"Won't you get better soon?" asked Gratian, looking 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 dreadful to Gratian than it would have done to an ordinary, 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 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. "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.