"Does he often tell them?" asked the lady.
"Yes, when we are alone," said Fergus.
"The music makes me think of them very often," said Gratian. "It makes Fergus see pictures, and it makes me think stories. Sometimes I can see pictures too, but I think I like stories best."
"He made a beauty the other day, about a Princess whose eyes were forget-me-nots, so that whoever had once seen her could never forget her again; and if they were good people it made them very happy, but if they were naughty people it made them very unhappy—only it did them all good somehow in the end. Gratian made it come right."
"That sounds very pretty," said the lady. "Did that come out of my music?"
"No," said the boy, "that story came mostly out of your eyes. I called you the lady with the forget-me-not eyes the first Sunday in church."
He spoke so simply that the lady could not help smiling.
"My eyes thank you for your pretty thoughts of them," she said. "Will you tell that story again?"
"No," Fergus interrupted. "I want a new one. You were to have one ready for to-day, Gratian."