Instantly the four heads turned towards him, the four pairs of wings sheathed themselves, the eyes, laughing and gentle, piercing and grave, seemed all to be gazing at him at once, and eight outstretched arms seemed as if about to lift him upwards.
"No—no—" he said, "I don't want—I don't——."
But with the struggle to speak he awoke. He was in his own bed of course, and by the light he saw that it must be nearly time to get up.
He stretched himself sleepily, smiling as he did so.
"What nice dreams I have had," he said to himself. "I wonder if they come of working well at my lessons? They said it was to be a treat for me. I wish I could go to sleep and dream it all over again."
But just then he heard his mother's voice calling up the stair to him.
"Are you up, Gratian? You will be late if you are not quick."
Gratian gave himself a little shake of impatience under the bedclothes; he glanced at the window—the sky was gray and overcast, with every sign of a rainy day about it. He tucked himself up again, even though he knew it was very foolish thus to delay the evil moment.
"It's too bad," he thought. "I can never do what I want. Last night I had to go to bed when I wanted to sit up, and now I have to get up when I do so want to stay in bed."