"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. 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 himself 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. "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 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."