AT THE BACK OF THE NORTH WIND
BY GEORGE MAC DONALD
Author of “Dealings with Fairies,” “Ranald Bannerman,” etc., etc.
I HAVE been asked to tell you about the back of the north wind. An old Greek writer mentions a people who lived there, and were so comfortable that they could not bear it any longer, and drowned themselves. My story is not the same as his. I do not think Herodotus had got the right account of the place. I am going to tell you how it fared with a boy who went there.
He lived in a low room over a coach-house; and that was not by any means at the back of the north wind, as his mother very well knew. For one side of the room was built only of boards, and the boards were so old that you might run a penknife through into the north wind. And then let them settle between them which was the sharper! I know that when you pulled it out again the wind would be after it like a cat after a mouse, and you would know soon enough you were not at the back of the north wind. Still, this room was not very cold, except when the north wind blew stronger than usual: the room I have to do with now was always cold, except in summer, when the sun took the matter into his own hands. Indeed, I am not sure whether I ought to call it a room at all; for it was just a loft where they kept hay and straw and oats for the horses.
And when little Diamond–but stop: I must tell you that his father, who was a coachman, had named him after a favourite horse, and his mother had had no objection:–when little Diamond, then, lay there in bed, he could hear the horses under him munching away in the dark, or moving sleepily in their dreams. For Diamond’s father had built him a bed in the loft with boards all round it, because they had so little room in their own end over the coach-house; and Diamond’s father put old Diamond in the stall under the bed, because he was a quiet horse, and did not go to sleep standing, but lay down like a reasonable creature. But, although he was a surprisingly reasonable creature, yet, when young Diamond woke in the middle of the night, and felt the bed shaking in the blasts of the north wind, he could not help wondering whether, if the wind should blow the house down, and he were to fall through into the manger, old Diamond mightn’t eat him up before he knew him in his night-gown. And although old Diamond was very quiet all night long, yet when he woke he got up like an earthquake, and then young Diamond knew what o’clock it was, or at least what was to be done next, which was– to go to sleep again as fast as he could.
There was hay at his feet and hay at his head, piled up in great trusses to the very roof. Indeed it was sometimes only through a little lane with several turnings, which looked as if it had been sawn out for him, that he could reach his bed at all. For the stock of hay was, of course, always in a state either of slow ebb or of sudden flow. Sometimes the whole space of the loft, with the little panes in the roof for the stars to look in, would lie open before his open eyes as he lay in bed; sometimes a yellow wall of sweet-smelling fibres closed up his view at the distance of half a yard. Sometimes, when his mother had undressed him in her room, and told him to trot to bed by himself, he would creep into the heart of the hay, and lie there thinking how cold it was outside in the wind, and how warm it was inside there in his bed, and how he could go to it when he pleased, only he wouldn’t just yet; he would get a little colder first. And ever as he grew colder, his bed would grow warmer, till at last he would scramble out of the hay, shoot like an arrow into his bed, cover himself up, and snuggle down, thinking what a happy boy he was. He had not the least idea that the wind got in at a chink in the wall, and blew about him all night. For the back of his bed was only of boards an inch thick, and on the other side of them was the north wind.
Now, as I have already said, these boards were soft and crumbly. To be sure, they were tarred on the outside, yet in many places they were more like tinder than timber. Hence it happened that the soft part having worn away from about it, little Diamond found one night, after he lay down, that a knot had come out of one of them, and that the wind was blowing in upon him in a cold and rather imperious fashion. Now he had no fancy for leaving things wrong that might be set right; so he jumped out of bed again, got a little strike of hay, twisted it up, folded it in the middle, and, having thus made it into a cork, stuck it into the hole in the wall. But the wind began to blow loud and angrily, and, as Diamond was falling asleep, out blew his cork and hit him on the nose, just hard enough to wake him up quite, and let him hear the wind whistling shrill in the hole. He searched for his hay-cork, found it, stuck it in harder, and was just dropping off once more, when, pop! with an angry whistle behind it, the cork struck him again, this time on the cheek. Up he rose once more, made a fresh stopple of hay, and corked the hole severely. But he was hardly down again before–pop! it came on his forehead. He gave it up, drew the clothes above his head, and was soon fast asleep.
Although the next day was very stormy, Diamond forgot all about the hole, for he was busy making a cave by the side of his mother’s fire with a broken chair, a three-legged stool, and a blanket, and then sitting in it. His mother, however, discovered it, and pasted a bit of brown paper over it, so that, when Diamond had snuggled down the next night, he had no occasion to think of it.
Presently, however, he lifted his head and listened. Who could that be talking to him? The wind was rising again, and getting very loud, and full of rushes and whistles. He was sure some one was talking– and very near him, too, it was. But he was not frightened, for he had not yet learned how to be; so he sat up and hearkened. At last the voice, which, though quite gentle, sounded a little angry, appeared to come from the back of the bed. He crept nearer to it, and laid his ear against the wall. Then he heard nothing but the wind, which sounded very loud indeed. The moment, however, that he moved his head from the wall, he heard the voice again, close to his ear. He felt about with his hand, and came upon the piece of paper his mother had pasted over the hole. Against this he laid his ear, and then he heard the voice quite distinctly. There was, in fact, a little corner of the paper loose, and through that, as from a mouth in the wall, the voice came.
“What do you mean, little boy–closing up my window?”
“What window?” asked Diamond.
“You stuffed hay into it three times last night. I had to blow it out again three times.”
“You can’t mean this little hole! It isn’t a window; it’s a hole in my bed.”
“I did not say it was a window: I said it was my window.”
“But it can’t be a window, because windows are holes to see out of.”
“Well, that’s just what I made this window for.”
“But you are outside: you can’t want a window.”
“You are quite mistaken. Windows are to see out of, you say. Well, I’m in my house, and I want windows to see out of it.”
“But you’ve made a window into my bed.”
“Well, your mother has got three windows into my dancing room, and you have three into my garret.”
“But I heard father say, when my mother wanted him to make a window through the wall, that it was against the law, for it would look into Mr. Dyves’s garden.”
