"But it couldn't have been them," he said to himself as he sat up in his little bed, his hands clasped round his knees, as he was very fond of sitting; "they said they were going away to their work. What work could they have--voices, just voices in the chimney? And they said I was wasting my time. What did they mean? _I'm_ not like a will-o'-the-wisp; I don't dance about and lead people into bogs. I----" But just then his mother's voice sounded up the stairs. "Gratian--aren't you up yet? Father is out, and the breakfast will be ready in ten minutes. Quick, quick, my boy." Gratian started; he put one pink foot out of bed and looked at it as if he had never seen five toes before, then he put out the other, and at last found himself altogether on the floor. It was rather a chilly morning, and he was only allowed cold water in a queer old tub that he could remember being dreadfully afraid of when he was a _very_ little boy--it had seemed so big to him then. But he was not so babyish now; he plunged bravely into the old tub, and the shock of the cold completely awakened him, so that he looked quite bright and rosy when he came into the kitchen a few minutes later. His mother looked up from the pot of oatmeal porridge she was ladling out into little bowls for the breakfast. "That's right," she said; "you look better than you did last night. Try and have a good day at school to-day, Gratian. Monday's always the best day for a fresh start." Gratian listened, but did not answer. It generally took him a good while to get his speeches ready, except perhaps when he was alone with Jonas and Watch. It seemed easier to him to speak to Jonas than to anybody else. He began eating his porridge--slowly, porridge and milk spoonfuls turn about, staring before him as he did so. "Mother," he said at last, "is it naughty to dream?" "Naughty to dream," repeated his mother, "what do you mean? To dream when you're asleep?" "No--I don't think it's that kind," began the child, but his mother interrupted him. Her own words of the night before returned to her mind. Could Gratian have overheard them? "You mean dreaming when you should be working, perhaps?" she said. "Well, yes--without saying it's naughty, it's certainly not good. It's wasting one's time. Everybody's got work to do in this world, and it needs all one's attention. You'll find it out for yourself, but it's a good thing to find it out young. Most things are harder to learn old than young, Gratian." Gratian listened, but again without speaking. "It's very queer," he was thinking to himself--"mother says the same thing." CHAPTER II. AT SCHOOL "But there all apart, On his little seat A little figure is set awry." C. C. FRASER TYTLER