 
 " She's not coming not a bit of her," exclaimed 
 Ruby angrily. " I don't believe you thought she 
 would, Bertrand." 
 
 " She will come, you'll see," said the boy, " and 
 even if she doesn't, what does it matter ? We'll run 
 on and spy out the old wizard and have some fun. 
 Mavis will stay there safe enough till we get back." 
 
 " I thought you meant to go home by the village 
 and tell the people about old Adam, if we do see 
 anything queer," said Ruby. 
 
 " So I did, but if you're in such a fidget about 
 Mavis perhaps we'd better go home as we came, and 
 not say anything in the village to-day. I'd like to 
 see what Master Winfried has been up to when we 
 get back. Perhaps he'll have got some old witch to 
 lend him a broomstick, and we shall find him flown ; " 
 and Bertrand laughed scornfully. 
 
 Ruby laughed too. 
 
 "I don't think that's likely," she said. "But 
 there's no telling. I do wish he and his grandfather 
 were out of the country altogether. There's some- 
 thing about Winfried that makes me feel furious. 
 He is such a prig; and he's even got cousin Hor- 
 tensia to think him a piece of perfection." 
 
 " He may take his perfections elsewhere, and he 
 shall, too," said Bertrand. And the fierceness of his 
 tone almost startled even Ruby. 
 
BEGINNINGS? 123 
 
 They were not far from the old fisherman's cottage 
 by this time. They stopped again to take breath. 
 Mavis and the boat were not visible from where they 
 stood, for the path went in and out among the rocks, 
 and just here some large projecting boulders hid the 
 shore from sight. 
 
 Suddenly, as if it came from some cave beneath 
 their feet, both children grew conscious of a faint 
 sound as of distant music. And every moment it 
 became clearer and louder even though muffled. 
 Bertrand and Ruby looked at each other. 
 
 " Mermaids ! " both exclaimed. 
 
 " They always sing," said Bertrand. 
 
 " Yes," added Ruby, with her old confusion of 
 ideas about syrens ; " and they make people go after 
 them by their singing, and then they catch them and 
 kill them, and I'm not sure but what they eat them. 
 I know I've read something about bare dry bones 
 being found. Shall we put our fingers in our ears, 
 Bertrand ? " She looked quite pale with fear. 
 
 "Nonsense," said the boy. "That's only sailors at 
 sea. They lure them in among the rocks. We're 
 quite safe on dry land. Besides, I don't think it's 
 mermaids that do that. They're miserable crying 
 creatures ; but I don't think they kill people." 
 
 The subterraneous music came nearer and nearer. 
 Somehow the children could not help listening. 
 
 " Didn't you say you and Mavis heard singing the 
 day you were here before at the wizard's cottage, I 
 mean ? " said Bertrand. 
 
124 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " N-no, not exactly singing. It was laughing, and 
 a voice calling out good-bye in a singing way," an- 
 swered Ruby. 
 
 As if in response to her words, the singing sud- 
 denly stopped, and from below their feet precisely 
 below it seemed came the sound of ringing, silvery 
 laughter, clear and unmistakable. 
 
 " Oh," cried Ruby, " come away, Bertrand. I'm 
 sure it's the mermaids, and they will catch us and kill 
 us, you'll see." 
 
 Her boasted courage had not come to much. And 
 yet there was nothing very alarming in the pretty 
 sounds they had heard. 
 
 " And what if it is the mermaids ? " said Bertrand 
 coolly. " We came out to catch them, didn't we ? 
 It's just what we wanted. Come along, Ruby. How 
 do we get to the cottage ? There seems to be a sort 
 of wall in front." 
 
 "We go round by the back," said Ruby. "It's 
 there there are the queer grottoes and little caves. 
 But you won't go far into them, will you, Bertrand? 
 For I am not at all sure but that the mermaids come 
 up from the sea through these caves ; you see they 
 do come some underground way." 
 
 Bertrand gave a sort of grunt. What Ruby said 
 only made him the more determined to explore as 
 far as he possibly could. 
 
 They entered the strange little garden I have 
 already described without further adventure. There 
 
BEGINNINGS? 125 
 
 seemed no one about, no sound of any kind broke the 
 almost unnatural stillness. 
 
 "How very quiet it is," said Ruby with a little 
 shiver. " And there's no smoke coming out of the 
 chimney there was the last time, for there was a 
 good fire in the kitchen where old Adam was." 
 
 And as she said this there came over her the 
 remembrance of the kind old man's gentle hospitality 
 and interest in them. Why had she taken such a 
 hatred to Winfried and his grandfather, especially 
 since Bertrand's arrival? She could not have given 
 any real reason. 
 
 " I hope he isn't very ill or dead" she said, 
 dropping her voice. " And Winfried locked up and 
 not able to get to him. It would be our fault, Ber- 
 trand." 
 
 "Nonsense," said Bertrand roughly, with his usual 
 scornful contempt of any softer feelings. " He's 
 fallen asleep over his pipe and glass of grog. I dare 
 say he drinks lots of grog -those fellows always do." 
 
 " I'm sure he doesn't," contradicted Ruby, feeling 
 angry with herself as well as Bertrand. " Let's go 
 to the window and peep in before we look at the 
 caves." 
 
 She ran round to the front, followed by her cousin, 
 taking care to make as little sound as possible. She 
 remembered on which side of the door was the 
 kitchen, and softly approached what she knew must 
 be its window. But how surprised she was when 
 
126 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 she looked in ! It was the kitchen ; she remembered 
 the shape of the room ; she recognised the neat little 
 fireplace, but all was completely deserted. Every 
 trace of furniture had disappeared; old Adam's large 
 chair by the hearth might never have been in exist- 
 ence, well as she remembered it. Except that it was 
 clean and swept, the room might not have been in- 
 habited for years. 
 
 Ruby turned to Bertrand, who was staring in at 
 another window. 
 
 "I say, Ruby," he whispered, u the room over here 
 is quite 
 
 " I know," she said. " So is the kitchen. They're 
 gone, Bertrand, quite gone, and we've had all our 
 trouble for nothing. It's too bad." 
 
 "They" repeated Bertrand, "you can't say they, 
 when you know that Winfried is locked up in the 
 turret-room." 
 
 " Oh," exclaimed Ruby starting, " I quite forgot. 
 He must have hidden his grandfather somewhere. 
 And yet I don't see how they could have managed 
 it so quietly. We always know when any of the 
 village people are moving their furniture ; they send 
 to borrow our carts." 
 
 " Well,' said Bertrand, " there's one thing certain. 
 If you didn't believe it before, you must now; I 
 should think even Mavis would the old fellow is a 
 wizard, and so's his precious grandson." 
 
 "Shall we go into the house?" said Ruby, though 
 she looked half afraid to do so. 
 
BEGINNINGS? 127 
 
 " Isn't the door locked ? " said Bertrand, trying it 
 as he spoke. It yielded to his touch; he went in, 
 followed, though tremblingly, by Ruby. 
 
 But after all there was little or nothing to see ; 
 the three rooms, though scrupulously clean, even the 
 windows shining bright and polished, were perfectly 
 empty. As the children strolled back to the kitchen, 
 annoyed and disappointed, feeling, to tell the truth, 
 rather small, something caught Ruby's eye in one 
 corner of the room. It was a small object, gleaming 
 bright and blue on the white stones of the floor. 
 She ran forward and picked it up, it was a tiny 
 bunch of forget-me-nots tied with a scrap of ribbon ; 
 the same large brilliant kind of forget-me-not as 
 those which she and Mavis had so admired on their 
 first visit to the now deserted cottage. She gave a 
 little cry. 
 
 " Look, Bertrand," she said, " they can't have been 
 long gone. These flowers are quite fresh. I wonder 
 where they came from. They must have been grow- 
 ing in a pot in the house, for there are none in the 
 garden. I looked as we came through." 
 
 Bertrand glanced at the flowers carelessly. 
 
 " Wizards," he began, " can " 
 
 But his sentence was never finished. For as he 
 spoke there came a sudden gust of wind down the 
 wide chimney, so loud and furious that it was as 
 startling as a clap of thunder. Then it subsided 
 again, but for a moment or two a long low wail 
 
128 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 sounded overhead, gradually dying away in the 
 distance. 
 
 "What was that?" said Bertrand. While the 
 sounds lasted both children had stood perfectly still. 
 
 " The wind of course," said Ruby. She was more 
 accustomed than her cousin to the unexpected vaga- 
 ries of the storm spirits so near the sea, still even she 
 seemed startled. " It's often like that," she was be- 
 ginning to say, but she hesitated. " It was very 
 loud," she added. 
 
 " There must be rough weather coming," said 
 Bertrand. "We'd better go home by the road, I 
 think, Ruby." 
 
 " We" exclaimed Ruby indignantly. " Do you 
 mean you and me, Bertrand? And what about 
 Mavis?" 
 
 " She can come on shore," replied the boy care- 
 lessly. "She knows where we are. It's her own 
 fault. Come along, there's nothing to wait for in 
 this empty old hole. I want you to show me the 
 caves outside." 
 
 " I'll try to signal to Mavis first," said Ruby. " I'll 
 tie my handkerchief to a stick and wave it about. 
 She can see us up here quite well, and perhaps when 
 she finds we're alone she'll come." 
 
 They left the cottage, and Ruby got out her hand- 
 kerchief. But it was small use. For just as they 
 stepped on to the rough little terrace in front from 
 whence they could clearly see the shore, there came 
 
' BetfranJlook-^wTiere is 
 -Mavis and the "boot"; can you 
 See them ? > 7. 129 
 
BEGINNINGS ? 129 
 
 another and even it seemed so at least now they 
 were standing outside -more violent blast. It was 
 all Ruby could do to keep her feet, and when she 
 recovered from the giddying effect of the wind she 
 was still breathless and shaken. And that the hurri- 
 cane was gathering strength every second was plain 
 to be seen ; the waves were dashing in excitedly, the 
 sky at one side had that strange lurid purple colour 
 which foretells great disturbance. 
 
 But it was not these things only which made 
 Ruby turn pale and shiver. 
 
 " Bertrand," she gasped, " I don't know if there's 
 something the matter with my eyes, I can't see 
 clearly Bertrand look where is Mavis Mavis 
 and the boat ; can you see them ? " 
 
 Bertrand shaded his brow with his hand and gazed. 
 
