At the Back of the North Wind

CHAPTER XXXII. DIAMOND AND RUBY

IT WAS Friday night, and Diamond, like the rest of the household, had had very little to eat that day. The mother would always pay the week's rent before she laid out anything even on food. His father had been very gloomy—so gloomy that he had actually been cross to his wife. It is a strange thing how pain of seeing the suffering of those we love will sometimes make us add to their suffering by being cross with them. This comes of not having faith enough in God, and shows how necessary this faith is, for when we lose it, we lose even the kindness which alone can soothe the suffering. Diamond in consequence had gone to bed very quiet and thoughtful—a little troubled indeed.

It had been a very stormy winter, and even now that the spring had come, the north wind often blew. When Diamond went to his bed, which was in a tiny room in the roof, he heard it like the sea moaning; and when he fell asleep he still heard the moaning. All at once he said to himself, “Am I awake, or am I asleep?” But he had no time to answer the question, for there was North Wind calling him. His heart beat very fast, it was such a long time since he had heard that voice. He jumped out of bed, and looked everywhere, but could not see her. “Diamond, come here,” she said again and again; but where the here was he could not tell. To be sure the room was all but quite dark, and she might be close beside him.

“Dear North Wind,” said Diamond, “I want so much to go to you, but I can't tell where.”

“Come here, Diamond,” was all her answer.

Diamond opened the door, and went out of the room, and down the stair and into the yard. His little heart was in a flutter, for he had long given up all thought of seeing her again. Neither now was he to see her. When he got out, a great puff of wind came against him, and in obedience to it he turned his back, and went as it blew. It blew him right up to the stable-door, and went on blowing.

“She wants me to go into the stable,” said Diamond to himself, “but the door is locked.”

He knew where the key was, in a certain hole in the wall—far too high for him to get at. He ran to the place, however: just as he reached it there came a wild blast, and down fell the key clanging on the stones at his feet. He picked it up, and ran back and opened the stable-door, and went in. And what do you think he saw?

A little light came through the dusty window from a gas-lamp, sufficient to show him Diamond and Ruby with their two heads up, looking at each other across the partition of their stalls. The light showed the white mark on Diamond's forehead, but Ruby's eye shone so bright, that he thought more light came out of it than went in. This is what he saw.

But what do you think he heard?

He heard the two horses talking to each other—in a strange language, which yet, somehow or other, he could understand, and turn over in his mind in English. The first words he heard were from Diamond, who apparently had been already quarrelling with Ruby.

“Look how fat you are Ruby!” said old Diamond. “You are so plump and your skin shines so, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“There's no harm in being fat,” said Ruby in a deprecating tone. “No, nor in being sleek. I may as well shine as not.”

“No harm?” retorted Diamond. “Is it no harm to go eating up all poor master's oats, and taking up so much of his time grooming you, when you only work six hours—no, not six hours a day, and, as I hear, get along no faster than a big dray-horse with two tons behind him?—So they tell me.”

“Your master's not mine,” said Ruby. “I must attend to my own master's interests, and eat all that is given me, and be sleek and fat as I can, and go no faster than I need.”

“Now really if the rest of the horses weren't all asleep, poor things—they work till they're tired—I do believe they would get up and kick you out of the stable. You make me ashamed of being a horse. You dare to say my master ain't your master! That's your gratitude for the way he feeds you and spares you! Pray where would your carcass be if it weren't for him?”

“He doesn't do it for my sake. If I were his own horse, he would work me as hard as he does you.”

“And I'm proud to be so worked. I wouldn't be as fat as you—not for all you're worth. You're a disgrace to the stable. Look at the horse next you. He's something like a horse—all skin and bone. And his master ain't over kind to him either. He put a stinging lash on his whip last week. But that old horse knows he's got the wife and children to keep—as well as his drunken master—and he works like a horse. I daresay he grudges his master the beer he drinks, but I don't believe he grudges anything else.”

“Well, I don't grudge yours what he gets by me,” said Ruby.

“Gets!” retorted Diamond. “What he gets isn't worth grudging. It comes to next to nothing—what with your fat and shine.

“Well, at least you ought to be thankful you're the better for it. You get a two hours' rest a day out of it.”

“I thank my master for that—not you, you lazy fellow! You go along like a buttock of beef upon castors—you do.”

“Ain't you afraid I'll kick, if you go on like that, Diamond?”

