"So it's true—I wasn't dreaming," thought the boy. "I wonder what the plot was that I couldn't hear about. I shall know before long, I daresay."
At breakfast he noticed his mother looking at him curiously.
"What is it, mother?" he said; "is my hair not neat?"
"No, child. On the contrary, I was thinking how very tidy you look this morning. Your collar is so smooth and clean. Can it be the one you wore yesterday?"
"Yes, mother," he replied, "just look how nice it is. And hasn't it a nice scent?"
He got up as he spoke and stood beside her. She smoothed his collar with satisfaction.
"It is certainly very well starched and ironed," she said. "Madge is improving; I must tell her so. That new soap too has quite a pleasant smell about it—like new-mown hay. It's partly the lavender in the drawers, I daresay."
But Gratian smiled to himself—thinking he knew better!
"Gratian," said his mother, two mornings later, as he was starting for school, "I had a message from the master yesterday. He wants to see me about you, but he is very busy, and he says if father or I should be in the village to-day or to-morrow, he would take it kindly if we would look in. I must call at the mill for father to-day—he's too busy to go himself—so I think I'll go on to school, and then we can walk back together. So don't start home this afternoon till I come."
"No, mother, I won't," said Gratian. But he still hung about as if he had more to say.