 " Ton my soul," he said, " it's very odd. / can't 
 see them. And there's not been time for Mavis to 
 have rowed out to sea or even to have drifted out ; 
 we can see right out ever so far, and there's no boat ; 
 not a sign of one." 
 
 " Can can she have landed and dragged the boat 
 ashore somehow?" said Ruby, her teeth chattering 
 with cold and fear. 
 
 "No," said Bertrand, "we'd certainly see her and 
 the boat in that case." 
 
 "Then, where is she?" cried Ruby. "Bertrand, 
 you must care. What do you think has become of 
 her?" 
 
130 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " Can't say, I'm sure," said the boy. " The boat 
 may have capsized : the sea's awfully rough now." 
 
 "Do you mean that Mavis may be drowned or 
 drowning?" screamed Ruby. She had to scream, 
 even had she been less terribly excited, for the roar 
 of wind was on them again, and her voice was 
 scarcely audible. 
 
 "I don't see that she need be drowned," said 
 Bertrand. " It's shallow. She may have crept on 
 shore, and be lying somewhere among those big 
 stones ; and if not, can't your precious wizard friends 
 look after her? She's fond enough of them." 
 
 He was partly in earnest ; but Ruby took it all 
 as cruel heartless mocking. She turned upon him 
 furiously. 
 
 "You're a brutal wicked boy," she screamed. "I 
 wish you were drowned ; I wish you had never come 
 near us ; I wish " she stopped, choked by her fury 
 and misery, and by the wind which came tearing 
 round again. 
 
 Bertrand came close to her. 
 
 " As you're so busy wishing," he called into her 
 ear, " you'd better wish you hadn't done what you 
 have done yourself. It was all you who started the 
 plan, and settled how we were to trick Winfried into 
 the turret-room ; you know you did." 
 
 " And did I plan to drown Mavis, my own darling 
 little sister ? " returned Ruby as well as she could 
 speak between her sobs and breathlessness. " Come 
 
BEGINNINGS ? 131 
 
 down to the shore with me this moment and help me 
 to look for her, if you're not altogether a cruel 
 heartless bully." 
 
 "Not I," said Bertrand, "we'd probably get 
 drowned ourselves. Just see how the waves come 
 leaping in ; they look as if they were alive. I believe 
 it's all witches' work together. I'm not going to 
 trust myself down there. Come and show me the 
 grottoes and the caves, Ruby. We may as well 
 shelter in them till the wind goes down a bit. We 
 can't do Mavis any good ; if she's on the shore she 
 can take care of herself, and if she's under the water 
 we can't reach her ; " and he caught hold of Ruby to 
 pull her along, but she tore herself from his grasp 
 with a wrench. 
 
 " You wicked, you heartless, brutal boy," she cried. 
 " I don't care if I am drowned ; I would rather be 
 drowned with Mavis than stay alive with you." 
 
 And almost before Bertrand knew what she was 
 doing, Ruby was rushing through the little garden at 
 the back of the cottage on her way to descend the 
 rough path to the shore. 
 
 He stood looking after her coolly for a moment 
 or two with his hands in his pockets. He tried to 
 whistle, but it was not very successful ; the wind 
 had the best of it. 
 
 " I don't believe Mavis has come to any harm," he 
 said aloud, though speaking to himself, and almost as 
 if trying to excuse his own conduct. " Anyway, I 
 
132 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 don't see that it's my business to look after her, it 
 was all her own obstinacy." 
 
 He kicked roughly at the pebbles at his feet, and 
 as he did so, his glance fell on a tiny speck of colour 
 just where he was kicking. It was one of the blue 
 flowers Ruby had found in the cottage. Bertrand 
 stooped and picked it up, and, strange to say, he 
 handled it gently. But as he looked at it there came 
 again to him the queer smarting pain in his eyes 
 which he had complained of in the turret-room, and 
 glancing up he became aware that the wind had 
 suddenly gone down, everything had become almost 
 unnaturally still, while a thin bluish haze seemed 
 gathering closely round where he stood. Bertrand 
 rubbed his eyes. 
 
 " There can't be smoke here," he said. " What can 
 be the matter with my eyes ? " and he rubbed them 
 impatiently. It did no good. 
 
 "No, that will do no good," said a voice. It 
 seemed quite near him. 
 
 " Look up ; " and in spite of himself the boy could 
 not help looking up. 
 
 "0A," he screamed; "0A, what is it? what is it?" 
 
 For an agony, short but indescribable, had darted 
 through his eyeballs, piercing, it seemed to him, to 
 his very brain ; and Bertrand was not in some ways 
 a cowardly boy. 
 
 There was silence, perfect, dead silence, and gradu- 
 ally the intense aching, which the short terrible pain 
 
BEGINNINGS? 133 
 
 had left, began to subside. As it did so, and Ber- 
 trand ventured to look up again, he saw that what 
 he had seen, he could not describe it better was 
 gone, the haze had disappeared, the air was again 
 clear, but far from still, for round the corner of the 
 old cottage the blast now came rushing and tearing, 
 as if infuriated at having been for a moment obliged 
 to keep back ; and with it now came the rain, such 
 rain as the inland-bred boy had never seen before 
 blinding, drenching, lashing rain, whose drops seemed 
 to cut and sting, with such force did they fall. It 
 added to his confusion and bewilderment. Like a 
 hunted animal he turned and ran, anywhere to get 
 shelter ; and soon he found himself behind the house, 
 and then the thought of the grottoes the little girls 
 had told him of returned to his mind. 
 
 " I won't go back into that witches' hole," he said 
 to himself as he glanced back at the house. "I'll 
 shelter in one of the grottoes." 
 
 As he thought this he caught sight of an opening 
 in the rockery before him. It was the entrance to 
 the very cave where Mavis had been left by Ruby. 
 Bertram! ran in ; what happened to him there you 
 shall hear in good time. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 " FORGET-ME-NOT LAND." 
 
 " A world . . . 
 Where the month is always June." 
 
 THREE WORLDS. 
 
 RUBY meanwhile was running or rather stumbling 
 down the stones. She cried and sobbed as she went ; 
 her pretty face had never, I think, looked so woebe- 
 gone and forlorn ; for it was new to her to be really 
 distressed or anxious about anything. 
 
 "Mavis, Mavis," she called out every now and 
 then, " are you there, darling? can't you answer? " as 
 if, even had the wind been less wildly raging, Mavis 
 could possibly have heard her so far off. 
 
 And before long Ruby was obliged to stop for a 
 moment to gather strength and breath. The wind 
 seemed to increase every minute. She turned her 
 back to it for a second ; the relief was immense ; and 
 just then she noticed that she was still clutching the 
 little bunch of flowers she had picked up. They 
 made her begin to cry again. 
 
 " Mavis loves them so," she thought, and her mem- 
 ory went back to the happy peaceful afternoon they 
 had spent with old Adam and his grandson. How 
 
 134 
 
"FORGET-ME-NOT LAND." 135 
 
 kind they were, and how nice the cakes were that 
 Winfriecl had made for them himself I 
 
 "Oh," thought Ruby, " I wish Bertrand had never 
 come! It's all " but there she hesitated. There 
 had been truth in her cousin's mean reproach, that 
 the mischief and the cruel tricks they had planned 
 had been first thought of by her. And Ruby knew, 
 too, in her heart, that she had not been gentle or 
 unselfish or kind long before she had ever seen 
 Bertrand. She had not been so actively naughty 
 because she had had no chance of being so, as it 
 were. The coming together of the two selfish, un- 
 feeling natures had been like the meeting of the flint 
 and steel, setting loose the hidden fire. 
 
 And besides this, for Bertrand there might have 
 been some excuse ; he had been neglected and yet 
 spoilt ; he had never known what it was truly to 
 love any one, whereas Ruby had lived in love all her 
 life ; and this was her return for it. 
 
 " I have killed my little Mavis," she sobbed. 
 " Yes, it has been all me. We needn't have minded 
 Bertrand ; he couldn't have made me naughty if I 
 hadn't let him. Oh, Mavis, Mavis, whatever shall I 
 do?" 
 
 Her glance fell again on the flowers in her hand. 
 They were not the least withered or spoilt, but as 
 fresh as if just newly gathered. They seemed to 
 smile up at her, and she felt somehow comforted. 
 
 " Dear little flowers," she said. Seldom in her life 
 
136 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 had Ruby spoken so tenderly. She started, as close 
 beside her she heard a faint sigh. 
 
 " Ruby," said a voice, " can you hear me ? " 
 
 "Yes,'* said the little girl, beginning to tremble. 
 
 " But you cannot see me ? and yet I am here, close 
 to you, as I have often been before. Try Ruby, try 
 to see me." 
 
 " Are are you a mermaid, or a that other 
 thing ? " asked the child. 
 
 There came a little laugh, scarcely a laugh, then 
 the sigh again. 
 
 " If you could see me you would know how foolish 
 you are," said the voice. " But I must have patience 
 it will come your eyes are not strong, Ruby ; 
 they are not even as strong as Bertrand's." 
 
 " Yes, they are," said Ruby indignantly. " I've 
 never had sore eyes in my life, and Bertrand's have 
 hurt him several times lately." 
 
 " I know ; so much the better for him," was the 
 reply. " Well, good-bye for the present, Ruby. Go 
 on to look for Mavis; you must face it all there, 
 the rain is coming now. Ah ! " 
 
 And with this, which sounded like a long sigh, the 
 voice seemed to waft itself away, and down came the 
 rain. The same swirl which had been too much for 
 sturdy Bertrand was upon Ruby now, standing, too, 
 in a far more exposed place, with no shelter near, 
 and the rough rocky path before her. She did not 
 stand long ; she turned again and began to descend, 
 
" FORGET-ME-NOT LAND." 137 
 
 stumbling, slipping, blinded by the rain, dashed and 
 knocked about by the wind. 
 
 " She might have helped me, whoever she was that 
 spoke to me," sobbed Ruby. " It isn't my fault if I 
 can't see creatures like that. I'm not good enough, 
 I suppose." 
 
 As she said these last words, or thought them, 
 rather, a queer little thrill passed through her, and 
 something, in spite of herself, make her look up. 
 Was it no, it could not be she had suddenly 
 thought a gleam of sunshine and blue sky had 
 flashed on her sight; but no, the storm was too 
 furious. " Yet still, I did," thought Ruby, "I did see 
 something bright and blue, as if two of my little 
 flowers had got up there and were looking down on 
 me." 
 
