ORGAN TONES
"Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory."
SHELLEY
As Gratian was running into 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.
"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.
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 himself,
was generous and rich, and he had spent money in restoring the church
and giving a beautiful organ. 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 seemed to
flash here and there like lightning darts, cutting through and yet
melting again into the harmony. 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 afternoon 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 closing 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 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 over the verses
which the master always liked his 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, fearful 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 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! 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-wings's reply.
"All right--all right, but I haven't time to wait.
Good-night--go--od-ni--ght," and for once East-wind's voice sounded soft
and musical.
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--"_I_ say 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 guardianship 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 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 remembered 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
daresay."
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 daresay."
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 come."
"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 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 thinking 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 anything about coming to see me?"
"Please, sir, mother's coming this afternoon. I'm to wait and go home
with her."
"Ah 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----"