The voice laughed.
“The law would have some trouble to catch me!” it said.
“But if it’s not right, you know,” said Diamond, “that’s no matter. You shouldn’t do it.”
“I am so tall I am above that law,” said the voice.
“You must have a tall house, then,” said Diamond.
“Yes; a tall house: the clouds are inside it.”
“Dear me!” said Diamond, and thought a minute. “I think, then, you can hardly expect me to keep a window in my bed for you. Why don’t you make a window into Mr. Dyves’s bed?”
“Nobody makes a window into an ash-pit,” said the voice, rather sadly. “I like to see nice things out of my windows.”
“But he must have a nicer bed than I have, though mine is very nice– so nice that I couldn’t wish a better.”
“It’s not the bed I care about: it’s what is in it.–But you just open that window.”
“Well, mother says I shouldn’t be disobliging; but it’s rather hard. You see the north wind will blow right in my face if I do.”
“I am the North Wind.”
“O-o-oh!” said Diamond, thoughtfully. “Then will you promise not to blow on my face if I open your window?”
“I can’t promise that.”
“But you’ll give me the toothache. Mother’s got it already.”
“But what’s to become of me without a window?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. All I say is, it will be worse for me than for you.”
“No; it will not. You shall not be the worse for it–I promise you that. You will be much the better for it. Just you believe what I say, and do as I tell you.”
“Well, I can pull the clothes over my head,” said Diamond, and feeling with his little sharp nails, he got hold of the open edge of the paper and tore it off at once.
In came a long whistling spear of cold, and struck his little naked chest. He scrambled and tumbled in under the bedclothes, and covered himself up: there was no paper now between him and the voice, and he felt a little–not frightened exactly–I told you he had not learned that yet–but rather queer; for what a strange person this North Wind must be that lived in the great house–“called Out-of-Doors, I suppose,” thought Diamond–and made windows into people’s beds! But the voice began again; and he could hear it quite plainly, even with his head under the bed-clothes. It was a still more gentle voice now, although six times as large and loud as it had been, and he thought it sounded a little like his mother’s.
“What is your name, little boy?” it asked.
“Diamond,” answered Diamond, under the bed-clothes.
“What a funny name!”
“It’s a very nice name,” returned its owner.
“I don’t know that,” said the voice.
“Well, I do,” retorted Diamond, a little rudely.
“Do you know to whom you are speaking!”
“No,” said Diamond.
And indeed he did not. For to know a person’s name is not always to know the person’s self.
“Then I must not be angry with you.–You had better look and see, though.”
“Diamond is a very pretty name,” persisted the boy, vexed that it should not give satisfaction.
“Diamond is a useless thing rather,” said the voice.
“That’s not true. Diamond is very nice–as big as two–and so quiet all night! And doesn’t he make a jolly row in the morning, getting upon his four great legs! It’s like thunder.”
“You don’t seem to know what a diamond is.”
“Oh, don’t I just! Diamond is a great and good horse; and he sleeps right under me. He is old Diamond, and I am young Diamond; or, if you like it better, for you’re very particular, Mr. North Wind, he’s big Diamond, and I’m little Diamond; and I don’t know which of us my father likes best.”
A beautiful laugh, large but very soft and musical, sounded somewhere beside him, but Diamond kept his head under the clothes.
“I’m not Mr. North Wind,” said the voice.
“You told me that you were the North Wind,” insisted Diamond.
“I did not say Mister North Wind,” said the voice.
“Well, then, I do; for mother tells me I ought to be polite.”
“Then let me tell you I don’t think it at all polite of you to say Mister to me.”
“Well, I didn’t know better. I’m very sorry.”
“But you ought to know better.”
“I don’t know that.”
“I do. You can’t say it’s polite to lie there talking–with your head under the bed-clothes, and never look up to see what kind of person you are talking to.–I want you to come out with me.”
“I want to go to sleep,” said Diamond, very nearly crying, for he did not like to be scolded, even when he deserved it.
“You shall sleep all the better to-morrow night.”
“Besides,” said Diamond, “you are out in Mr. Dyves’s garden, and I can’t get there. I can only get into our own yard.”
“Will you take your head out of the bed-clothes?” said the voice, just a little angrily.
“No!” answered Diamond, half peevish, half frightened.
The instant he said the word, a tremendous blast of wind crashed in a board of the wall, and swept the clothes off Diamond. He started up in terror. Leaning over him was the large, beautiful, pale face of a woman. Her dark eyes looked a little angry, for they had just begun to flash; but a quivering in her sweet upper lip made her look as if she were going to cry. What was the most strange was that away from her head streamed out her black hair in every direction, so that the darkness in the hay-loft looked as if it were made of her, hair but as Diamond gazed at her in speechless amazement, mingled with confidence–for the boy was entranced with her mighty beauty–her hair began to gather itself out of the darkness, and fell down all about her again, till her face looked out of the midst of it like a moon out of a cloud. From her eyes came all the light by which Diamond saw her face and her, hair; and that was all he did see of her yet. The wind was over and gone.
“Will you go with me now, you little Diamond? I am sorry I was forced to be so rough with you,” said the lady.
“I will; yes, I will,” answered Diamond, holding out both his arms. “But,” he added, dropping them, “how shall I get my clothes? They are in mother’s room, and the door is locked.”
“Oh, never mind your clothes. You will not be cold. I shall take care of that. Nobody is cold with the north wind.”
“I thought everybody was,” said Diamond.
“That is a great mistake. Most people make it, however. They are cold because they are not with the north wind, but without it.”
If Diamond had been a little older, and had supposed himself a good deal wiser, he would have thought the lady was joking. But he was not older, and did not fancy himself wiser, and therefore understood her well enough. Again he stretched out his arms. The lady’s face drew back a little.
“Follow me, Diamond,” she said.
“Yes,” said Diamond, only a little ruefully.
“You’re not afraid?” said the North Wind.
“No, ma’am; but mother never would let me go without shoes: she never said anything about clothes, so I dare say she wouldn’t mind that.”