 She glanced at her hand ; the forget-me-nots were 
 gone! 
 
 " I must have dropped them," she said. " Oh dear, 
 dear ! " 
 
 And yet as she struggled on again she did not feel 
 quite so miserable. 
 
 Yet it was terribly hard work, and every moment 
 her anxiety about Mavis increased ; Ruby had never 
 felt so much in all her life. 
 
 " Who could it be that spoke to me so strangely ? " 
 she asked herself over and over again. " And what 
 can I do to be able to see her? I wonder if Mavis 
 has seen her, I wonder " and suddenly there came 
 
138 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 into her mind the remembrance of Miss Hortensia's 
 long-ago story of the vision in the west turret. 
 
 " There was something about forget-me-nots in it," 
 she thought dreamily. "Could it have been true?" 
 
 How she had mocked at the story ! 
 
 She had at last reached the shore by this time. 
 The rain still fell in pitiless torrents, but the wind 
 had fallen a little, and down here she seemed rather 
 less exposed than on the face of the cliffs. Still 
 Ruby was completely drenched through ; never before 
 had she had any conception of the misery to which 
 some of our poor fellow-creatures are exposed to 
 almost every day of their lives. And yet, her fears 
 for Mavis overmastered all her other sufferings ; for 
 the first time Ruby thought of another more than of 
 herself. 
 
 " Mavis, dear little Mavis, Mavis darling, where 
 are you ? " she sobbed wildly, her teeth chattering, 
 while terrible shivers shook her from head to foot. 
 " Oh, it can't be that she is under those dreadful, 
 fierce, leaping waves. They look as if they were 
 dancing in cruel joy over something they had got;" 
 and a shudder worse than those caused by the cold 
 went through the poor child. 
 
 "Mavis," she called out at last, after she had 
 peered round about every large stone, every corner 
 where her sister could possibly have tried to find 
 shelter, without coming upon the slightest trace of 
 either the child or the boat, " you must be in the sea. 
 
"FORGET-ME-NOT LAND.'' 139 
 
 I'll go after you ; it doesn't matter if I am drowned 
 if you are. Perhaps perhaps the mermaids are 
 keeping you safe ; there are kind ones among them 
 it says in the fairy stories." 
 
 And she turned resolutely to the water. It was 
 cold, icily cold as it touched first her feet, then her 
 ankles, then crept up to her knees ; it seemed to 
 catch her breath even before it was at all deep. 
 Ruby felt her powers going and her senses failing. 
 
 " I shall never be able to find Mavis even if she is 
 under the sea," she thought to herself, just as a huge 
 wave caught her in its rolling clutch, and she knew 
 no more. 
 
 It seemed as if time beyond counting, years, cen- 
 turies had passed when Ruby came to her senses 
 again, enough to know that she was herself, gradu- 
 ally to remember that once, long ago, there had been 
 a little girl called Ruby, somewhere, somehow, and 
 that some one dear, most dear to her, had been in 
 awful danger from which she had tried to rescue her. 
 And through all the long mist, through all the dream 
 wanderings of her spirit, in which maybe it had 
 been learning lessons, the fruit of which remained, 
 though the teachings themselves were forgotten, 
 for who knows, who can limit what we do learn in 
 these mysterious ways ? Ruby's guardian angel must 
 have rejoiced to see that the thought of her sister, 
 not herself, was uppermost. 
 
 " Mavis," was the first word she whispered ; 
 
140 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " Mavis, are you alive ? Are you not drowned, 
 darling? But it was such a very long time ago. 
 Perhaps the world is finished. But Mavis I 
 thought Mavis was dead; and, oh ! who are you? " she 
 ended with a thrill which seemed to make her quite 
 alive and awake. " Are you the fairy in the turret? 
 And what are you doing to my eyes ? " 
 
 She sat up and rubbed them. There was the 
 strangest feeling in them not pain now ; indeed it 
 was, though strange, a beautiful feeling. They felt 
 drawn upwards, upwards to something or some one, 
 and a new light and strength seemed to fill them, 
 light and strength and colour such as Ruby had 
 never before even imagined. And the some one 
 yes, it was the lovely gracious figure, with the ex- 
 quisite never-, once seen, to-be-forgotten eyes, of 
 Winfried's princess. Ruby saw her at last ! 
 
 A smile overspread the sweet face ; the blue eyes 
 shone with gladness. 
 
 " How often I have hoped for this," she murmured. 
 " No, Ruby, you will never 'know how often. Dar- 
 ling, shut your eyes, you must not strain them ; shut 
 your eyes and think of Mavis, and trust yourself 
 to me." 
 
 Ruby obeyed ; she had not even looked round to 
 see where she was ; she only felt that she was lying 
 on something soft and warm and dry ; oh, how nice 
 it was to feel dry again. For now the distant, long- 
 ago sensation began to fade, and she remembered 
 
141 
 
 everything clearly as if it had happened, say, yesterday 
 or the day before at farthest. The naughty mischief 
 she and Bertrand had been planning, the strange 
 little boat, the deserted cottage, the hurricane, and the 
 misery about Mavis, the plunge in search of her 
 into the sea, even to the loss of the forget-me-nots, 
 which had been her only comfort, all came back ; 
 and with it a wonderful delightful feeling of hope 
 and peace and trust, such as she had never known 
 before. She gave herself up to the kind strong arms 
 that clasped her round. " She will take me to Ma- 
 vis," she thought ; " and oh, I will try never, never 
 to be selfish and unkind and naughty again." 
 
 Then, -still wrapped in the soft warm mantle or rug 
 she had felt herself lying upon, she was lifted up- 
 wards, upwards still, she knew not and cared not 
 whither, for Ruby's eyes were closed and she was fast 
 asleep, and this time her sleep was dreamless. 
 
 " Ruby, my own little Ruby," were the first words 
 she heard. They awoke her as nothing else would 
 have done. 
 
 " Mavis," she whispered. 
 
 Yes, it was Mavis. She was leaning over the 
 couch on which Ruby lay. Never had Ruby seen 
 her so bright and sweet and happy-looking. 
 
 " Mavis," Ruby repeated. " And you weren't 
 drowned, darling ? At least ; " and as she raised her- 
 self a little she looked round her doubtfully, "at 
 least, not unless this is heaven? It looks like it 
 
142 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 only," with a deep sigh, " it can't be, for if it were, / 
 shouldn't be in it." 
 
 " No, darling, it isn't heaven, but it's a beautiful 
 place, and I think it must be a little on the way 
 there. It's one of the homes of our princess ; she 
 won't tell me the name, but I call it Forget-me-not 
 Land. Isn't that a good name ? Look all about, Ruby s " 
 
 They were in a little arbour, in one corner of what 
 one would have called a garden, except that gardens 
 are usually enclosed. They don't stretch as far as 
 the eyes can see, which was the case here. A soft 
 clear yet not dazzling or glaring light was over 
 everything, yet there was no sun visible in the sky. 
 And as Ruby gazed and gazed she began to feel that 
 there were differences between this garden and any 
 others she had ever seen. One of these Mavis 
 pointed out to her. 
 
 " Do }^ou see, Ruby," she said, " that all the flow- 
 ers in this garden are our wild flowers, though they 
 are such beauties?" She stooped to gather one or 
 two blossoms growing close beside her as she spoke. 
 " See, here are the same kind of forget-me-nots that 
 were at the old cottage, and that we found so 
 strangely on the castle terrace. And here are vio- 
 lets and primroses and snowdrops, all the spring 
 flowers ; and the summer ones too, honeysuckle and 
 dog-roses ; and even the tiny common ones, butter- 
 cups and daisies, and celandine and pimpernel, and 
 eye-bright and shepherd's-purse, and and " 
 
"FORGET-ME-NOT LAND." 143 
 
 " But you're mixing them all up together," said 
 Ruby. " They don't all come at the same time of 
 year." 
 
 " Yes, they do here" said Mavis. " That's the 
 wonder. I found it out for myself almost immedi- 
 ately, and the princess was so pleased I did. I think 
 this garden is a sort of nursery for wild flowers ; you 
 see up where we live there are no gardens or garden- 
 ers for them." 
 
 " Up ! " said Ruby, " are we down below the 
 world ? Are we out of the world ? " 
 
 Mavis smiled. 
 
 " I don't know," she said. " It may be up or it 
 may be down. It doesn't matter. The princess says 
 we may call it fairyland if we like. And fancy, 
 Ruby, old Adam is the gardener here." 
 
 A shadow passed over Ruby's face. 
 
 " Don't be frightened, dear. He knew you were 
 coming, and he's as kind as kind. We're to have 
 supper at his cottage before we go home." 
 
 " Oh," said Ruby disappointed, " then we are to go 
 home?" 
 
 " Oh yes," Mavis explained, " it wouldn't do for 
 us to stay always here. But I think we may come 
 back again sometimes. Adam has been often here, 
 ever since he was a boy, he told me. And now he's 
 going to stay always, till it's time for him to go 
 somewhere else, he says. It was too cold and rough 
 for him up by the sea now he is so old." 
 
144 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " And about Winfried ? " asked Ruby, growing 
 very red. 
 
 Mavis laughed joyously. 
 
 " Winfried," she cried, " why, he was here already 
 when I came ; the boat went down, down with me, 
 Ruby, when the great waves rolled over it and me. 
 I was frightened, just for a minute, and then it was 
 all right, and the princess and Winfried lifted me 
 out." 
 
 " How many days ago was it ? " asked Ruby. 
 
 Mavis shook her head. 
 
 " I don't know that either ; perhaps it's not days at 
 all here. I've never thought about it. But cousin 
 Hortensia won't be frightened. The princess told 
 me that. Winfried will take us home. He can't 
 stay here either ; he's got work to do somewhere, 
 and he can only come back sometimes. There, Ruby 
 look there he comes ; do you see him coming 
 up that little hill ? He'll be here in a few min- 
 utes." 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 DOWN THE WELL. 
 
 " Blue-bells the news are spreading, 
 
 King-a-ting, ting, ting, ting ! 
 All the flowers have voices, 
 
 Lovely the songs that they sing ; 
 How the blue-bell rejoices, 
 
 Ting-a-ring, ting, ting, ting ! " 
 
 RUBY shrank back a little. 
 
 " I don't want to see Winfried," she said, " after all 
 we did. And, oh Mavis, I must be in such a mess 
 my clothes were all soaked in the sea." 
 