“Kick! You couldn't kick if you tried. You might heave your rump up half a foot, but for lashing out—oho! If you did, you'd be down on your belly before you could get your legs under you again. It's my belief, once out, they'd stick out for ever. Talk of kicking! Why don't you put one foot before the other now and then when you're in the cab? The abuse master gets for your sake is quite shameful. No decent horse would bring it on him. Depend upon it, Ruby, no cabman likes to be abused any more than his fare. But his fares, at least when you are between the shafts, are very much to be excused. Indeed they are.”

“Well, you see, Diamond, I don't want to go lame again.”

“I don't believe you were so very lame after all—there!”

“Oh, but I was.”

“Then I believe it was all your own fault. I'm not lame. I never was lame in all my life. You don't take care of your legs. You never lay them down at night. There you are with your huge carcass crushing down your poor legs all night long. You don't even care for your own legs—so long as you can eat, eat, and sleep, sleep. You a horse indeed!”

“But I tell you I was lame.”

“I'm not denying there was a puffy look about your off-pastern. But my belief is, it wasn't even grease—it was fat.”

“I tell you I put my foot on one of those horrid stones they make the roads with, and it gave my ankle such a twist.”

“Ankle indeed! Why should you ape your betters? Horses ain't got any ankles: they're only pasterns. And so long as you don't lift your feet better, but fall asleep between every step, you'll run a good chance of laming all your ankles as you call them, one after another. It's not your lively horse that comes to grief in that way. I tell you I believe it wasn't much, and if it was, it was your own fault. There! I've done. I'm going to sleep. I'll try to think as well of you as I can. If you would but step out a bit and run off a little of your fat!” Here Diamond began to double up his knees; but Ruby spoke again, and, as young Diamond thought, in a rather different tone.

“I say, Diamond, I can't bear to have an honest old horse like you think of me like that. I will tell you the truth: it was my own fault that I fell lame.”

“I told you so,” returned the other, tumbling against the partition as he rolled over on his side to give his legs every possible privilege in their narrow circumstances.

“I meant to do it, Diamond.”

At the words, the old horse arose with a scramble like thunder, shot his angry head and glaring eye over into Ruby's stall, and said—

“Keep out of my way, you unworthy wretch, or I'll bite you. You a horse! Why did you do that?”

“Because I wanted to grow fat.”

“You grease-tub! Oh! my teeth and tail! I thought you were a humbug! Why did you want to get fat? There's no truth to be got out of you but by cross-questioning. You ain't fit to be a horse.”

“Because once I am fat, my nature is to keep fat for a long time; and I didn't know when master might come home and want to see me.”

“You conceited, good-for-nothing brute! You're only fit for the knacker's yard. You wanted to look handsome, did you? Hold your tongue, or I'll break my halter and be at you—with your handsome fat!”

“Never mind, Diamond. You're a good horse. You can't hurt me.”

“Can't hurt you! Just let me once try.”

“No, you can't.”

“Why then?”

“Because I'm an angel.”

“What's that?”

“Of course you don't know.”

“Indeed I don't.”

“I know you don't. An ignorant, rude old human horse, like you, couldn't know it. But there's young Diamond listening to all we're saying; and he knows well enough there are horses in heaven for angels to ride upon, as well as other animals, lions and eagles and bulls, in more important situations. The horses the angels ride, must be angel-horses, else the angels couldn't ride upon them. Well, I'm one of them.”

“You ain't.”

“Did you ever know a horse tell a lie?”

“Never before. But you've confessed to shamming lame.”

“Nothing of the sort. It was necessary I should grow fat, and necessary that good Joseph, your master, should grow lean. I could have pretended to be lame, but that no horse, least of all an angel-horse would do. So I must be lame, and so I sprained my ankle—for the angel-horses have ankles—they don't talk horse-slang up there—and it hurt me very much, I assure you, Diamond, though you mayn't be good enough to be able to believe it.”

Old Diamond made no reply. He had lain down again, and a sleepy snort, very like a snore, revealed that, if he was not already asleep, he was past understanding a word that Ruby was saying. When young Diamond found this, he thought he might venture to take up the dropt shuttlecock of the conversation.

“I'm good enough to believe it, Ruby,” he said.

But Ruby never turned his head, or took any notice of him. I suppose he did not understand more of English than just what the coachman and stableman were in the habit of addressing him with. Finding, however, that his companion made no reply, he shot his head over the partition and looking down at him said—

“You just wait till to-morrow, and you'll see whether I'm speaking the truth or not.—I declare the old horse is fast asleep!—Diamond!—No I won't.”

Ruby turned away, and began pulling at his hayrack in silence.