“I know your mother very well,” said the lady. “She is a good woman. I have visited her often. I was with her when you were born. I saw her laugh and cry both at once. I love your mother, Diamond.”
“How was it you did not know my name, then, ma’am? Please am I to say ma’am to you, ma’am?”
“One question at a time, dear boy. I knew your name quite well, but I wanted to hear what you would say for it. Don’t you remember that day when the man was finding fault with your name–how I blew the window in?”
“Yes, yes,” answered Diamond, eagerly. “Our window opens like a door, right over the coach-house door. And the wind–you, ma’am–came in, and blew the Bible out of the man’s hands, and the leaves went all flutter, flutter on the floor, and my mother picked it up and gave it back to him open, and there—-“
“Was your name in the Bible–the sixth stone in the high priest’s breastplate.”
“Oh!–a stone, was it?” said Diamond. “I thought it had been a horse– I did.”
“Never mind. A horse is better than a stone any day. Well, you see, I know all about you and your mother.”
“Yes. I will go with you.”
“Now for the next question: you’re not to call me ma’am. You must call me just my own name–respectfully, you know–just North Wind.”
“Well, please, North Wind, you are so beautiful, I am quite ready to go with you.”
“You must not be ready to go with everything beautiful all at once, Diamond.”
“But what’s beautiful can’t be bad. You’re not bad, North Wind?”
“No; I’m not bad. But sometimes beautiful things grow bad by doing bad, and it takes some time for their badness to spoil their beauty. So little boys may be mistaken if they go after things because they are beautiful.”
“Well, I will go with you because you are beautiful and good, too.”
“Ah, but there’s another thing, Diamond:–What if I should look ugly without being bad–look ugly myself because I am making ugly things beautiful?–What then?”
“I don’t quite understand you, North Wind. You tell me what then.”
“Well, I will tell you. If you see me with my face all black, don’t be frightened. If you see me flapping wings like a bat’s, as big as the whole sky, don’t be frightened. If you hear me raging ten times worse than Mrs. Bill, the blacksmith’s wife–even if you see me looking in at people’s windows like Mrs. Eve Dropper, the gardener’s wife– you must believe that I am doing my work. Nay, Diamond, if I change into a serpent or a tiger, you must not let go your hold of me, for my hand will never change in yours if you keep a good hold. If you keep a hold, you will know who I am all the time, even when you look at me and can’t see me the least like the North Wind. I may look something very awful. Do you understand?”
“Quite well,” said little Diamond.
“Come along, then,” said North Wind, and disappeared behind the mountain of hay.
Diamond crept out of bed and followed her.
WHEN Diamond got round the corner of the hay, for a moment he hesitated. The stair by which he would naturally have gone down to the door was at the other side of the loft, and looked very black indeed; for it was full of North Wind’s hair, as she descended before him. And just beside him was the ladder going straight down into the stable, up which his father always came to fetch the hay for Diamond’s dinner. Through the opening in the floor the faint gleam of the-stable lantern was enticing, and Diamond thought he would run down that way.
The stair went close past the loose-box in which Diamond the horse lived. When Diamond the boy was half-way down, he remembered that it was of no use to go this way, for the stable-door was locked. But at the same moment there was horse Diamond’s great head poked out of his box on to the ladder, for he knew boy Diamond although he was in his night-gown, and wanted him to pull his ears for him. This Diamond did very gently for a minute or so, and patted and stroked his neck too, and kissed the big horse, and had begun to take the bits of straw and hay out of his mane, when all at once he recollected that the Lady North Wind was waiting for him in the yard.
“Good night, Diamond,” he said, and darted up the ladder, across the loft, and down the stair to the door. But when he got out into the yard, there was no lady.
Now it is always a dreadful thing to think there is somebody and find nobody. Children in particular have not made up their minds to it; they generally cry at nobody, especially when they wake up at night. But it was an especial disappointment to Diamond, for his little heart had been beating with joy: the face of the North Wind was so grand! To have a lady like that for a friend–with such long hair, too! Why, it was longer than twenty Diamonds’ tails! She was gone. And there he stood, with his bare feet on the stones of the paved yard.
It was a clear night overhead, and the stars were shining. Orion in particular was making the most of his bright belt and golden sword. But the moon was only a poor thin crescent. There was just one great, jagged, black and gray cloud in the sky, with a steep side to it like a precipice; and the moon was against this side, and looked as if she had tumbled off the top of the cloud-hill, and broken herself in rolling down the precipice. She did not seem comfortable, for she was looking down into the deep pit waiting for her. At least that was what Diamond thought as he stood for a moment staring at her. But he was quite wrong, for the moon was not afraid, and there was no pit she was going down into, for there were no sides to it, and a pit without sides to it is not a pit at all. Diamond, however, had not been out so late before in all his life, and things looked so strange about him!– just as if he had got into Fairyland, of which he knew quite as much as anybody; for his mother had no money to buy books to set him wrong on the subject. I have seen this world–only sometimes, just now and then, you know–look as strange as ever I saw Fairyland. But I confess that I have not yet seen Fairyland at its best. I am always going to see it so some time. But if you had been out in the face and not at the back of the North Wind, on a cold rather frosty night, and in your night-gown, you would have felt it all quite as strange as Diamond did. He cried a little, just a little, he was so disappointed to lose the lady: of course, you, little man, wouldn’t have done that! But for my part, I don’t mind people crying so much as I mind what they cry about, and how they cry– whether they cry quietly like ladies and gentlemen, or go shrieking like vulgar emperors, or ill-natured cooks; for all emperors are not gentlemen, and all cooks are not ladies–nor all queens and princesses for that matter, either.
But it can’t be denied that a little gentle crying does one good. It did Diamond good; for as soon as it was over he was a brave boy again.
“She shan’t say it was my fault, anyhow!” said Diamond. “I daresay she is hiding somewhere to see what I will do. I will look for her.”