 " No, they weren't," said Mavis, laughing; "at least 
 if they were they've come right again. Stand up, 
 Ruby, and shake yourself, and look at yourself. 
 There now, did you ever look neater or nicer in your 
 life?" 
 
 Ruby stood up and looked at herself as Mavis 
 advised her. 
 
 " Is this my own frock ? " she said. " No, it can't 
 be. See, Mavis, it's all beautifully embroidered with 
 forget-me-nots ! And what lovely blue ribbon my 
 hair is tied with ; and my hands are so white and 
 clean Mavis, did the princess dress me while I 
 was asleep?" 
 
 145 
 
146 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 Mavis nodded her head sagely. 
 
 " Something like it," she said. 
 
 " And oh," continued Ruby, " your frock is just 
 the same, and your ribbons and all. Hoiv nice you 
 look, Mavis ! Is the princess here ? I should so like 
 her to see us." 
 
 " She's not here to-day," said Mavis. " She's away 
 somewhere I'm not sure," she added in a lower 
 voice, " but that it's about Bertrand." 
 
 Ruby gave a sort of shiver. 
 
 "Oh Mavis!" she said, u he was so cruel and so 
 heartless, and I was so miserable. I do hope the 
 princess will make him go quite away." 
 
 " Or if he was to be quite changed," said Mavis. 
 
 " No, no. I don't want him. I only want you, 
 my darling little Mavis, and we shall be so happy - 
 much, much happier than we have ever been. Kiss 
 me, Mavis, and tell me you quite forgive me, and if 
 ever I am naughty or horrid again, I hope the prin- 
 cess will punish me." 
 
 " She won't let you forget her anyway," said 
 Mavis. " I think that is how she punishes." 
 
 Ruby looked rather puzzled ; but before she could 
 ask more they heard Winfried's whistle, and in a 
 moment he appeared. His face was all one smile 
 all Ruby's fears and misgivings faded away before it. 
 
 " Grandfather is waiting for you," he said. "There 
 are some cakes, Miss Ruby, that you will find even 
 better than those others. For everything is better 
 here, you see." 
 
DOWN THE WELL. 147 
 
 " How lovely it must all be," said Ruby, with a 
 little sigh. " Aren't you sorry, Winfried, that you 
 can't stay here altogether ? Mavis says you have to 
 go away to work." 
 
 "Of course," said Winfried cheerily. "It would 
 never do, young as I am, not to work. And we 
 shouldn't enjoy this half as much if we had it always 
 - it's the rest and refreshment after common life 
 that makes half the happiness. It's different for 
 gran he's done his part, none better, and now his 
 work should be light. I'm thankful to know he's 
 safe here. Now we had better go down that little 
 hill is the way to his cottage." 
 
 Children, you have perhaps never been in fairy- 
 land, nor, for that matter, have I been there either. 
 But I have had glimpses of it a good many times in 
 my life, and so I hope have you. And these glimpses, 
 do you know, become more frequent and are less 
 fleeting as one grows older. I, at least, find it so. 
 Is not that something to look forward to ? Though, 
 after all, this sweet country to which our three little 
 friends, thanks to the beautiful princess, had found 
 their way, was scarcely the dream region which we 
 think of as fairyland; it was better described by 
 little Mavis's own name for the nameless garden 
 " Forget-me-not Land " ; for once having entered 
 there, no one can lose the remembrance of it, any 
 more than once having looked into her eyes one can 
 forget Princess Forget-me-not herself. 
 
148 THE CHILDKEX OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 But it would be difficult to describe this magic 
 land ; I must leave a good deal of it to that kind of 
 fancy which comes nearer truth than clumsy words. 
 Though, as it is nice to be told all that can be told 
 of the sweetest and most beautiful things, I will try 
 to tell you a little of what Ruby and Mavis saw. 
 
 It might not have seemed such a lovely place to 
 everybody, perhaps. Time had been even when 
 Ruby herself might not have thought it so ; for this 
 garden-land was not a gorgeous place ; it was just 
 sweet and restful. As 1 told you, all the flowers 
 were wild flowers ; but that gives you no idea of 
 what they looked like, for they were carefully tended 
 and arranged, growing in great masses together in a 
 way we never see, except sometimes in spring when 
 the primroses almost hide the ground where they 
 grow, or at mid-summer when a rich luxuriance of 
 dog-roses and honeysuckle makes it seem as if they 
 had been " planted on purpose," as children say. All 
 along the grassy paths where Winfried led them, 
 every step made the little girls exclaim in new 
 admiration. 
 
 " Oh see, Ruby, there is a whole bank of ' ragged 
 Robin.' I could not have believed it would look so 
 beautiful ; and there look at those masses of ' sweet 
 Cicely,' just like snowflakes. And in our fields it 
 is such a poor frightened little weed of a flower you 
 scarcely notice it," said Mavis. 
 
 " But it's lovely if you look into it closely," said 
 

 
 a rnomerjf ,' jaid the 
 a.n3 lisfen -"hush- there 
 
DOWN THE WELL. 149 
 
 Winfried. " Some of the very tiniest flowers are 
 really the most beautiful." 
 
 Then they came in sight of a stretch of hair-bells 
 white and blue- the kind that in some places are 
 called " blue-bells." 
 
 " Stop a moment," said the boy. " Stop and listen 
 hush there now, do you hear them ringing? 
 That is a sound you can never hear in anywhere 
 but here." 
 
 They listened with all their ears, you may be sure. 
 Yes, as they grew accustomed to the exceeding still- 
 ness, to the clear thin fineness of the air, they heard 
 the softest, sweetest tinkle you can imagine ; a per- 
 fect fairy bell-ringing, and the longer they listened 
 the clearer it grew. 
 
 "Oh, how wonderful ! " said Mavis. 
 
 And Ruby added, " I should think if we lived long 
 enough in this country we should end by hearing the 
 grass growing." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Winfried. 
 
 "But don't you miss the sea things? " Ruby went 
 on. " You love them so, Winfried, and somehow 
 you seem to belong to the sea." 
 
 " So I do," the boy replied. " The sea is my life. 
 Coming here is only a rest and a holiday." 
 
 " I wonder," said Mavis, " I wonder if there is a 
 garden country for the sea to match this for the land. 
 A place where seaweeds and corals and all the 
 loveliest sea things are taken care of, like the wild 
 flowers here ? " 
 
150 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " You may be sure there is," said the fisher-boy, 
 smiling. " There is no saying what the princess 
 won't have to show us, and where she won't take us 
 now she has us in hand. Why, only to look into 
 her eyes, you can see it they seem to reach to 
 everywhere ; everywhere and everything beautiful 
 seems in them." 
 
 " You have seen farther into them than we have," 
 said Mavis thoughtfully. " But still I think I can 
 understand what you mean." 
 
 " So can I, a very little," said Ruby. " But they 
 are rather frightening too, don't you think ? " 
 
 " They must be at first," said Winfried. 
 
 But just then, a little way off, they caught sight 
 of old Adam coming to meet them. His cottage was 
 close by; they came upon it suddenly, for it stood 
 half-hidden under the shelter of the hill they had 
 been descending. Such a lovely cottage it was so 
 simple, yet so pretty ; quite clean, with a cleanness 
 you never see out of fairyland or places of that kind, 
 with flowers of all kinds, forget-me-nots above all, 
 clustering about it and peeping in at the windows. 
 
 Adam welcomed his little guests as kindly as if 
 no unkind thought of him had ever entered Ruby's 
 head ; he made no difference between her and Mavis, 
 and I think this caused Ruby to feel more sorry than 
 anything could have done. 
 
 If they had been happy that afternoon in the 
 cottage by the sea, you can fancy how happy they 
 
DOWN THE WELL. 151 
 
 were in this wonderful new fairy home of the good 
 old man's. There was no end to the things he had 
 to show them and teach them, mostly, I think, about 
 flowers ; things they had never dreamt of, beauties 
 of form and colour such as it would be impossible for 
 me to describe. And each time they came to see 
 him he promised to show and teach them still more. 
 But at last Winfried said they must be going. 
 
 " I promised the princess," he said, for now he 
 spoke of her quite openly to the children, "that I 
 would take you home by the time the sun sets beside 
 the castle, and it must be near that now." 
 
 " And how are we to go home ? " asked Ruby. 
 
 " The boat is ready," Winfried answered. 
 
 " But where's the sea for it to sail on ? " whispered 
 Ruby to Mavis. She had not the courage to ask 
 Winfried any more. 
 
 " W^ait and see," said Mavis. " I don't know, but 
 it is sure to be all right." 
 
 Then they bade Adam farewell, promising to come 
 to visit him again whenever they should be allowed 
 to do so and rather wondering where Winfried 
 was going to take them, they set off. 
 
 There was some reason for Ruby's question, for 
 so far they had seen no water at all in Forget-me-not 
 Land. Everything seemed fresh and fragrant, as if 
 there was no dearth of moisture, bat there was 
 neither lake, nor pond, nor running brook. Win- 
 fried mounted the hill a little way, then turning 
 
152 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 sharply, they found themselves in a sort of small 
 wooded ravine or glen. Steps led down the steep 
 sides to the bottom, which was a perfect thicket of 
 ferns, mostly of the deep green delicate kind, which 
 loves darkness and water. 
 
 Win fried stooped and lifted, by a ring fixed into 
 it, a heavy stone. 
 
 " You won't be frightened," he said. " This is the 
 way. We have to go down the well. I'll go first; 
 you'll find it quite easy." 
 
 It scarcely looked so, for it was very dark. Win- 
 fried stepped in there was a ladder against the side 
 and soon disappeared, all but his head, then Mavis, 
 and lastly, trembling a little it must be confessed, 
 Ruby. As soon as they were all inside, the stone lid 
 shut itself down ; but instead, as one might have 
 expected, of this leaving them in darkness, a clear 
 almost bright light shone upwards as if a large lamp 
 had been lighted at the foot of the well, and without 
 difficulty the children made their way down the ladder. 
 
 " That's very nice," said Ruby. " I was so afraid 
 we were going to be in the dark." 
 
 " Were you, dear ? " said a voice whose sweet tones 
 were not strange to her. " No fear of that when I 
 have to do with things. Jump, that's right; here 
 you are, and you too, Mavis." 
 
 The princess was standing in the boat, for the 
 "well" widened out at one side into a little stream 
 large enough to row along. 
 