Diamond gave a shiver, and looking round saw that the door of the stable was open. He began to feel as if he had been dreaming, and after a glance about the stable to see if North Wind was anywhere visible, he thought he had better go back to bed.

CHAPTER XXXIII. THE PROSPECT BRIGHTENS

THE next morning, Diamond's mother said to his father, “I'm not quite comfortable about that child again.”

“Which child, Martha?” asked Joseph. “You've got a choice now.”

“Well, Diamond I mean. I'm afraid he's getting into his queer ways again. He's been at his old trick of walking in his sleep. I saw him run up the stair in the middle of the night.”

“Didn't you go after him, wife?”

“Of course I did—and found him fast asleep in his bed. It's because he's had so little meat for the last six weeks, I'm afraid.”

“It may be that. I'm very sorry. But if it don't please God to send us enough, what am I to do, wife?”

“You can't help it, I know, my dear good man,” returned Martha. “And after all I don't know. I don't see why he shouldn't get on as well as the rest of us. There I'm nursing baby all this time, and I get along pretty well. I'm sure, to hear the little man singing, you wouldn't think there was much amiss with him.”

For at that moment Diamond was singing like a lark in the clouds. He had the new baby in his arms, while his mother was dressing herself. Joseph was sitting at his breakfast—a little weak tea, dry bread, and very dubious butter—which Nanny had set for him, and which he was enjoying because he was hungry. He had groomed both horses, and had got old Diamond harnessed ready to put to.

“Think of a fat angel, Dulcimer!” said Diamond.

The baby had not been christened yet, but Diamond, in reading his Bible, had come upon the word dulcimer, and thought it so pretty that ever after he called his sister Dulcimer!

“Think of a red, fat angel, Dulcimer!” he repeated; “for Ruby's an angel of a horse, Dulcimer. He sprained his ankle and got fat on purpose.”

“What purpose, Diamond?” asked his father.

“Ah! that I can't tell. I suppose to look handsome when his master comes,” answered Diamond.—“What do you think, Dulcimer? It must be for some good, for Ruby's an angel.”

“I wish I were rid of him, anyhow,” said his father; “for he weighs heavy on my mind.”

“No wonder, father: he's so fat,” said Diamond. “But you needn't be afraid, for everybody says he's in better condition than when you had him.”

“Yes, but he may be as thin as a tin horse before his owner comes. It was too bad to leave him on my hands this way.”

“Perhaps he couldn't help it,” suggested Diamond. “I daresay he has some good reason for it.”

“So I should have said,” returned his father, “if he had not driven such a hard bargain with me at first.”

“But we don't know what may come of it yet, husband,” said his wife. “Mr. Raymond may give a little to boot, seeing you've had more of the bargain than you wanted or reckoned upon.”

“I'm afraid not: he's a hard man,” said Joseph, as he rose and went to get his cab out.

Diamond resumed his singing. For some time he carolled snatches of everything or anything; but at last it settled down into something like what follows. I cannot tell where or how he got it.

“You never made that song, Diamond,” said his mother.

“No, mother. I wish I had. No, I don't. That would be to take it from somebody else. But it's mine for all that.”

“What makes it yours?”

“I love it so.”

“Does loving a thing make it yours?”

“I think so, mother—at least more than anything else can. If I didn't love baby (which couldn't be, you know) she wouldn't be mine a bit. But I do love baby, and baby is my very own Dulcimer.”

“The baby's mine, Diamond.”

“That makes her the more mine, mother.”

“How do you make that out?”

“Because you're mine, mother.”

“Is that because you love me?”

“Yes, just because. Love makes the only myness,” said Diamond.

When his father came home to have his dinner, and change Diamond for Ruby, they saw him look very sad, and he told them he had not had a fare worth mentioning the whole morning.

“We shall all have to go to the workhouse, wife,” he said.

“It would be better to go to the back of the north wind,” said Diamond, dreamily, not intending to say it aloud.

“So it would,” answered his father. “But how are we to get there, Diamond?”

“We must wait till we're taken,” returned Diamond.

Before his father could speak again, a knock came to the door, and in walked Mr. Raymond with a smile on his face. Joseph got up and received him respectfully, but not very cordially. Martha set a chair for him, but he would not sit down.

“You are not very glad to see me,” he said to Joseph. “You don't want to part with the old horse.”

“Indeed, sir, you are mistaken there. What with anxiety about him, and bad luck, I've wished I were rid of him a thousand times. It was only to be for three months, and here it's eight or nine.”

“I'm sorry to hear such a statement,” said Mr. Raymond. “Hasn't he been of service to you?”

