"I can't say as I felt it, Master Gratian," he said. "But there's no answering for the winds and their freaks here at the Four Winds Farm, and it's but natural you should know more about 'em than most. All the same, I take it as you're feeling cold and chilly-like means as bed is the best place. You're getting sleepy—to say nothing of the Missus calling to ye to go."
And again the mother's voice was heard.
"Gratian, Gratian, my boy. Don't you hear me?"
He moved, but slowly. A little imp of opposition had taken up its abode in the boy. Perhaps he had been feeling too pleased with his own good resolutions and beginnings!
"Too bad," he muttered to himself, "just when I was getting to understand my lessons better. Old Jonas is very stupid."
Again the short, sharp cutting slap of cold air on his face, and in spite of himself the boy moved more quickly.
"Good-night, Jonas," he said rather grumpily, though he would not let himself shiver for fear he should again be told it showed he was sleepy, "I'm going. I'm not at all tired, but I'm going all the same. Only how you can say it's south wind—!"
"I don't say so now. I said it was south—that soft feeling as if one could see the glow of the south in it. Like enough it's east by now; isn't this where all the winds meet? Well, I'm off too. Good-night, master."
"And you'll tell me about all the colours another time, won't you, Jonas?" said Gratian in a mollified tone.