DOWN THE WELL. 153 
 
 " The brook takes us to the river, and the river to 
 the sea; that is your way home," she said. "Win- 
 fried will row, and you two shall nestle up to me." 
 
 She put an arm round each, and in silence, save 
 for the gentle drip of the oars, the little boat made its 
 way. It was a still evening, not yet dark, though 
 growing dusk, and though they were back in the 
 winter world by now the children felt no cold who 
 could have felt cold with the princess's mantle round 
 them ? They grew sleepy, too sleepy to notice how, 
 as she had said, the brook turned into the river, and 
 the river led on to the sea, the familiar sea, not more 
 than a mile or two from the cove below the castle. 
 
 And it was only when the boat grated a little on 
 the pebbly shore that both Ruby and Mavis started 
 up to find themselves alone with Winfried. The 
 princess had left them. 
 
 " I will go up to the door with you," said the boy. 
 " Miss Hortensia is expecting you. See, there she is 
 standing under the archway with a lantern." 
 
 " My darlings," said their cousin. " So Winfried 
 has brought you safe home." 
 
 "And I must hurry back," said the fisher-lad. 
 And almost before they could thank him or say good- 
 night, he had disappeared again in the fast-gathering 
 gloom. 
 
 It seemed to the children as Miss Hortensia kissed 
 them that years had passed since they had seen her 
 or their home. 
 
154 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " Haven't you been dreadfully lonely without us 
 all this time, dear cousin ? " said Mavis. 
 
 " No, dears, not particularly so. It is a little later 
 than usual, but when Winfried ran back to tell me 
 he would bring you safe home, he said it might 
 be so." 
 
 " Was it only this afternoon we went ? " said Ruby 
 wonderingly. 
 
 Miss Hortensia looked at her anxiously. 
 
 " My dear, are you very tired ? You seem half 
 asleep." 
 
 " I am rather sleepy," said Ruby. " Please may 
 we go to bed at once." 
 
 " Certainly. I will tell Ulrica to take your supper 
 upstairs. I do hope you haven't caught cold. We 
 must shut the door ; " for they were standing all this 
 time at the entrance under the archway. " Bertrand 
 is behind you, I suppose ? " 
 
 The little girls looked at each other. 
 
 " We have not seen him for ever so long," they 
 replied. 
 
 " He would not stay with me," said Ruby. 
 
 " I thought perhaps we should find him here," said 
 Mavis. 
 
 Miss Hortensia looked more annoyed than anxious. 
 
 " I suppose he will find his way back before long," 
 she said. " Bad pennies always turn up. But he is a 
 most troublesome boy. I wish I had asked Winfried 
 what to do " 
 
DOWN THE WELL. 155 
 
 " I don't think lie could have done anything," said 
 Mavis. "But I'm sure Bertrand is safe. What's 
 the matter, Ulrica ? " 
 
 For at that moment they were on their way 
 upstairs by this time the young maid-servant came 
 flying to me'et them, her face pale, her eyes gleaming 
 with fear. 
 
 " Oh," she cried, " I am glad the young ladies are 
 safe back. Martin has seen the blue light in the west 
 turret ; he was coming from the village a few minutes 
 ago, and something made him look up. It is many 
 and many a year since it has been seen, not since the 
 young ladies were babies, and it always - 
 
 " Stop, Ulrica," said Miss Hortensia sharply. " It 
 is very wrong of you to come startling us in that 
 wild way, and the young ladies so tired as you see. 
 Call Bertha and Joseph. You take the children to 
 their room, and see that they are warm and comfort- 
 able. I will myself go up to the west turret with 
 the others and put a stop to these idle tales." 
 
 But Ruby and Mavis pressed forward. A strange 
 thought had struck them both. 
 
 " Oh cousin, let us go too," they said. " We are 
 not a bit frightened." 
 
 So when old Joseph and Bertha had joined them, 
 the whole party set off for the turret. 
 
 As they got near to the top of the stair, a slight 
 sound made them all start. 
 
 " Hush ! " said Miss Hortensia. They stood in 
 
156 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 perfect silence. It came again a murmur of faint 
 sobs and weeping. Ulrica grew whiter and whiter. 
 " I told you so," she began, but no one listened. 
 They all pressed on, Miss Hortensia the first. 
 
 When she opened the door it was, except for the 
 lamp she held in her hand, upon total darkness. 
 But in one corner was heard a sort of convulsive 
 breathing, and then a voice. 
 
 " Who's there ? Who's there ? Oh the pain, the 
 cruel pain ! " 
 
 And there lying on the same little couch-bed 
 on which years and years ago Miss Hortensia had 
 slept and dreamt of the lovely fairy lady was 
 Bertrand weeping and moaning, utterly broken 
 down . 
 
 But he turned away sullenly from Miss Hortensia 
 when she leant over him in concern and pity; he 
 would not look at Ruby either, and it was not till 
 after some moments had passed that they at last 
 heard him whisper. 
 
 " Mavis, I want to speak to Mavis. Go away 
 everybody. I only want Mavis." 
 
 They all looked at each other in mute astonish- 
 ment. They thought he was wandering in his mind. 
 But no, he kept to the same idea. 
 
 "Mavis," he repeated, "come here and give me 
 your hand. I can't see you. Oh the pain, the pain ! " 
 
 Then Mavis came forward, and the others drew 
 back in a group to the door. 
 
DOWN THE WELL. 157 
 
 " Try and find out what it is ; surely it is not 
 another naughty trick that he is playing," said Miss 
 Hortensia anxiously. 
 
 "No, no. I am sure it isn't. Don't be afraid, 
 dear cousin," said the little girl. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 OPENED EYES. 
 
 " The world that only thy spirit knows 
 Is the fairest world of the three." 
 
 THREE WORLDS. 
 
 " MAVIS," whispered Bertram!, when he was sure 
 the others were out of earshot, " you can understand ; 
 they would think I was mad. Listen stoop down 
 it is she. You know who I mean. She made me 
 see her, and oh, the pain is too awful. It isn't only 
 in my eyes, it goes down into my heart somehow. 
 What shall I do? Can't you make her come to 
 take it away ? I've been crying and crying to her, 
 but she won't." 
 
 " Perhaps it is that you must bear it," said Mavis. 
 " Think that way, and see if that makes it any 
 better." 
 
 The boy gasped, but did not speak. After a 
 moment or two he went on again. 
 
 " I was in the caves behind the cottage. I ran in 
 to get out of the storm, and because I didn't want to 
 go looking for you. I thought you were drowned, 
 and I didn't want to see your white face," he 
 shivered. " And I was peeping about in one of the 
 
 158 
 
ORENED EYES. 159 
 
 caves when I fell ; I don't know how or where. I 
 fell down, down, ever so far. I thought I was never 
 going to stop, and then my breath went away, and I 
 didn't know anything till I found myself in another 
 cave, all knocked about and bruised. I'm aching 
 now all over, but I don't mind that. And then, 
 Mavis, she came and looked at me." 
 
 "You saw her?" said Mavis. 
 
 " Yes oh Mavis, she made my eyes go up to hers. 
 And oh, the pain ! She didn't say anything except 
 just ' Bertrand.' But I knew all she meant, better 
 than by any speaking. And she was kind; she 
 lifted me and carried me up here. And she put 
 something on my leg; that was where I was most 
 hurt, I think. Then she sat by me here, and she 
 put it all into my mind, all the naughty things I'd 
 ever done. Mavis, I didn't know, I really didn't, 
 how bad I was. It came out of her eyes somehow, 
 though I dared not look again ; and when she went 
 away, even though I think she kissed me, the pain 
 got worse and worse. Oh Mavis, will it ever go? 
 Will my eyes ever feel the same again ? " 
 
 "No," said Mavis, "I don't think they'll ever feel 
 the same, for they'll feel much, much better than 
 they used to. The pain w r ill go, though it may come 
 back sometimes, to remind you." 
 
 "I shan't need reminding," said the boy. "I can't 
 ever forget. I'm sure of that. I wish I could ! " 
 
 " No, Bertrand, I don't think you do wish that." 
 
160 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 He gave an impatient wriggle, but without 
 speaking. 
 
 " Oh the pain," he cried again in a moment or 
 two, u and it did seem a little better." 
 
 Miss Hortensia came forward. 
 
 "Mavis, my dear, what is it? Where is he hurt? 
 And why did you hide yourself up here, Bertrand, 
 instead of coming to me ? " 
 
 Bertrand would not answer. He turned his face 
 away again. 
 
 " He's had a fall, cousin Hortensia," said Mavis. 
 " But I don't think it's very bad, he says he's only 
 bruised and sore. Bertrand, do you think you can 
 manage to get down to your own room ? " 
 
 " If you'll come at one side and Joseph at the 
 other, I'll try," said the boy, with unusual gracious- 
 ness. " And when I'm in bed, will you stay beside 
 me, Mavis? I think the pain isn't so bad when 
 you're there," he whispered, so that no one else could 
 hear. 
 
 Miss Hortensia was quick-witted. 
 
 " I will order a fire to be lighted in Bertrand's 
 room," she said ; " and if you like, Mavis, you may 
 have your supper there beside him." 
 
 She hurried away, calling Ruby to go with her. 
 It was a sign of a very different state of things with 
 Ruby that she showed, and felt, no jealousy at Ber- 
 trand's preference for her sister. 
 
 " Poor Bertrand," she said to herself softly, u per- 
 
OPENED EYES. 161 
 
 haps I made him naughtier than he would have 
 been." 
 
 The boy was more hurt than he would allow, but 
 he put great constraint on himself, and limped clown- 
 stairs with scarcely a groan. 
 
 " It's nothing compared to the other pain," he mur- 
 mured. And when he was at last safely deposited in 
 his little bed, he looked so white and pitiful that for 
 the first time Mavis stooped down and gave him a 
 loving kiss. Bertrand started. 
 
 " What is it? " said Mavis. 
 
 " I don't know," he replied. u When you kissed 
 me, the pain got worse for a moment ; it gave a great 
 stab, but now it seems better. If you'll kiss me 
 again, Mavis, the last thing when you say good- 
 night, perhaps I'll be able to go to sleep." 
 
 She stayed beside him all the rest of the evening. 
 He scarcely spoke, only groaning a little from time 
 to time. When Miss Hortensia came in to send 
 Mavis to bed, she began for the first time to feel 
 really uneasy about the boy. 
 