“Not much, not with his lameness”

“Ah!” said Mr. Raymond, hastily—“you've been laming him—have you? That accounts for it. I see, I see.”

“It wasn't my fault, and he's all right now. I don't know how it happened, but—”

“He did it on purpose,” said Diamond. “He put his foot on a stone just to twist his ankle.”

“How do you know that, Diamond?” said his father, turning to him. “I never said so, for I could not think how it came.”

“I heard it—in the stable,” answered Diamond.

“Let's have a look at him,” said Mr. Raymond.

“If you'll step into the yard,” said Joseph, “I'll bring him out.”

They went, and Joseph, having first taken off his harness, walked Ruby into the middle of the yard.

“Why,” said Mr. Raymond, “you've not been using him well.”

“I don't know what you mean by that, sir. I didn't expect to hear that from you. He's sound in wind and limb—as sound as a barrel.”

“And as big, you might add. Why, he's as fat as a pig! You don't call that good usage!”

Joseph was too angry to make any answer.

“You've not worked him enough, I say. That's not making good use of him. That's not doing as you'd be done by.”

“I shouldn't be sorry if I was served the same, sir.”

“He's too fat, I say.”

“There was a whole month I couldn't work him at all, and he did nothing but eat his head off. He's an awful eater. I've taken the best part of six hours a day out of him since, but I'm always afraid of his coming to grief again, and so I couldn't make the most even of that. I declare to you, sir, when he's between the shafts, I sit on the box as miserable as if I'd stolen him. He looks all the time as if he was a bottling up of complaints to make of me the minute he set eyes on you again. There! look at him now, squinting round at me with one eye! I declare to you, on my word, I haven't laid the whip on him more than three times.”

“I'm glad to hear it. He never did want the whip.”

“I didn't say that, sir. If ever a horse wanted the whip, he do. He's brought me to beggary almost with his snail's pace. I'm very glad you've come to rid me of him.”

“I don't know that,” said Mr. Raymond. “Suppose I were to ask you to buy him of me—cheap.”

“I wouldn't have him in a present, sir. I don't like him. And I wouldn't drive a horse that I didn't like—no, not for gold. It can't come to good where there's no love between 'em.”

“Just bring out your own horse, and let me see what sort of a pair they'd make.”

Joseph laughed rather bitterly as he went to fetch Diamond.

When the two were placed side by side, Mr. Raymond could hardly keep his countenance, but from a mingling of feelings. Beside the great, red, round barrel, Ruby, all body and no legs, Diamond looked like a clothes-horse with a skin thrown over it. There was hardly a spot of him where you could not descry some sign of a bone underneath. Gaunt and grim and weary he stood, kissing his master, and heeding no one else.

“You haven't been using him well,” said Mr. Raymond.

“I must say,” returned Joseph, throwing an arm round his horse's neck, “that the remark had better have been spared, sir. The horse is worth three of the other now.”

“I don't think so. I think they make a very nice pair. If the one's too fat, the other's too lean—so that's all right. And if you won't buy my Ruby, I must buy your Diamond.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Joseph, in a tone implying anything but thanks.

“You don't seem to like the proposal,” said Mr. Raymond.

“I don't,” returned Joseph. “I wouldn't part with my old Diamond for his skin as full of nuggets as it is of bones.”

“Who said anything about parting with him?”

“You did now, sir.”

“No; I didn't. I only spoke of buying him to make a pair with Ruby. We could pare Ruby and patch Diamond a bit. And for height, they are as near a match as I care about. Of course you would be the coachman—if only you would consent to be reconciled to Ruby.”

Joseph stood bewildered, unable to answer.

“I've bought a small place in Kent,” continued Mr. Raymond, “and I must have a pair to my carriage, for the roads are hilly thereabouts. I don't want to make a show with a pair of high-steppers. I think these will just do. Suppose, for a week or two, you set yourself to take Ruby down and bring Diamond up. If we could only lay a pipe from Ruby's sides into Diamond's, it would be the work of a moment. But I fear that wouldn't answer.”

A strong inclination to laugh intruded upon Joseph's inclination to cry, and made speech still harder than before.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said at length. “I've been so miserable, and for so long, that I never thought you was only a chaffing of me when you said I hadn't used the horses well. I did grumble at you, sir, many's the time in my trouble; but whenever I said anything, my little Diamond would look at me with a smile, as much as to say: 'I know him better than you, father;' and upon my word, I always thought the boy must be right.”

“Will you sell me old Diamond, then?”

