"It's Green-wings--you can't see her unfortunately--she's posting down in such a hurry. She thinks I tease you, and she knows I'm in rather a mischievous mood to-night. But they've caught her--she can't get past the corner over there, where the Wildridge hills are--and she is in such a fuss. The hills never like her to run past without paying them a visit if they can help it, and she's too soft-hearted to go on her way will-ye, nill-ye, as I do. So you'll have to trust to me to take you home after all, my dear godchild." "Dear Green-wings," said Gratian, "I don't like her to be anxious about me." "Bless you, she's always in a pathetic humour about some one or something," said Gray-wings. "I don't mind you taking me home if you won't mock at me," said Gratian. "Are you really displeased with me? Have I done anything naughty without knowing it?" Gray-wings's tone suddenly changed. Never had her voice sounded so gentle and yet earnest. "No, my child. I only meant to warn you. It is my part both to correct and to warn--of the two I would rather, by far, warn. Don't get your little head turned--don't think there is nothing worth, nothing beautiful, except in the new things you may see and hear and learn. And never think yourself _quite_ anything. That is always a mistake. What will seem new to you is only another way of putting the old--and the path to any real good is always the same--never think to get on faster from leaving it. You can't understand all this yet, but you will in time. Now put your arms out, darling--I am here beside you. Clasp them round my neck; never mind if it feels cold--there. I have you safe, and here goes----" A whirl, a rapid upbearing, a rush of cold, fresh air, and a pleasant, dreamy feeling, as when one is rocked in a little boat at sea. Gratian closed his eyes--he _was_ tired, poor little chap, for nothing is more tiring than new sights and feelings--and knew no more till he found himself lying on the heather, a few yards from the Farm gates. He looked about him--it was quite night by now--he felt drowsy still, but no longer tired, and not cold--just pleasantly warm and comfortable. "Gray-wings must have wrapped me up somehow," he said to himself. "She's very kind, really. But I must run in--what would mother think if she saw me lying here?" And he jumped up and ran home. The gate was open, the door of the house was open too, and just within the porch stood his mother. "Is that you, Gratian?" she said, as she heard his step. "Yes, mother," he replied; and as he came into the light he looked up at her. She was much, much older-looking than Fergus's mother, for she had not married young, and Gratian was the youngest of several, the others of whom had died. But as he glanced at her sunburnt face, and saw the love shining out of her eyes, tired and rather worn by daily work as she was, she somehow reminded him of the graceful lady with the sweet blue eyes.