"She has been very good to you, and she wants to be still more. That's what Cornelius came about. I don't want to make you vain, Gratian, but she thinks, and Cornelius thinks--and they should know--that there's the making of something out of the common in you--that, if you are taught and trained the right way, you may come to be something a good bit higher than a plain moorland farmer." Gratian listened with wide-opened eyes. "I know," he said breathlessly, "I've felt it sometimes. I don't rightly know what. I'd like to learn--I'd like to----oh, father, I can't say what I mean. It's as if there were so many thoughts in me that I can't say," and the child leaned his head on his mother's shoulder and burst into tears. The farmer and his wife looked at each other. They were simple unlettered folk, but for all that there was something in them that "understood." "My boy, my little Gratian," said the mother, in tones that she but seldom used; "don't cry, my dear. Listen to father." And in a moment or two the child raised his still tearful eyes, and the farmer went on. "It's just that," he said. "It's just because you can't rightly say, that we want you to learn. No one can tell as yet what your talent may be, or if perhaps it is not, so to speak, but an everyday one after all. If so, no harm will be done; for you will be in wise hands, and you will come home again to Four Winds and follow in your father's and grandfather's steps. But your friends think you should have a better chance of learning and seeing for yourself than I can give you here. And the lady has written to her husband, and he's quite willing, and so it's, so to speak, all settled. You are to go with them when they leave here, Gratian, and for a year or so you are to have lessons at home with the little boy, who isn't yet strong enough to go to school. And by the end of that time it'll be easier to see what you are best fitted for. You'll have teaching of all kinds--music and drawing, and all sorts of book-learning. It's a handsome offer, there's no denying." And the tears quite disappeared from Gratian's bright eyes, and his whole face glowed with hope and satisfaction. "I'll do my best, father. I can promise you that. You shall have no call to be ashamed of me. It's very good of you and mother to let me go. But I shall come home again before very long--I shan't be long without seeing you?" "Oh yes--you shall come home after a while of course. Anyway for a visit, and to see how it will be best to do. We're not going to give you away altogether, you may be sure," said the farmer with a little attempt at a joke. But the mother did not speak. She kissed the boy as she rarely kissed him, and whispered "God bless you, my dear," when she bade him good-night. "I wonder if it's all come of our giving him such an outlandish name!" said Mrs. Conyfer with a rather melancholy smile. And Gratian fell asleep with his mind in a whirl.