“I will, sir, on one condition—that if ever you want to part with him or me, you give me the option of buying him. I could not part with him, sir. As to who calls him his, that's nothing; for, as Diamond says, it's only loving a thing that can make it yours—and I do love old Diamond, sir, dearly.”

“Well, there's a cheque for twenty pounds, which I wrote to offer you for him, in case I should find you had done the handsome thing by Ruby. Will that be enough?”

“It's too much, sir. His body ain't worth it—shoes and all. It's only his heart, sir—that's worth millions—but his heart'll be mine all the same—so it's too much, sir.”

“I don't think so. It won't be, at least, by the time we've got him fed up again. You take it and welcome. Just go on with your cabbing for another month, only take it out of Ruby and let Diamond rest; and by that time I shall be ready for you to go down into the country.”

“Thank you, sir, thank you. Diamond set you down for a friend, sir, the moment he saw you. I do believe that child of mine knows more than other people.”

“I think so, too,” said Mr. Raymond as he walked away.

He had meant to test Joseph when he made the bargain about Ruby, but had no intention of so greatly prolonging the trial. He had been taken ill in Switzerland, and had been quite unable to return sooner. He went away now highly gratified at finding that he had stood the test, and was a true man.

Joseph rushed in to his wife who had been standing at the window anxiously waiting the result of the long colloquy. When she heard that the horses were to go together in double harness, she burst forth into an immoderate fit of laughter. Diamond came up with the baby in his arms and made big anxious eyes at her, saying—

“What is the matter with you, mother dear? Do cry a little. It will do you good. When father takes ever so small a drop of spirits, he puts water to it.”

“You silly darling!” said his mother; “how could I but laugh at the notion of that great fat Ruby going side by side with our poor old Diamond?”

“But why not, mother? With a month's oats, and nothing to do, Diamond'll be nearer Ruby's size than you will father's. I think it's very good for different sorts to go together. Now Ruby will have a chance of teaching Diamond better manners.”

“How dare you say such a thing, Diamond?” said his father, angrily. “To compare the two for manners, there's no comparison possible. Our Diamond's a gentleman.”

“I don't mean to say he isn't, father; for I daresay some gentlemen judge their neighbours unjustly. That's all I mean. Diamond shouldn't have thought such bad things of Ruby. He didn't try to make the best of him.”

“How do you know that, pray?”

“I heard them talking about it one night.”

“Who?”

“Why Diamond and Ruby. Ruby's an angel.”

Joseph stared and said no more. For all his new gladness, he was very gloomy as he re-harnessed the angel, for he thought his darling Diamond was going out of his mind.

He could not help thinking rather differently, however, when he found the change that had come over Ruby. Considering his fat, he exerted himself amazingly, and got over the ground with incredible speed. So willing, even anxious, was he to go now, that Joseph had to hold him quite tight.

Then as he laughed at his own fancies, a new fear came upon him lest the horse should break his wind, and Mr. Raymond have good cause to think he had not been using him well. He might even suppose that he had taken advantage of his new instructions, to let out upon the horse some of his pent-up dislike; whereas in truth, it had so utterly vanished that he felt as if Ruby, too, had been his friend all the time.

CHAPTER XXXIV. IN THE COUNTRY

BEFORE the end of the month, Ruby had got respectably thin, and Diamond respectably stout. They really began to look fit for double harness.

Joseph and his wife got their affairs in order, and everything ready for migrating at the shortest notice; and they felt so peaceful and happy that they judged all the trouble they had gone through well worth enduring. As for Nanny, she had been so happy ever since she left the hospital, that she expected nothing better, and saw nothing attractive in the notion of the country. At the same time, she had not the least idea of what the word country meant, for she had never seen anything about her but streets and gas-lamps. Besides, she was more attached to Jim than to Diamond: Jim was a reasonable being, Diamond in her eyes at best only an amiable, over-grown baby, whom no amount of expostulation would ever bring to talk sense, not to say think it. Now that she could manage the baby as well as he, she judged herself altogether his superior. Towards his father and mother, she was all they could wish.

Diamond had taken a great deal of pains and trouble to find Jim, and had at last succeeded through the help of the tall policeman, who was glad to renew his acquaintance with the strange child. Jim had moved his quarters, and had not heard of Nanny's illness till some time after she was taken to the hospital, where he was too shy to go and inquire about her. But when at length she went to live with Diamond's family, Jim was willing enough to go and see her. It was after one of his visits, during which they had been talking of her new prospects, that Nanny expressed to Diamond her opinion of the country.

“There ain't nothing in it but the sun and moon, Diamond.”

“There's trees and flowers,” said Diamond.