So he went round the end of the stable towards the kitchen-garden. But the moment he was clear of the shelter of the stable, sharp as a knife came the wind against his little chest and his bare legs. Still he would look in the kitchen-garden, and went on. But when he got round the weeping-ash that stood in the corner, the wind blew much stronger, and it grew stronger and stronger till he could hardly fight against it. And it was so cold! All the flashy spikes of the stars seemed to have got somehow into the wind. Then he thought of what the lady had said about people being cold because they were not with the North Wind. How it was that he should have guessed what she meant at that very moment I cannot tell, but I have observed that the most wonderful thing in the world is how people come to understand anything. He turned his back to the wind, and trotted again towards the yard; whereupon, strange to say, it blew so much more gently against his calves than it had blown against his shins that he began to feel almost warm by contrast.
You must not think it was cowardly of Diamond to turn his back to the wind: he did so only because he thought Lady North Wind had said something like telling him to do so. If she had said to him that he must hold his face to it, Diamond would have held his face to it. But the most foolish thing is to fight for no good, and to please nobody.
Well, it was just as if the wind was pushing Diamond along. If he turned round, it grew very sharp on his legs especially, and so he thought the wind might really be Lady North Wind, though he could not see her, and he had better let her blow him wherever she pleased. So she blew and blew, and he went and went, until he found himself standing at a door in a wall, which door led from the yard into a little belt of shrubbery, flanking Mr. Coleman’s house. Mr. Coleman was his father’s master, and the owner of Diamond. He opened the door, and went through the shrubbery, and out into the middle of the lawn, still hoping to find North Wind. The soft grass was very pleasant to his bare feet, and felt warm after the stones of the yard; but the lady was nowhere to be seen. Then he began to think that after all he must have done wrong, and she was offended with him for not following close after her, but staying to talk to the horse, which certainly was neither wise nor polite.
There he stood in the middle of the lawn, the wind blowing his night-gown till it flapped like a loose sail. The stars were very shiny over his head; but they did not give light enough to show that the grass was green; and Diamond stood alone in the strange night, which looked half solid all about him. He began to wonder whether he was in a dream or not. It was important to determine this; “for,” thought Diamond, “if I am in a dream, I am safe in my bed, and I needn’t cry. But if I’m not in a dream, I’m out here, and perhaps I had better cry, or, at least, I’m not sure whether I can help it.” He came to the conclusion, however, that, whether he was in a dream or not, there could be no harm in not crying for a little while longer: he could begin whenever he liked.
The back of Mr. Coleman’s house was to the lawn, and one of the drawing-room windows looked out upon it. The ladies had not gone to bed; for the light was still shining in that window. But they had no idea that a little boy was standing on the lawn in his night-gown, or they would have run out in a moment. And as long as he saw that light, Diamond could not feel quite lonely. He stood staring, not at the great warrior Orion in the sky, nor yet at the disconsolate, neglected moon going down in the west, but at the drawing-room window with the light shining through its green curtains. He had been in that room once or twice that he could remember at Christmas times; for the Colemans were kind people, though they did not care much about children.
All at once the light went nearly out: he could only see a glimmer of the shape of the window. Then, indeed, he felt that he was left alone. It was so dreadful to be out in the night after everybody was gone to bed! That was more than he could bear. He burst out crying in good earnest, beginning with a wail like that of the wind when it is waking up.
Perhaps you think this was very foolish; for could he not go home to his own bed again when he liked? Yes; but it looked dreadful to him to creep up that stair again and lie down in his bed again, and know that North Wind’s window was open beside him, and she gone, and he might never see her again. He would be just as lonely there as here. Nay, it would be much worse if he had to think that the window was nothing but a hole in the wall.
At the very moment when he burst out crying, the old nurse who had grown to be one of the family, for she had not gone away when Miss Coleman did not want any more nursing, came to the back door, which was of glass, to close the shutters. She thought she heard a cry, and, peering out with a hand on each side of her eyes like Diamond’s blinkers, she saw something white on the lawn. Too old and too wise to be frightened, she opened the door, and went straight towards the white thing to see what it was. And when Diamond saw her coming he was not frightened either, though Mrs. Crump was a little cross sometimes; for there is a good kind of crossness that is only disagreeable, and there is a bad kind of crossness that is very nasty indeed. So she came up with her neck stretched out, and her head at the end of it, and her eyes foremost of all, like a snail’s, peering into the night to see what it could be that went on glimmering white before her. When she did see, she made a great exclamation, and threw up her hands. Then without a word, for she thought Diamond was walking in his sleep, she caught hold of him, and led him towards the house. He made no objection, for he was just in the mood to be grateful for notice of any sort, and Mrs. Crump led him straight into the drawing-room.
Now, from the neglect of the new housemaid, the fire in Miss Coleman’s bedroom had gone out, and her mother had told her to brush her hair by the drawing-room fire–a disorderly proceeding which a mother’s wish could justify. The young lady was very lovely, though not nearly so beautiful as North Wind; and her hair was extremely long, for it came down to her knees–though that was nothing at all to North Wind’s hair. Yet when she looked round, with her hair all about her, as Diamond entered, he thought for one moment that it was North Wind, and, pulling his hand from Mrs. Crump’s, he stretched out his arms and ran towards Miss Coleman. She was so pleased that she threw down her brush, and almost knelt on the floor to receive him in her arms. He saw the next moment that she was not Lady North Wind, but she looked so like her he could not help running into her arms and bursting into tears afresh. Mrs. Crump said the poor child had walked out in his sleep, and Diamond thought she ought to know, and did not contradict her for anything he knew, it might be so indeed. He let them talk on about him, and said nothing; and when, after their astonishment was over, and Miss Coleman had given him a sponge-cake, it was decreed that Mrs. Crump should take him to his mother, he was quite satisfied.
His mother had to get out of bed to open the door when Mrs. Crump knocked. She was indeed surprised to see her, boy; and having taken him in her arms and carried him to his bed, returned and had a long confabulation with Mrs. Crump, for they were still talking when Diamond fell fast asleep, and could hear them no longer.