 " Mavis," she said, not meaning Bertrand to hear, 
 " if he isn't better to-morrow morning, we must send 
 for the doctor." 
 
 " Perhaps," said the little girl, " he could do some- 
 thing to take away the aching poor Bertrand is 
 aching all over from his fall." 
 
 " I don't mind that," said the boy suddenly. " It 
 isn't that, you know it isn't, Mavis, and I won't have 
 the doctor." 
 
162 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 Ruby, who had stolen in behind her cousin, crept 
 up to Mavis. 
 
 " Do you think," she whispered, " do you think, 
 Mavis, that he has seen her, and that that's it? " 
 
 Mavis did not answer. 
 
 " Bertrand," she said, " we are going to bed now ; 
 do you mind being left alone for the night? " 
 
 " No," he said, " I'd rather, unless it was you, and 
 you can't stay. You'd be too tired. Listen," and he 
 drew her down to him, '" do you think perhaps she'll 
 come again and take away the pain? For I am sorry 
 now I am sorry and I didn't know how bad I 
 was." 
 
 "Poor Bertrand," whispered Mavis pityingly. 
 "Perhaps she will come. Anyway, if you are 
 patient and try to think the pain has to be, I think 
 it will get better, even if it doesn't go away alto- 
 gether." 
 
 And again she kissed him. 
 
 " Mavis," said Ruby, as the two little sisters were 
 lying side by side in their white curtained beds, 
 "cousin Hortensia may not know it, and nobody 
 may know it, but /know it, and it is that years have 
 passed since we went to bed here last night." 
 
 " Yes," said Mavis. " I think so too. There are 
 some things that you can't count time for, which are 
 really far more than any time." 
 
 " All my hating of Bertrand has gone away now," 
 continued Ruby. " Only I don't want him to stay 
 
OPENED EYES. 163 
 
 here, because the naughty in him and the naughty in 
 me might get together again like it did before." 
 
 " Why don't you think of the good in him and the 
 good in you joining to make you both better ; and 
 the good in me too ? I suppose it isn't conceited to 
 think there is a little good in oneself, at least there's 
 trying to be and wanting to be," said Mavis, with a 
 little sigh. " But you're so much quicker and clev- 
 erer than I am, Ruby, I wish you would think about 
 helping me and not about being naughty. And, oh 
 Ruby, isn't it lovely to think that we may go some- 
 times to Forget-me-not Land?" 
 
 "Let's go to sleep now as quick as we can and 
 dream of it," said Ruby. 
 
 Bertrand looked still very white and ill the next 
 day. He was very quiet and subdued, and even gave 
 in to Miss Hortensia's decision that the doctor must 
 be sent for. The doctor came " and shook his head." 
 The boy was not in a satisfactory condition, which 
 they knew already as it happened, otherwise the 
 doctor would not have been sent for, he had been 
 shaken by the fall, and it was possible that his back 
 had been injured. There was not much comfort in 
 all this, certainly, but it decided one thing, that he 
 was to stay where he was for the present, not to 
 attempt to get up or to move about. And, strange 
 to say, this too Bertrand accepted uncomplainingly. 
 
 He said no word to the doctor of the strange pain 
 he had confided about to Mavis ; and though his eyes 
 
164 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 seemed sad and wearied, they had a new look in them 
 which had never been there before. Even Miss Hor- 
 tensia was moved by it, though hitherto, and rightly, 
 she had been inclined to treat Bertrand's troubles as 
 well deserved. 
 
 " Is there anything we can do for you, my poor 
 boy ? " she said kindly. 
 
 " No, thank you," he replied ; " except to let 
 Mavis come to stay beside me sometimes and 
 he hesitated, "if the fisher-boy, Winfried, comes to 
 the castle, I'd like to see him." 
 
 " Certainly," Miss Hortensia answered. " But I 
 doubt if he will come any more. I hear in the 
 village that his grandfather has gone away, quite 
 away, to a milder part of the country. I can't 
 understand it, it seems so sudden." 
 
 But Winfried did come, that very afternoon. His 
 new home was not so very far away, he told Miss 
 Hortensia with a smile. " Gran's home, that is to 
 say," he went on. " But I myself am going to have 
 a different kind of home now. I'm going to sea ; 
 I've always wished it, and gran has wished it for me." 
 
 " But won't he miss you terribly ? " asked the 
 lady. 
 
 " I'll often be with him, and he's well cared for 
 where he is," said the boy. 
 
 And then Mavis took him up to see Bertrand, 
 with whom she left him alone for some time. 
 
 There was a brighter look in the boy's face when 
 she went back to him. 
 
OPENED EYES. 165 
 
 " Winfried lias promised to come again before he 
 goes quite away," he said. " Did you know, Mavis, 
 that he is going ever so far away? He is going to 
 be a sailor, a real sailor, not a fisherman. He says 
 he has always wanted it, but he couldn't leave his 
 grandfather alone here where the village people were 
 not ' Bertrand stopped suddenly, as it struck him 
 that it was not the ignorant village people only who 
 had been unkind to good old Adam. Mavis under- 
 stood but said nothing. And after a bit Bertrand 
 went on again. 
 
 "Mavis," he said, "I've seen her again. Either I 
 saw her or I dreamt of her. I don't much mind 
 which it was, for it's all come true. She said I must 
 try to bear it, like what you said, Mavis ; and it has 
 got better. But she said it would come back again, 
 and that I'd get to want it to come back at least, 
 unless I wanted to forget her, and I don't want to do 
 that. I don't think I could, even if I tried. And 
 she kissed me my eyes, Mavis ; so you see I 
 couldn't forget her now." 
 
 " You never could, I'm sure," said Mavis ; " that's 
 what she is ; it's her name." 
 
 Bertrand threw himself back with a sigh. 
 
 " I can't feel like you," he said. " I've never 
 thought about being good, and sometimes I think I 
 won't try. Oh Mavis ! " 
 
 " Was it the pain again?" said the little girl 
 sympathisingly, though in her heart she felt inclined 
 to smile a very little. 
 
166 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " Yes," said Bertrand dolefully, " I'm afraid it will 
 take an awfully long time before I begin to get the 
 least bit good," and he sighed again still more 
 deeply. 
 
 Just then Ruby put her head in at the door. She 
 and Bertrand were not yet quite at ease with each 
 other, but she came up to his bedside very gently 
 and said she hoped he was better, to which he replied 
 meekly enough, though rather stiffly. 
 
 " Mavis," said Ruby eagerly, pleased to find some- 
 thing to talk about, " have you heard about Win- 
 fried ? about his going to be a real sailor ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Mavis. " Bertrand was talking about 
 it." 
 
 Bertrand sat up and his eyes sparkled. 
 
 " I didn't mean to tell you," he said, " but I think 
 I must. Do you know, I believe I shall be a sailor 
 too ? Papa has always wanted it since I was quite 
 little, and I shall soon be old enough to begin. But 
 I thought I wouldn't like it till I came here and saw 
 the sea ; and now Winfried's talking has made it 
 come into my mind, just the way papa said it did 
 into his when he was a boy." 
 
 Ruby glanced at him admiringly. 
 
 " How brave you are, Bertrand ! " she said, which 
 was a very foolish speech. 
 
 " No," he said with a touch of his old roughness, 
 " I'm not. It isn't that at all. Mavis, would you be 
 glad for me to be a sailor ? " 
 
OPENED EYES. 167 
 
 " If you found it the best thing for you I'd be 
 glad," said Mavis. " Sailors must see wonderful 
 and beautiful things," she went on thoughtfully. 
 
 u Perhaps you and Winfried might be sailors to- 
 gether some time," said Huby. " That would be 
 nice." 
 
 " Yes," said Bertrand. " When I got to be cap- 
 tain or something like that, I'll look him up, and 
 but he stopped abruptly. There had been a touch of 
 arrogance in his tone. 
 
 Just then Ruby ran off. Mavis was going too, 
 but Bertrand stopped her. 
 
 " Mavis," he said, " Winfried knows all about her. 
 He calls her his princess." 
 
 " I know," said Mavis. 
 
 " And," Bertrand went on, " he says he knows 
 she'll never be far away if he wants her. Even ever 
 so far away, over at the other side of the world, out 
 at sea with no land for weeks and months ; he says 
 it would be just the same, or even better. The 
 loneliness makes it easier to see her sometimes, he 
 says. I can fancy that," he went on dreamily, " her 
 eyes are a little like the sea, don't you think, 
 Mavis? " 
 
 " Like the sea when it is quite good, quite at 
 peace, loving and gentle," she replied. " But still, 
 if you had lived beside the sea as long as we have, 
 Bertrand, you'd understand that there's never a sure 
 feeling about it, you never know what it won't be 
 
168 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 doing next ; and the princess, you know, makes you 
 feel surer than sure ; that's the best of her." 
 
 " Yes," said Bertrand, " the sea's like Ruby and 
 me. Now just at this time I want more than any- 
 thing to be good, and never to be selfish or cruel, or 
 or boasting, or mischievous. But when I get 
 about again with Ruby even though she's very 
 good now, and she never was anything like as bad as 
 me I don't feel sure but what we might do each 
 other harm and forget about being good and all that ; 
 do you see ? " 
 
 " I think it's a very good thing that you do not 
 feel sure," said Mavis. But she was struck by his 
 saying just what Ruby herself had said, and it made 
 her a little anxious. 
 
 The children's new resolutions, however, were not 
 put to the test in the way they expected. Bertrand 
 quickly got well again and was able to run about in 
 his usual wa}^ But very soon after this his uncle, 
 the father of Ruby arid Mavis, came unexpectedly 
 for one of his short visits to the castle, to his little 
 daughters' great delight. And when he left he took 
 Bertrand away with him. There was more than one 
 reason for the boy's visit coming to an end so much 
 sooner than had been intended. Miss Hortensia ma}^ 
 have had something to do with it, for though she had 
 grown to like Bertrand much better during his ill- 
 ness, and no one could have been more delighted 
 than she at the improvement in him, it was not to 
 
OPENED EYES. 169 
 
 be wondered at if she trembled at continuing to have 
 the charge of him. Then, too, Bertrand confided to 
 his uncle his wish to be a sailor, in which he never 
 again wavered. 
 
 Ruby and Mavis felt sad when the travellers had 
 left them. Their father's " good-byes " were the only 
 alloy to the pleasure of his visits. And this time 
 there was Bertrand to say good-bye to also ! 
 