“Well, they ain't no count,” returned Nanny.

“Ain't they? They're so beautiful, they make you happy to look at them.”

“That's because you're such a silly.”

Diamond smiled with a far-away look, as if he were gazing through clouds of green leaves and the vision contented him. But he was thinking with himself what more he could do for Nanny; and that same evening he went to find Mr. Raymond, for he had heard that he had returned to town.

“Ah! how do you do, Diamond?” said Mr. Raymond; “I am glad to see you.”

And he was indeed, for he had grown very fond of him. His opinion of him was very different from Nanny's.

“What do you want now, my child?” he asked.

“I'm always wanting something, sir,” answered Diamond.

“Well, that's quite right, so long as what you want is right. Everybody is always wanting something; only we don't mention it in the right place often enough. What is it now?”

“There's a friend of Nanny's, a lame boy, called Jim.”

“I've heard of him,” said Mr. Raymond. “Well?”

“Nanny doesn't care much about going to the country, sir.”

“Well, what has that to do with Jim?”

“You couldn't find a corner for Jim to work in—could you, sir?”

“I don't know that I couldn't. That is, if you can show good reason for it.”

“He's a good boy, sir.”

“Well, so much the better for him.”

“I know he can shine boots, sir.”

“So much the better for us.”

“You want your boots shined in the country—don't you, sir?”

“Yes, to be sure.”

“It wouldn't be nice to walk over the flowers with dirty boots—would it, sir?”

“No, indeed.”

“They wouldn't like it—would they?”

“No, they wouldn't.”

“Then Nanny would be better pleased to go, sir.”

“If the flowers didn't like dirty boots to walk over them, Nanny wouldn't mind going to the country? Is that it? I don't quite see it.”

“No, sir; I didn't mean that. I meant, if you would take Jim with you to clean your boots, and do odd jobs, you know, sir, then Nanny would like it better. She's so fond of Jim!”

“Now you come to the point, Diamond. I see what you mean, exactly. I will turn it over in my mind. Could you bring Jim to see me?”

“I'll try, sir. But they don't mind me much. They think I'm silly,” added Diamond, with one of his sweetest smiles.

What Mr. Raymond thought, I dare hardly attempt to put down here. But one part of it was, that the highest wisdom must ever appear folly to those who do not possess it.

“I think he would come though—after dark, you know,” Diamond continued. “He does well at shining boots. People's kind to lame boys, you know, sir. But after dark, there ain't so much doing.”

Diamond succeeded in bringing Jim to Mr. Raymond, and the consequence was that he resolved to give the boy a chance. He provided new clothes for both him and Nanny; and upon a certain day, Joseph took his wife and three children, and Nanny and Jim, by train to a certain station in the county of Kent, where they found a cart waiting to carry them and their luggage to The Mound, which was the name of Mr. Raymond's new residence. I will not describe the varied feelings of the party as they went, or when they arrived. All I will say is, that Diamond, who is my only care, was full of quiet delight—a gladness too deep to talk about.

Joseph returned to town the same night, and the next morning drove Ruby and Diamond down, with the carriage behind them, and Mr. Raymond and a lady in the carriage. For Mr. Raymond was an old bachelor no longer: he was bringing his wife with him to live at The Mound. The moment Nanny saw her, she recognised her as the lady who had lent her the ruby-ring. That ring had been given her by Mr. Raymond.

The weather was very hot, and the woods very shadowy. There were not a great many wild flowers, for it was getting well towards autumn, and the most of the wild flowers rise early to be before the leaves, because if they did not, they would never get a glimpse of the sun for them. So they have their fun over, and are ready to go to bed again by the time the trees are dressed. But there was plenty of the loveliest grass and daisies about the house, and Diamond's chief pleasure seemed to be to lie amongst them, and breathe the pure air. But all the time, he was dreaming of the country at the back of the north wind, and trying to recall the songs the river used to sing. For this was more like being at the back of the north wind than anything he had known since he left it. Sometimes he would have his little brother, sometimes his little sister, and sometimes both of them in the grass with him, and then he felt just like a cat with her first kittens, he said, only he couldn't purr—all he could do was to sing.

These were very different times from those when he used to drive the cab, but you must not suppose that Diamond was idle. He did not do so much for his mother now, because Nanny occupied his former place; but he helped his father still, both in the stable and the harness-room, and generally went with him on the box that he might learn to drive a pair, and be ready to open the carriage-door. Mr. Raymond advised his father to give him plenty of liberty.

“A boy like that,” he said, “ought not to be pushed.”

