His mother had not heard the whisper that had reached his ear through the gust of wind.
"I will help you home, Gratian, both you and your mother, though she won't know it."
He laughed to himself when he felt the gentle, steady way in which they were blown along—never had the long walk to the Farm seemed so short to Mrs. Conyfer.
"Dear me," she said, when they were within a few yards of the gate, "I couldn't have believed we were home! It makes a difference when the wind is with us, I suppose."
Gratian pulled her back a moment, as she was going in.
"Mother," he said, "what was it the master wanted to say to you? Won't you tell me?"
"I must speak first to father," she replied; "it's something which we must have his leave for first."
Gratian could not ask any more, and nothing more was said to him till the next morning when he was starting for school. Then his mother came to the door with him.
"I've a message for the master," she said. "Listen, Gratian. You must tell him from me that father and I have no objection to his doing as he likes about what he spoke to me of yesterday. He said he'd like to tell you about it himself—so I won't tell you any more. Maybe you'll not care about it when you hear it."
"Ah—I don't think that," said the boy, as he ran off.