DIAMOND woke very early in the morning, and thought what a curious dream he had had. But the memory grew brighter and brighter in his head, until it did not look altogether like a dream, and he began to doubt whether he had not really been abroad in the wind last night. He came to the conclusion that, if he had really been brought home to his mother by Mrs. Crump, she would say something to him about it, and that would settle the matter. Then he got up and dressed himself, but, finding that his father and mother were not yet stirring, he went down the ladder to the stable. There he found that even old Diamond was not awake yet, for he, as well as young Diamond, always got up the moment he woke, and now he was lying as flat as a horse could lie upon his nice trim bed of straw.
“I’ll give old Diamond a surprise,” thought the, boy; and creeping up very softly, before the horse knew, he was astride of his back. Then it was young Diamond’s turn to have more of a surprise than he had expected; for as with an earthquake, with a rumbling and a rocking hither and thither, a sprawling of legs and heaving as of many backs, young Diamond found himself hoisted up in the air, with both hands twisted in the horse’s mane. The next instant old Diamond lashed out with both his hind legs, and giving one cry of terror young Diamond found himself lying on his neck, with his arms as far round it as they would go. But then the horse stood as still as a stone, except that he lifted his head gently up to let the boy slip down to his back. For when he heard young Diamond’s cry he knew that there was nothing to kick about; for young Diamond was a good boy, and old Diamond was a good horse, and the one was all right on the back of the other.
As soon as Diamond had got himself comfortable on the saddle place, the horse began pulling at the hay, and the boy began thinking. He had never mounted Diamond himself before, and he had never got off him without being lifted down. So he sat, while the horse ate, wondering how he was to reach the ground.
But while he meditated, his mother woke, and her first thought was to see her boy. She had visited him twice during the night, and found him sleeping quietly. Now his bed was empty, and she was frightened.
“Diamond! Diamond! Where are you, Diamond?” she called out.
Diamond turned his head where he sat like a knight on his steed in enchanted stall, and cried aloud,–
“Where, Diamond?” she returned.
“Here, mother, on Diamond’s back.”
She came running to the ladder, and peeping down, saw him aloft on the great horse.
“Come down, Diamond,” she said.
“I can’t,” answered Diamond.
“How did you get up?” asked his mother.
“Quite easily,” answered he; “but when I got up, Diamond would get up too, and so here I am.”
His mother thought he had been walking in his sleep again, and hurried down the ladder. She did not much like going up to the horse, for she had not been used to horses; but she would have gone into a lion’s den, not to say a horse’s stall, to help her boy. So she went and lifted him off Diamond’s back, and felt braver all her life after. She carried him in her arms up to her room; but, afraid of frightening him at his own sleep-walking, as she supposed it, said nothing about last night. Before the next day was over, Diamond had almost concluded the whole adventure a dream.
For a week his mother watched him very carefully–going into the loft several times a night–as often, in fact, as she woke. Every time she found him fast asleep.
All that week it was hard weather. The grass showed white in the morning with the hoar-frost which clung like tiny comfits to every blade. And as Diamond’s shoes were not good, and his mother had not quite saved up enough money to get him the new pair she so much wanted for him, she would not let him run out. He played all his games over and over indoors, especially that of driving two chairs harnessed to the baby’s cradle; and if they did not go very fast, they went as fast as could be expected of the best chairs in the world, although one of them had only three legs, and the other only half a back.
At length his mother brought home his new shoes, and no sooner did she find they fitted him than she told him he might run out in the yard and amuse himself for an hour.
The sun was going down when he flew from the door like a bird from its cage. All the world was new to him. A great fire of sunset burned on the top of the gate that led from the stables to the house; above the fire in the sky lay a large lake of green light, above that a golden cloud, and over that the blue of the wintry heavens. And Diamond thought that, next to his own home, he had never seen any place he would like so much to live in as that sky. For it is not fine things that make home a nice place, but your mother and your father.
As he was looking at the lovely colours, the gates were thrown open, and there was old Diamond and his friend in the carriage, dancing with impatience to get at their stalls and their oats. And in they came. Diamond was not in the least afraid of his father driving over him, but, careful not to spoil the grand show he made with his fine horses and his multitudinous cape, with a red edge to every fold, he slipped out of the way and let him dash right on to the stables. To be quite safe he had to step into the recess of the door that led from the yard to the shrubbery.
As he stood there he remembered how the wind had driven him to this same spot on the night of his dream. And once more he was almost sure that it was no dream. At all events, he would go in and see whether things looked at all now as they did then. He opened the door, and passed through the little belt of shrubbery. Not a flower was to be seen in the beds on the lawn. Even the brave old chrysanthemums and Christmas roses had passed away before the frost. What? Yes! There was one! He ran and knelt down to look at it.
It was a primrose–a dwarfish thing, but perfect in shape– a baby-wonder. As he stooped his face to see it close, a little wind began to blow, and two or three long leaves that stood up behind the flower shook and waved and quivered, but the primrose lay still in the green hollow, looking up at the sky, and not seeming to know that the wind was blowing at all. It was just a one eye that the dull black wintry earth had opened to look at the sky with. All at once Diamond thought it was saying its prayers, and he ought not to be staring at it so. He ran to the stable to see his father make Diamond’s bed. Then his father took him in his arms, carried him up the ladder, and set him down at the table where they were going to have their tea.
“Miss is very poorly,” said Diamond’s father. “Mis’ess has been to the doctor with her to-day, and she looked very glum when she came out again. I was a-watching of them to see what doctor had said.”
“And didn’t Miss look glum too?” asked his mother.
“Not half as glum as Mis’ess,” returned the coachman. “You see–“
But he lowered his voice, and Diamond could not make out more than a word here and there. For Diamond’s father was not only one of the finest of coachmen to look at, and one of the best of drivers, but one of the most discreet of servants as well. Therefore he did not talk about family affairs to any one but his wife, whom he had proved better than himself long ago, and was careful that even Diamond should hear nothing he could repeat again concerning master and his family.
It was bed-time soon, and Diamond went to bed and fell fast asleep.
He awoke all at once, in the dark.
“Open the window, Diamond,” said a voice.
Now Diamond’s mother had once more pasted up North Wind’s window.
“Are you North Wind?” said Diamond: “I don’t hear you blowing.”