Joseph assented heartily, smiling to himself at the idea of pushing Diamond. After doing everything that fell to his share, the boy had a wealth of time at his disposal. And a happy, sometimes a merry time it was. Only for two months or so, he neither saw nor heard anything of North Wind.

CHAPTER XXXV. I MAKE DIAMOND'S ACQUAINTANCE

MR. RAYMOND'S house was called The Mound, because it stood upon a little steep knoll, so smooth and symmetrical that it showed itself at once to be artificial. It had, beyond doubt, been built for Queen Elizabeth as a hunting tower—a place, namely, from the top of which you could see the country for miles on all sides, and so be able to follow with your eyes the flying deer and the pursuing hounds and horsemen. The mound had been cast up to give a good basement-advantage over the neighbouring heights and woods. There was a great quarry-hole not far off, brim-full of water, from which, as the current legend stated, the materials forming the heart of the mound—a kind of stone unfit for building—had been dug. The house itself was of brick, and they said the foundations were first laid in the natural level, and then the stones and earth of the mound were heaped about and between them, so that its great height should be well buttressed.

Joseph and his wife lived in a little cottage a short way from the house. It was a real cottage, with a roof of thick thatch, which, in June and July, the wind sprinkled with the red and white petals it shook from the loose topmost sprays of the rose-trees climbing the walls. At first Diamond had a nest under this thatch—a pretty little room with white muslin curtains, but afterwards Mr. and Mrs. Raymond wanted to have him for a page in the house, and his father and mother were quite pleased to have him employed without his leaving them. So he was dressed in a suit of blue, from which his pale face and fair hair came out like the loveliest blossom, and took up his abode in the house.

“Would you be afraid to sleep alone, Diamond?” asked his mistress.

“I don't know what you mean, ma'am,” said Diamond. “I never was afraid of anything that I can recollect—not much, at least.”

“There's a little room at the top of the house—all alone,” she returned; “perhaps you would not mind sleeping there?”

“I can sleep anywhere, and I like best to be high up. Should I be able to see out?”

“I will show you the place,” she answered; and taking him by the hand, she led him up and up the oval-winding stair in one of the two towers.

Near the top they entered a tiny little room, with two windows from which you could see over the whole country. Diamond clapped his hands with delight.

“You would like this room, then, Diamond?” said his mistress.

“It's the grandest room in the house,” he answered. “I shall be near the stars, and yet not far from the tops of the trees. That's just what I like.”

I daresay he thought, also, that it would be a nice place for North Wind to call at in passing; but he said nothing of that sort. Below him spread a lake of green leaves, with glimpses of grass here and there at the bottom of it. As he looked down, he saw a squirrel appear suddenly, and as suddenly vanish amongst the topmost branches.

“Aha! little squirrel,” he cried, “my nest is built higher than yours.”

“You can be up here with your books as much as you like,” said his mistress. “I will have a little bell hung at the door, which I can ring when I want you. Half-way down the stair is the drawing-room.”

So Diamond was installed as page, and his new room got ready for him.

It was very soon after this that I came to know Diamond. I was then a tutor in a family whose estate adjoined the little property belonging to The Mound. I had made the acquaintance of Mr. Raymond in London some time before, and was walking up the drive towards the house to call upon him one fine warm evening, when I saw Diamond for the first time. He was sitting at the foot of a great beech-tree, a few yards from the road, with a book on his knees. He did not see me. I walked up behind the tree, and peeping over his shoulder, saw that he was reading a fairy-book.

“What are you reading?” I said, and spoke suddenly, with the hope of seeing a startled little face look round at me. Diamond turned his head as quietly as if he were only obeying his mother's voice, and the calmness of his face rebuked my unkind desire and made me ashamed of it.

“I am reading the story of the Little Lady and the Goblin Prince,” said Diamond.

“I am sorry I don't know the story,” I returned. “Who is it by?”

“Mr. Raymond made it.”

“Is he your uncle?” I asked at a guess.

“No. He's my master.”

“What do you do for him?” I asked respectfully.

“Anything he wishes me to do,” he answered. “I am busy for him now. He gave me this story to read. He wants my opinion upon it.”

“Don't you find it rather hard to make up your mind?”

“Oh dear no! Any story always tells me itself what I'm to think about it. Mr. Raymond doesn't want me to say whether it is a clever story or not, but whether I like it, and why I like it. I never can tell what they call clever from what they call silly, but I always know whether I like a story or not.”

“And can you always tell why you like it or not?”

