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 himself. "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?"
[Illustration: Was it fancy that he had seen a waving, fluttering form
beside him?]
The boy turned to look who was speaking. His first thought was that one
of his companions, knowing 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
sunset--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 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 fair 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 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 thousandth 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 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 himself, for just at that moment the farmer's
footsteps were heard as he came in to supper. "Anyway I 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
interesting they seemed now that he really gave his whole attention, and
especially since he had tried to understand 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 saying 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 goodwill 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 it wasn't very late--mother had said
nothing yet about bed-time.
"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 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."
For a sharp keen gust had suddenly come round the corner, rasping the
child's unprotected face almost "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, 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
you can 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."
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 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.