“No; but you hear me talking. Open the window, for I haven’t overmuch time.”
“Yes,” returned Diamond. “But, please, North Wind, where’s the use? You left me all alone last time.”
He had got up on his knees, and was busy with his nails once more at the paper over the hole in the wall. For now that North Wind spoke again, he remembered all that had taken place before as distinctly as if it had happened only last night.
“Yes, but that was your fault,” returned North Wind. “I had work to do; and, besides, a gentleman should never keep a lady waiting.”
“But I’m not a gentleman,” said Diamond, scratching away at the paper.
“I hope you won’t say so ten years after this.”
“I’m going to be a coachman, and a coachman is not a gentleman,” persisted Diamond.
“We call your father a gentleman in our house,” said North Wind.
“He doesn’t call himself one,” said Diamond.
“That’s of no consequence: every man ought to be a gentleman, and your father is one.”
Diamond was so pleased to hear this that he scratched at the paper like ten mice, and getting hold of the edge of it, tore it off. The next instant a young girl glided across the bed, and stood upon the floor.
“Oh dear!” said Diamond, quite dismayed; “I didn’t know– who are you, please?”
“I’m North Wind.”
“Are you really?”
“Yes. Make haste.”
“But you’re no bigger than me.”
“Do you think I care about how big or how little I am? Didn’t you see me this evening? I was less then.”
“No. Where was you?”
“Behind the leaves of the primrose. Didn’t you see them blowing?”
“Make haste, then, if you want to go with me.”
“But you are not big enough to take care of me. I think you are only Miss North Wind.”
“I am big enough to show you the way, anyhow. But if you won’t come, why, you must stay.”
“I must dress myself. I didn’t mind with a grown lady, but I couldn’t go with a little girl in my night-gown.”
“Very well. I’m not in such a hurry as I was the other night. Dress as fast as you can, and I’ll go and shake the primrose leaves till you come.”
“Don’t hurt it,” said Diamond.
North Wind broke out in a little laugh like the breaking of silver bubbles, and was gone in a moment. Diamond saw– for it was a starlit night, and the mass of hay was at a low ebb now–the gleam of something vanishing down the stair, and, springing out of bed, dressed himself as fast as ever he could. Then he crept out into the yard, through the door in the wall, and away to the primrose. Behind it stood North Wind, leaning over it, and looking at the flower as if she had been its mother.
“Come along,” she said, jumping up and holding out her hand.
Diamond took her hand. It was cold, but so pleasant and full of life, it was better than warm. She led him across the garden. With one bound she was on the top of the wall. Diamond was left at the foot.
“Stop, stop!” he cried. “Please, I can’t jump like that.”
“You don’t try” said North Wind, who from the top looked down a foot taller than before.
“Give me your hand again, and I will, try” said Diamond.
She reached down, Diamond laid hold of her hand, gave a great spring, and stood beside her.
“This is nice!” he said.
Another bound, and they stood in the road by the river. It was full tide, and the stars were shining clear in its depths, for it lay still, waiting for the turn to run down again to the sea. They walked along its side. But they had not walked far before its surface was covered with ripples, and the stars had vanished from its bosom.
And North Wind was now tall as a full-grown girl. Her hair was flying about her head, and the wind was blowing a breeze down the river. But she turned aside and went up a narrow lane, and as she went her hair fell down around her.
“I have some rather disagreeable work to do to-night,” she said, “before I get out to sea, and I must set about it at once. The disagreeable work must be looked after first.”
So saying, she laid hold of Diamond and began to run, gliding along faster and faster. Diamond kept up with her as well as he could. She made many turnings and windings, apparently because it was not quite easy to get him over walls and houses. Once they ran through a hall where they found back and front doors open. At the foot of the stair North Wind stood still, and Diamond, hearing a great growl, started in terror, and there, instead of North Wind, was a huge wolf by his side. He let go his hold in dismay, and the wolf bounded up the stair. The windows of the house rattled and shook as if guns were firing, and the sound of a great fall came from above. Diamond stood with white face staring up at the landing.
“Surely,” he thought, “North Wind can’t be eating one of the children!” Coming to himself all at once, he rushed after her with his little fist clenched. There were ladies in long trains going up and down the stairs, and gentlemen in white neckties attending on them, who stared at him, but none of them were of the people of the house, and they said nothing. Before he reached the head of the stair, however, North Wind met him, took him by the hand, and hurried down and out of the house.
“I hope you haven’t eaten a baby, North Wind!” said Diamond, very solemnly.
North Wind laughed merrily, and went tripping on faster. Her grassy robe swept and swirled about her steps, and wherever it passed over withered leaves, they went fleeing and whirling in spirals, and running on their edges like wheels, all about her feet.
“No,” she said at last, “I did not eat a baby. You would not have had to ask that foolish question if you had not let go your hold of me. You would have seen how I served a nurse that was calling a child bad names, and telling her she was wicked. She had been drinking. I saw an ugly gin bottle in a cupboard.”
“And you frightened her?” said Diamond.
“I believe so!” answered North Wind laughing merrily. “I flew at her throat, and she tumbled over on the floor with such a crash that they ran in. She’ll be turned away to-morrow–and quite time, if they knew as much as I do.”
“But didn’t you frighten the little one?”
“She never saw me. The woman would not have seen me either if she had not been wicked.”
“Oh!” said Diamond, dubiously.
“Why should you see things,” returned North Wind, “that you wouldn’t understand or know what to do with? Good people see good things; bad people, bad things.”
“Then are you a bad thing?”
“No. For you see me, Diamond, dear,” said the girl, and she looked down at him, and Diamond saw the loving eyes of the great lady beaming from the depths of her falling hair.
“I had to make myself look like a bad thing before she could see me. If I had put on any other shape than a wolf’s she would not have seen me, for that is what is growing to be her own shape inside of her.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Diamond, “but I suppose it’s all right.”
They were now climbing the slope of a grassy ascent. It was Primrose Hill, in fact, although Diamond had never heard of it. The moment they reached the top, North Wind stood and turned her face towards London The stars were still shining clear and cold overhead. There was not a cloud to be seen. The air was sharp, but Diamond did not find it cold.