 " Who would have thought," said Mavis, "that we 
 should ever be sorry to see him go ? But I am glad 
 to feel sorry." 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Hortensia, " much better for him 
 to go while his present mood lasts, and we are able 
 to regret him. And maybe he will come to pay us 
 a visit again some time or other." 
 
 " I hope he will," said Mavis. " I don't think he 
 will ever again be like what he was, cousin." 
 
 "Mavis," said Ruby, when they were alone, "when 
 Bertrand does come to see us again, we must plan all 
 to go to Forget-me-not Land together. It would be 
 so nice, all four of us. Winfried will come to see 
 us again soon ; he said he would whenever he comes 
 to his grandfather; let us ask him. I am sure 
 the princess wouldn't mind now Bertrand is so 
 different." 
 
 " I am sure she wouldn't," said Mavis, smiling. 
 
 " And who knows," Ruby went on, " what lovely 
 new things and places we shan't see when we go 
 there again. Winfried says there's no end to 
 
170 THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 them, and that every time we go we'll find more to 
 see."' 
 
 " Perhaps it's because we learn to see better and 
 better," said Mavis. 
 
 And I think she was right. 
 
 THE END. 
 
A NEW UNIFORM EDITION 
 
 OF 
 
 MRS. MOLESWORTH'S 
 
 STORIES FOR CHILDREN 
 
 WITH 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS BY WALTER CRANE AND LESLIE BROOKE, 
 
 In Ten Volumes. i2mo. Cloth. One Dollar a Volume. 
 
 / Tell Me a Story, and Herr Baby. 
 
 ^"Carrots," and A Christmas Child. 
 
 $ Grandmother Dear, and Two Little Waifs. - 
 *:/ The Cuckoo Clock, and The Tapestry Room. 
 
 Christmas-Tree Land, and A Christmas Posy. 
 ' The Children of the Castle, and Four Winds Farm. 
 
 Little Miss Peggy, and Nurse Heatherdale's Story. 
 "Us," and The Rectory Children. 
 Rosy, and The Girls and I. 
 Mary. 
 
 THE SET, TEN VOLUMES, IN BOX, $10.00. 
 
 " 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 Tkc 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. A. C. SWINBURNE, 
 in The Nineteenth Century. 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., 
 
 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 
 I 
 
MRS. MOLESWORTH'S 
 STORIES FOR CHILDREN. 
 
 "There is hardly a better author to put into the hands of children than Mrs. 
 Molesworth. I cannot easily speak too highly of her work. It is a curious art she 
 has, not wholly English in its spirit, but a cross of the old English with the Italian. 
 Indeed, I should say Mrs. Molesworth had also been a close student of the German 
 and Russian, and had some way, catching and holding the spirit of all, created a 
 method and tone quite her own. . . . Her characters are admirable and real." St. 
 Louis Globe Democrat. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth has a rare gift for composing stories for children. With a 
 light, yet forcible touch, she paints sweet and artless, yet natural and strong, charac- 
 ters." Congregationalist. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth always has in her books those charming touches of nature 
 that are sure to charm small people. Her stories are so likely to have been true that 
 men ' grown up' do not disdain them." Home Journal. 
 
 " No English writer of childish stories has a better reputation than Mrs. Moles- 
 worth, and none with whose stories we are familiar deserves it better. She has a 
 motherly knowledge of the child nature, a clear sense of character, the power of 
 inventing simple incidents that interest, and the ease which comes of continuous 
 practice." Mail and Express. 
 
 " Christmas would hardly be Christmas without one of Mrs. Molesworth's stories. 
 No one has quite the same power of throwing a charm and an interest about the 
 most commonplace every-day doings as she has, and no one has ever blended fairy- 
 land and reality with the same skill." Educational Times. 
 
 "Mrs. Molesworth is justly a great favorite with children; her stories for them 
 are always charmingly interesting and healthful in tone." Boston Home Journal. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth's books are cheery, wholesome, and particularly well adapted to 
 refined life. It is safe to add that Mrs. Molesworth is the best English prose writer 
 for children. . . . A new volume from Mrs. Molesworth is always a treat." The 
 Beacon. 
 
 " No holiday season would be complete for a host of young readers without a volume 
 from the hand of Mrs. Molesworth. ... It is one of the peculiarities of Mrs. 
 Molesworth's stories that older readers can no more escape their charm than younger 
 ones." Christian Union. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworlh ranks with George Macdonald and Mrs. Evving as a writer of 
 children's stories that possess real literary merit." Milwaukee Sentinel. 
 
 THE SET, TEN VOLUMES, IN BOX, $10.00. 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., 
 
 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 
 
TELL ME A STORY, and HERR BABY. 
 
 " So delightful that we are inclined to join in the petition, and we hope she may 
 soon veil us more stories." At/ienceuin. 
 
 ' < CARROTS "; Just a Little Boy. 
 
 " One of the cleverest and most pleasing stories it has been our good fortune to 
 meet with for some time. Carrots and his sister are delightful little beings, whom to 
 read about is at once to become very fond of." Examiner. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CHILD ; A Sketch of a Boy's Life. 
 
 " A very sweet and tenderly drawn sketch, with life and reality manifest through- 
 out." Pall Hall Gazette. 
 
 " This is a capital story, well illustrated. Mrs. Molesworth is one of those sunny, 
 genial writers who has genius for writing acceptably for the young. She has the 
 happy faculty of blending enough real with romance to make her stories very practi- 
 cal for good without robbing them of any of their exciting interest." Chicago Inter- 
 Ocean. 
 
 "Mrs. Molesworth's A Christinas Child is a story of a boy-life. The book is a 
 small one, but none the less attractive. It is one of the best of this year's juveniles." 
 
 Chicago Tribune. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth is one of the few writers of tales for children whose sentiment 
 though of the sweetest kind is never sickly ; whose religious feeling is never concealed 
 yet never obtruded ; whose books are always good but never ' goody.' Little Ted 
 with his soft heart, clever head, and brave spirit is no morbid presentment of the 
 angelic child ' too good to live,' and who is certainly a nuisance on earth, but a 
 charming creature, if not a portrait, whom it is a privilege to meet even in fiction." 
 
 The Academy. 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., 
 
 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 
 
THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 
 
 " A beautiful little story. ... It will be read with delight by every child into 
 whose hands it is placed." Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 GRANDMOTHER DEAR. 
 
 " The author's concern is with the development of character, and seldom does one 
 meet with the wisdom, tact, and good breeding which pervades this little book." 
 Nation. 
 
 TWO LITTLE WAIFS. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth's delightful story of Two Little IVaifs will charm all the small 
 people who find it in their stockings. It relates the adventures of two lovable Eng- 
 lish children lost in Paris, and is just wonderful enough to pleasantly wring the youth- 
 ful heart." New York Tribune. 
 
 " It is, in its way. indeed, a little classic, of which the real beauty and pathos can 
 hardly be appreciated by young people. ... It is not too much to say of the story 
 that it is perfect of its kind." Critic and Good Literature. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth is such a bright, cheery writer, that her stories are always 
 acceptable lo all who are not confirmed cynics, and her record of the adventures of 
 the little waifs is as entertaining and enjoyable as we might expect." Boston 
 Courier. 
 
 " Two Little Waifs by Mrs. Molesworth is a pretty little fancy, relating the adven- 
 tures of a pair of lost children, in a style full of simple charm. It is among the very 
 daintiest of juvenile books that the season has yet called forth ; and its pathos and 
 humor are equally delightful. The refined tone and the tender sympathy with the 
 feelings and sentiments of childhood, lend it a special and an abiding charm." Bos- 
 ton Saturday Evening Gazette. 
 
 " This is a charming little juvenile story from the pen of Mrs. Molesworth, 
 detailing the various adventures of a couple of motherless children in searching for 
 their father, whom they had missed in Paris where they had gone to meet him." 
 Montreal Star. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth is a popular name, not only with a host of English, but with a 
 considerable army of young Americrm readers, who have been charmed by her deli- 
 cate fancy and won by the interest of her style. Two Little Waifs, illustrated by 
 Walter Crane, is a delightful story, which comes, as all children's stories ought to do, 
 to a delightful end." CJiristian Union. 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., 
 
 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 
 4 
 
THE TAPESTRY ROOM. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth is the queen of children's fairy-land. She knows how to make 
 use of the vague, fresh, wondering instincts of childhood, and to invest familiar 
 things with fairy glamour." Athenceum. 
 
 " The story told is a charming one of what may be called the neo-fairy sort. . . . 
 There has been nothing better of its kind done anywhere for children, whether we 
 consider its capacity to awake interest or its wholesomeness." Evening Post. 
 
 " Among the books for young people we have seen nothing more unique than The 
 Tapestry Room. Like all of Mrs. Molesworth's stories it will please young readers 
 by the very attractive and charming style in which it is written." Presbyterian 
 Journal. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth will be remembered as a writer of very pleasing stories for 
 children. A new book from her pen will be sure of a welcome from all the young 
 people. The new story bears the name of The Tapestry Room and is a child's 
 romance. . . . The child who comes into possession of the story will count himself 
 fortunate. It is a bright, wholesome story, in which the interest is maintained to 
 the end. The author has the faculty of adapting herself to the tastes and ideas of 
 her readers in an unusual way." New Haven Paladium, 
 
 CHRISTMAS-TREE LAND. 
 
 " It is conceived after a happy fancy, as it relates the supposititious journey of a 
 party of little ones through that part of fairy-land where Christmas-trees are sup- 
 posed to most abound. There is just enough of the old-fashioned fancy about fairies 
 mingled with the 'modern improveme Us ' to incite and stimulate the youthful 
 imagination to healthful action. The pi.tures by Walter Crane are, of course, not 
 only well executed in themselves, but in charming consonance with the spirit of the 
 tale." Troy Times. 
 
 " Christmas-Tree Land, by Mrs. Molesworth, is a book to make younger readers 
 open their eyes wide with delight. A little boy and a little girl domiciled in a great 
 white castle, wander on their holidays through the surrounding fir-forests, and meet 
 with the most delightful pleasures. There is a fascinating, mysterious character in 
 their adventures and enough of the fairy-like and wonderful to puzzle and enchant all 
 the little ones." Boston Home Joiirnal. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS POSY. 
 
