"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 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 daresay," said his mother--"stories which the winds tell him, perhaps--eh, Gratian?" Gratian smiled. "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 hungry 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 herself--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 thought 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."