“Now,” said the lady, “whatever you do, do not let my hand go. I might have lost you the last time, only I was not in a hurry then: now I am in a hurry.”
Yet she stood still for a moment.
AND as she stood looking towards London, Diamond saw that she was trembling.
“Are you cold, North Wind?” he asked.
“No, Diamond,” she answered, looking down upon him with a smile; “I am only getting ready to sweep one of my rooms. Those careless, greedy, untidy children make it in such a mess.”
As she spoke he could have told by her voice, if he had not seen with his eyes, that she was growing larger and larger. Her head went up and up towards the stars; and as she grew, still trembling through all her body, her hair also grew–longer and longer, and lifted itself from her head, and went out in black waves. The next moment, however, it fell back around her, and she grew less and less till she was only a tall woman. Then she put her hands behind her head, and gathered some of her hair, and began weaving and knotting it together. When she had done, she bent down her beautiful face close to his, and said–
“Diamond, I am afraid you would not keep hold of me, and if I were to drop you, I don’t know what might happen; so I have been making a place for you in my hair. Come.”
Diamond held out his arms, for with that grand face looking at him, he believed like a baby. She took him in her hands, threw him over her shoulder, and said, “Get in, Diamond.”
And Diamond parted her hair with his hands, crept between, and feeling about soon found the woven nest. It was just like a pocket, or like the shawl in which gipsy women carry their children. North Wind put her hands to her back, felt all about the nest, and finding it safe, said–
“Are you comfortable, Diamond?”
“Yes, indeed,” answered Diamond.
The next moment he was rising in the air. North Wind grew towering up to the place of the clouds. Her hair went streaming out from her, till it spread like a mist over the stars. She flung herself abroad in space.
Diamond held on by two of the twisted ropes which, parted and interwoven, formed his shelter, for he could not help being a little afraid. As soon as he had come to himself, he peeped through the woven meshes, for he did not dare to look over the top of the nest. The earth was rushing past like a river or a sea below him. Trees and water and green grass hurried away beneath. A great roar of wild animals rose as they rushed over the Zoological Gardens, mixed with a chattering of monkeys and a screaming of birds; but it died away in a moment behind them. And now there was nothing but the roofs of houses, sweeping along like a great torrent of stones and rocks. Chimney-pots fell, and tiles flew from the roofs; but it looked to him as if they were left behind by the roofs and the chimneys as they scudded away. There was a great roaring, for the wind was dashing against London like a sea; but at North Wind’s back Diamond, of course, felt nothing of it all. He was in a perfect calm. He could hear the sound of it, that was all.
By and by he raised himself and looked over the edge of his nest. There were the houses rushing up and shooting away below him, like a fierce torrent of rocks instead of water. Then he looked up to the sky, but could see no stars; they were hidden by the blinding masses of the lady’s hair which swept between. He began to wonder whether she would hear him if he spoke. He would try.
“Please, North Wind,” he said, “what is that noise?”
From high over his head came the voice of North Wind, answering him, gently–
“The noise of my besom. I am the old woman that sweeps the cobwebs from the, sky; only I’m busy with the floor now.”
“What makes the houses look as if they were running away?”
“I am sweeping so fast over them.”
“But, please, North Wind, I knew London was very big, but I didn’t know it was so big as this. It seems as if we should never get away from it.”
“We are going round and round, else we should have left it long ago.”
“Is this the way you sweep, North Wind?”
“Yes; I go round and round with my great besom.”
“Please, would you mind going a little slower, for I want to see the streets?”
“You won’t see much now.”
“Because I have nearly swept all the people home.”
“Oh! I forgot,” said Diamond, and was quiet after that, for he did not want to be troublesome.
But she dropped a little towards the roofs of the houses, and Diamond could see down into the streets. There were very few people about, though. The lamps flickered and flared again, but nobody seemed to want them.
Suddenly Diamond espied a little girl coming along a street. She was dreadfully blown by the wind, and a broom she was trailing behind her was very troublesome. It seemed as if the wind had a spite at her– it kept worrying her like a wild beast, and tearing at her rags. She was so lonely there!
“Oh! please, North Wind,” he cried, “won’t you help that little girl?”
“No, Diamond; I mustn’t leave my work.”
“But why shouldn’t you be kind to her?”
“I am kind to her. I am sweeping the wicked smells away.”
“But you’re kinder to me, dear North Wind. Why shouldn’t you be as kind to her as you are to me?”
“There are reasons, Diamond. Everybody can’t be done to all the same. Everybody is not ready for the same thing.”
“But I don’t see why I should be kinder used than she.”
“Do you think nothing’s to be done but what you can see, Diamond, you silly! It’s all right. Of course you can help her if you like. You’ve got nothing particular to do at this moment; I have.”
“Oh! do let me help her, then. But you won’t be able to wait, perhaps?”
“No, I can’t wait; you must do it yourself. And, mind, the wind will get a hold of you, too.”
“Don’t you want me to help her, North Wind?”
“Not without having some idea what will happen. If you break down and cry, that won’t be much of a help to her, and it will make a goose of little Diamond.”
“I want to go,” said Diamond. “Only there’s just one thing– how am I to get home?”
“If you’re anxious about that, perhaps you had better go with me. I am bound to take you home again, if you do.”
“There!” cried Diamond, who was still looking after the little girl. “I’m sure the wind will blow her over, and perhaps kill her. Do let me go.”
They had been sweeping more slowly along the line of the street. There was a lull in the roaring.
“Well, though I cannot promise to take you home,” said North Wind, as she sank nearer and nearer to the tops of the houses, “I can promise you it will be all right in the end. You will get home somehow. Have you made up your mind what to do?”
“Yes; to help the little girl,” said Diamond firmly.