 " This is a collection of eight of those inimitable stories for children which none 
 could write better than Mrs. Molesworth. Her books are prime favorites with 
 children of all ages and they are as good and wholesome as they are interesting and 
 popular. This makes a very handsome book, and its illustrations are excellent." 
 Christian at IVork. 
 
 " A Christmas Posy is one of those charming stories for girls which Mrs Moles- 
 worth excels in writing." Philadelphia Press. 
 
 " Here is a group of bright, wholesome stories, such as are dear to children, and 
 nicely tuned to the harmonies of Christmas-tide. Mr. Crane has found good situ : 
 ations for his spirited sketches." Churchman. 
 
 "A Christmas Posy, by Mrs. Molesworth, is lovely and fragrant. Mrs. Moles- 
 worth succeeds by right to the place occupied with so much honor by the late Mrs. 
 Ewing, as a writer of charming stories for children. The present volume is a cluster 
 of delightful short stories. Mr. Crane's illustrations are in harmony with the text." 
 Christian Intelligencer. 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., 
 
 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 
 5 
 
THE CHILDREN OF THE CASTLE. 
 
 " The Children of the Castle, by Mrs. Molesworth, is another of those delightful 
 juvenile stories of which this author has written so many. It is a fascinating little 
 book, with a charming plot, a sweet, pure atmosphere, and teaches a wholesome 
 moral in the most winning manner." B. S. E. Gazette. 
 
 "Mrs. Molesworth has given a charming story for children. ... It is a whole- 
 some book, one which the little ones will read with interest." Living Church. 
 
 " The Children of the Castle are delightful creations, actual little girls, living in 
 an actual castle, but often led by their fancies into a shadowy fairy-land. There is a 
 charming refinement of style and spirit about the story from beginning to end; an 
 imaginative child will find endless pleasure in it, and the lesson of gentleness and 
 unselfishness so artistically managed that it does not seem like a lesson, but only a 
 part of the story." Milwaukee Sentinel. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth's stories for children are always ingenious, entertaining, and 
 thoroughly wholesome. Her resources are apparently inexhaustible, and each new 
 book from her pen seems to surpass its predecessors in attractiveness. In The Chil- 
 dren of the Castle the best elements of a good story for children are very happily 
 combined." The Week- 
 
 FOUR WINDS FARM. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth's books are always delightful, but of all none is more charm- 
 ing than the volume with which she greets the holidays this season. Four Winds 
 Farm is one of the most delicate and pleasing books for a child that has seen the 
 light this many a day. It is full of fancy and of that instinctive sympathy with child- 
 hood which makes this author's books so attractive and so individual." Boston 
 Courier. 
 
 " Like all the books she has written this one is very charming, and is worth 
 more in the hands of a child than a score of other stories of a more sensational char- 
 acter." Christian at Work. 
 
 " Still more delicately fanciful is Mrs. Molesworth's lovely little tale of the F'our 
 Winds Farm. It is neither a dream nor a fairy story, but concerns the fortune of a 
 real little boy, named Gratian; yet the dream and the fairy tale seem to enter into 
 his life, and make part of it. The farm-house in which the child lives is set exactly 
 at the meeting-place of the four winds, and they, from the moment of his birth, have 
 acted as his self-elected godmothers. . . . All the winds love the boy, and, held in 
 the balance of their influence, he grows up as a boy should, simply and truly, with 
 a tender heart and firm mind. The idea of this little book is essentially poetical." 
 Literary World. 
 
 " This book is for the children. We grudge it to them. . There are few children 
 in this generation good enough for such a gift. Mrs. Molesworth is the only woman 
 now who can write such a book. . . . The delicate welding of the farm life about 
 the child and the spiritual life within him, and the realization of the four immortals 
 into a delightful sort of half- femininity shows a finer literary quality than anything 
 we have seen for a long time. The light that never was on sea or land is in this 
 little red and gold volume." Philadelphia Press. 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., 
 
 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 
 6 
 
NURSE HE ATHERD ALE'S STORY. 
 
 " JVurse H eatherdale 1 s Story is all about a small boy, who was good enough, yet 
 was always getting into some trouble through complications in which he was not to 
 blame. The same sort of things happens to men and women. He is an orphan, 
 though he is cared for in a way by relations, who are not so very rich, yet are looked 
 on as well fixed. After many youthful trials and disappointments he falls into a big 
 stroke of good luck, which lifts him and goes to make others happy. Those who 
 want a child's book will find nothing to harm and something to interest in this simple 
 story." Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 " 
 
 US. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth's Us, fin Old-Fashioned Story, is very charming. A dear 
 little six-year-old ' bruvver ' and sister constitute the ' us,' whose adventures with 
 gypsies form the theme of the story. Mrs. Molesworth's style is graceful, and she 
 pictures the little ones with brightness and tenderness." Evening P^st. 
 
 " A pretty and wholesome story." Literary World. 
 
 " Us, an Old-Fashioned Story, is a sweet and quaint story of two little children 
 ho lived long ago, in an old-fashioned way, with their grandparents. The story is 
 
 who lived long ago, in an old-fashioned way, wi 
 delightfully told." Philadelphia News. 
 
 " Us is one of Mrs. Molesworth's charming little stories for young children. The 
 narrative ... is full of interest for its real grace and delicacy, and the exquisiteness 
 and purity of the English in which it is written." Boston Advertiser. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth's last story, Us, will please the readers of that lady's works by 
 its pleasant domestic atmosphere and healthful moral tone. The narrative moves 
 forward with sufficient interest to hold the reader's attention; and there are useful 
 lessons for young people to be drawn from it." Independent. 
 
 "... Mrs. Molesworth's story ... is very simple, refined, bright, and full of 
 the real flavor of childhood." Literary IVorld. 
 
 THE RECTORY CHILDREN. 
 
 " It is a book written for children in just the way that is best adapted to please 
 them." Morning Post. 
 
 " In The Rectory Children Mrs. Molesworth has written one of those delightful 
 volumes which we always look for at Christmas time." Athen&um. 
 
 " A delightful Christmas book for children; a racy, charming home story, full of 
 good impulses and bright suggestions." Boston Traveller. 
 
 "Quiet, sunny, interesting, and thoroughly winning and wholesome." Boston 
 Journal. 
 
 " There is no writer of children's books more worthy of their admiration and love 
 than Mrs. Molesworth. Her bright and sweet invention is so truthful, her char- 
 acters so faithfully drawn, and the teaching of her stories so tender and noble, that 
 while they please and charm they insensibly distil into the youthful mind the most 
 valuable lessons. In The Rectory Children we have a fresh, bright story, that 
 will be sure to please all her young admirers." Christian at IVork. 
 
 " The Rectory Children, by Mrs. Molesworth, is a very pretty story of English 
 life. Mrs. Molesworth is one of the most popular and charming of English story- 
 writers for children. Her child characters are true to life, always natural and 
 attractive, and her stories are wholesome and interesting." Indianapolis Journal. 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., 
 
 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 
 7 
 
ROSY. 
 
 " Rosy, like all the rest of her stories, is bright and pure and utterly free from cant, 
 a book that children will read with pleasure and lasting profit." Boston Trav- 
 eller. 
 
 " There is no one who has a genius better adapted for entertaining children than 
 Mrs. Molesworth, and her latest story, Rosy, is one of her best. It is illustrated with 
 eight woodcuts from designs by Walter Crane." Philadelphia Press. 
 
 "An English story for children of the every-day life of a bright little girl, which 
 will please those who like ' natural ' books." New York World. 
 
 "... Mrs. Molesworth 's clever Rosy, a story showing in a charming way how 
 one little girl's jealousy and bad temper were conquered; one of the best, most 
 suggestive and improving of the Christmas juveniles." New York Tribune, 
 
 " Rosy is an exceedingly graceful and interesting story by Mrs. Molesworth, one 
 of the best and most popular writers of juvenile fiction. This little story is full of 
 tenderness, is fragrant in sentiment, and points with great delicacy and genuine feel- 
 ing a charming moral." Boston Gazette. 
 
 THE GIRLS AND I. 
 
 " Perhaps the most striking feature of this pleasant story is the natural manner in 
 which it is written. It is just like the conversation of a bright boy consistently 
 like it from beginning to end. It is a boy who is the hero of the tale, and he tells the 
 adventures of himself and those nearest him. He is, by the way, in many respects 
 an example for most young persons. It is a story characterized by sweetness and 
 purity a desirable one to put into the hands of youthful readers." Gettysburg 
 Monthly. 
 
 " Jack himself tells the story of The Girls and /, assisted of course by Mrs. Moles- 
 worth, whose name will recall to the juveniles pleasant memories of interesting read- 
 ing, full of just the things that children want to know, and of that which will excite 
 their ready sympathies. Jack, while telling the story of the girls, takes the readers 
 into his own confidence, and we like the little fellow rather better than the girls. The 
 interest is maintained by the story of a lost jewel, the ultimate finding of which, in 
 the most unexpected place, closes the story in a very pleasant manner. Jack, other- 
 wise Mrs. Molesworth, tells the tale in a lively style, and the book will attract atten- 
 tion." The Globe. 
 
 "... A delightful and purposeful story which no one can read without being 
 benefited." New York Observer. 
 
 MARY. 
 
 MRS. MOLESWORTH'S LAST STORY. Just Ready. 
 
 " Mrs. Molesworth's reputation as a writer of story-books is so well established 
 that any new book of hers scarce needs a word of introduction." Home. Journal. 
 
 MACMILLAN & CO., 
 
 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 
 8 
 
RETURN EDUCATION-PSYCHOLOGY LIBRARY 
 
 2600 Tolman Hall 642-4209 
 
 LOAN PERIOD 1 
 SEMESTER 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS 
 
 2-hour books must be renewed in person 
 
 Return to desk from which borrowed 
 
 DUE AS STAMPED BELOW 
 
 
 
 
 BARTER 1 0" 
 
 
 
 'AUG 2 R 
 
 
 
 SUB1ECI 10 <^ Al 
 
 
 
 WEtTD AUG 2 5 "83 - 
 
 4PM 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ?HQ "-r^T Tf) RPf 
 
 A: '. 
 
 
 f , ..- \ 
 
 
 
 Nlf\R27 33^- 
 
 
 
 FOlir-PSYCH."" 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 FORM NO. DD10 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY 
 BERKELEY, CA 94720 
 
 LD 21A-30m-5,'75 
 (S5877L) 
 
 general Ubrary 
 University of California 
 
U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES 
 
 
 
 CD2211SM53