“No. Very often I can't at all. Sometimes I can. I always know, but I can't always tell why. Mr. Raymond writes the stories, and then tries them on me. Mother does the same when she makes jam. She's made such a lot of jam since we came here! And she always makes me taste it to see if it'll do. Mother knows by the face I make whether it will or not.”

At this moment I caught sight of two more children approaching. One was a handsome girl, the other a pale-faced, awkward-looking boy, who limped much on one leg. I withdrew a little, to see what would follow, for they seemed in some consternation. After a few hurried words, they went off together, and I pursued my way to the house, where I was as kindly received by Mr. and Mrs. Raymond as I could have desired. From them I learned something of Diamond, and was in consequence the more glad to find him, when I returned, seated in the same place as before.

“What did the boy and girl want with you, Diamond?” I asked.

“They had seen a creature that frightened them.”

“And they came to tell you about it?”

“They couldn't get water out of the well for it. So they wanted me to go with them.”

“They're both bigger than you.”

“Yes, but they were frightened at it.”

“And weren't you frightened at it?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm silly. I'm never frightened at things.”

I could not help thinking of the old meaning of the word silly.

“And what was it?” I asked.

“I think it was a kind of an angel—a very little one. It had a long body and great wings, which it drove about it so fast that they grew a thin cloud all round it. It flew backwards and forwards over the well, or hung right in the middle, making a mist of its wings, as if its business was to take care of the water.”

“And what did you do to drive it away?”

“I didn't drive it away. I knew, whatever the creature was, the well was to get water out of. So I took the jug, dipped it in, and drew the water.”

“And what did the creature do?”

“Flew about.”

“And it didn't hurt you?”

“No. Why should it? I wasn't doing anything wrong.”

“What did your companions say then?”

“They said—`Thank you, Diamond. What a dear silly you are!'”

“And weren't you angry with them?”

“No! Why should I? I should like if they would play with me a little; but they always like better to go away together when their work is over. They never heed me. I don't mind it much, though. The other creatures are friendly. They don't run away from me. Only they're all so busy with their own work, they don't mind me much.”

“Do you feel lonely, then?”

“Oh, no! When nobody minds me, I get into my nest, and look up. And then the sky does mind me, and thinks about me.”

“Where is your nest?”

He rose, saying, “I will show you,” and led me to the other side of the tree.

There hung a little rope-ladder from one of the lower boughs. The boy climbed up the ladder and got upon the bough. Then he climbed farther into the leafy branches, and went out of sight.

After a little while, I heard his voice coming down out of the tree.

“I am in my nest now,” said the voice.

“I can't see you,” I returned.

“I can't see you either, but I can see the first star peeping out of the sky. I should like to get up into the sky. Don't you think I shall, some day?”

“Yes, I do. Tell me what more you see up there.”

“I don't see anything more, except a few leaves, and the big sky over me. It goes swinging about. The earth is all behind my back. There comes another star! The wind is like kisses from a big lady. When I get up here I feel as if I were in North Wind's arms.”

This was the first I heard of North Wind.

The whole ways and look of the child, so full of quiet wisdom, yet so ready to accept the judgment of others in his own dispraise, took hold of my heart, and I felt myself wonderfully drawn towards him. It seemed to me, somehow, as if little Diamond possessed the secret of life, and was himself what he was so ready to think the lowest living thing—an angel of God with something special to say or do. A gush of reverence came over me, and with a single goodnight, I turned and left him in his nest.

I saw him often after this, and gained so much of his confidence that he told me all I have told you. I cannot pretend to account for it. I leave that for each philosophical reader to do after his own fashion. The easiest way is that of Nanny and Jim, who said often to each other that Diamond had a tile loose. But Mr. Raymond was much of my opinion concerning the boy; while Mrs. Raymond confessed that she often rang her bell just to have once more the pleasure of seeing the lovely stillness of the boy's face, with those blue eyes which seemed rather made for other people to look into than for himself to look out of.

It was plainer to others than to himself that he felt the desertion of Nanny and Jim. They appeared to regard him as a mere toy, except when they found he could minister to the scruple of using him—generally with success. They were, however, well-behaved to a wonderful degree; while I have little doubt that much of their good behaviour was owing to the unconscious influence of the boy they called God's baby.

One very strange thing is that I could never find out where he got some of his many songs. At times they would be but bubbles blown out of a nursery rhyme, as was the following, which I heard him sing one evening to his little Dulcimer. There were about a score of sheep feeding in a paddock near him, their white wool dyed a pale rose in the light of the setting sun. Those in the long shadows from the trees were dead white; those in the sunlight were half glorified with pale rose.