"She will miss him a good deal at first, I'm afraid," said the farmer, "but I must do my best. It's about your going, my boy—the lady has already put it off some days for your sake. It's very good of you, ma'am—very good. I'll get him ready as well as I can. You'll excuse it if his things are not just in such shipshape order as his mother would have had them."
"Of course, of course," she replied. "Then the day after to-morrow. I daren't wait longer—the doctor says Fergus must not risk more cold as yet."
Gratian had listened in silence. But now he turned, first to his father and then to the lady, and spoke.
"Father, dear lady," he began, "don't be vexed with me—oh don't. But I can't go now. I've thought about it all these days—I'm—I'm dreadfully sorry," and here his voice faltered. "I wanted to learn and to understand. But it wouldn't be right. I know it wouldn't. Mother would not get well so quick without me, perhaps she'd never get well at all. And no learning or seeing things would do me really good if I knew I wasn't doing right. Father—tell me that you think I'm right."
The lady and the farmer looked at each other; there were tears in the lady's eyes.
"Is he right?" asked Gratian's father.
She bent her head.
"I'm afraid he is," she said, "but it is only fair to let him quite understand. It isn't merely putting it off for a while, Gratian," she went on; "I am afraid it may be for altogether. We are not likely to come back to this part of the country again, and my husband, though kind, is a little peculiar. He has a nephew whom he will send for as a companion to Fergus if you don't come. We should like you better, but it is our duty to do something for Jack, and Fergus needs a companion, so it seems only natural to take him instead of sending him away to school."
"Of course," said the farmer, looking at his son.
"Yes, I understand," said Gratian. "But it doesn't make any difference. If I never learnt anything more—of learning, I mean—if I never left Four Winds or saw any of the beautiful places and things in the world, it shouldn't make any difference. I couldn't ever be happy or—or—do anything really good or great," he went on, blushing a little, "if I began by doing wrong—could I?"