The same moment North Wind dropt into the street and stood, only a tall lady, but with her hair flying up over the housetops. She put her hands to her back, took Diamond, and set him down in the street. The same moment he was caught in the fierce coils of the blast, and all but blown away. North Wind stepped back a step, and at once towered in stature to the height of the houses. A chimney-pot clashed at Diamond’s feet. He turned in terror, but it was to look for the little girl, and when he turned again the lady had vanished, and the wind was roaring along the street as if it had been the bed of an invisible torrent. The little girl was scudding before the blast, her hair flying too, and behind her she dragged her broom. Her little legs were going as fast as ever they could to keep her from falling. Diamond crept into the shelter of a doorway, thinking to stop her; but she passed him like a bird, crying gently and pitifully.
“Stop! stop! little girl,” shouted Diamond, starting in pursuit.
“I can’t,” wailed the girl, “the wind won’t leave go of me.”
Diamond could run faster than she, and he had no broom. In a few moments he had caught her by the frock, but it tore in his hand, and away went the little girl. So he had to run again, and this time he ran so fast that he got before her, and turning round caught her in his arms, when down they went both together, which made the little girl laugh in the midst of her crying.
“Where are you going?” asked Diamond, rubbing the elbow that had stuck farthest out. The arm it belonged to was twined round a lamp-post as he stood between the little girl and the wind.
“Home,” she said, gasping for breath.
“Then I will go with you,” said Diamond.
And then they were silent for a while, for the wind blew worse than ever, and they had both to hold on to the lamp-post.
“Where is your crossing?” asked the girl at length.
“I don’t sweep,” answered Diamond.
“What do you do, then?” asked she. “You ain’t big enough for most things.”
“I don’t know what I do do,” answered he, feeling rather ashamed. “Nothing, I suppose. My father’s Mr. Coleman’s coachman.”
“Have you a father?” she said, staring at him as if a boy with a father was a natural curiosity.
“Yes. Haven’t you?” returned Diamond.
“No; nor mother neither. Old Sal’s all I’ve got.” And she began to cry again.
“I wouldn’t go to her if she wasn’t good to me,” said Diamond.
“But you must go somewheres.”
“Move on,” said the voice of a policeman behind them.
“I told you so,” said the girl. “You must go somewheres. They’re always at it.”
“But old Sal doesn’t beat you, does she?”
“I wish she would.”
“What do you mean?” asked Diamond, quite bewildered.
“She would if she was my mother. But she wouldn’t lie abed a-cuddlin’ of her ugly old bones, and laugh to hear me crying at the door.”
“You don’t mean she won’t let you in to-night?”
“It’ll be a good chance if she does.”
“Why are you out so late, then?” asked Diamond.
“My crossing’s a long way off at the West End, and I had been indulgin’ in door-steps and mewses.”
“We’d better have a try anyhow,” said Diamond. “Come along.”
As he spoke Diamond thought he caught a glimpse of North Wind turning a corner in front of them; and when they turned the corner too, they found it quiet there, but he saw nothing of the lady.
“Now you lead me,” he said, taking her hand, “and I’ll take care of you.”
The girl withdrew her hand, but only to dry her eyes with her frock, for the other had enough to do with her broom. She put it in his again, and led him, turning after turning, until they stopped at a cellar-door in a very dirty lane. There she knocked.
“I shouldn’t like to live here,” said Diamond.
“Oh, yes, you would, if you had nowhere else to go to,” answered the girl. “I only wish we may get in.”
“I don’t want to go in,” said Diamond.
“Where do you mean to go, then?”
“Home to my home.”
“I don’t exactly know.”
“Then you’re worse off than I am.”
“Oh no, for North Wind–” began Diamond, and stopped, he hardly knew why.
“What?” said the girl, as she held her ear to the door listening.
But Diamond did not reply. Neither did old Sal.
“I told you so,” said the girl. “She is wide awake hearkening. But we don’t get in.”
“What will you do, then?” asked Diamond.
“Move on,” she answered.
“Oh, anywheres. Bless you, I’m used to it.”
“Hadn’t you better come home with me, then?”
“That’s a good joke, when you don’t know where it is. Come on.”
“Oh, nowheres in particular. Come on.”
Diamond obeyed. The wind had now fallen considerably. They wandered on and on, turning in this direction and that, without any reason for one way more than another, until they had got out of the thick of the houses into a waste kind of place. By this time they were both very tired. Diamond felt a good deal inclined to cry, and thought he had been very silly to get down from the back of North Wind; not that he would have minded it if he had done the girl any good; but he thought he had been of no use to her. He was mistaken there, for she was far happier for having Diamond with her than if she had been wandering about alone. She did not seem so tired as he was.
“Do let us rest a bit,” said Diamond.
“Let’s see,” she answered. “There’s something like a railway there. Perhaps there’s an open arch.”
They went towards it and found one, and, better still, there was an empty barrel lying under the arch.
“Hallo! here we are!” said the girl. “A barrel’s the jolliest bed going–on the tramp, I mean. We’ll have forty winks, and then go on again.”
She crept in, and Diamond crept in beside her. They put their arms round each other, and when he began to grow warm, Diamond’s courage began to come back.
“This is jolly!” he said. “I’m so glad!”
“I don’t think so much of it,” said the girl. “I’m used to it, I suppose. But I can’t think how a kid like you comes to be out all alone this time o’ night.”
She called him a kid, but she was not really a month older than he was; only she had had to work for her bread, and that so soon makes people older.
“But I shouldn’t have been out so late if I hadn’t got down to help you,” said Diamond. “North Wind is gone home long ago.”
“I think you must ha’ got out o’ one o’ them Hidget Asylms,” said the girl. “You said something about the north wind afore that I couldn’t get the rights of.”
So now, for the sake of his character, Diamond had to tell her the whole story.
She did not believe a word of it. She said he wasn’t such a flat as to believe all that bosh. But as she spoke there came a great blast of wind through the arch, and set the barrel rolling. So they made haste to get out of it, for they had no notion of being rolled over and over as if they had been packed tight and wouldn’t hurt, like a barrel of herrings.
“I thought we should have had a sleep,” said Diamond; “but I can’t say I’m very sleepy after all. Come, let’s go on again.”
They wandered on and on, sometimes sitting on a door-step, but always turning into lanes or fields when they had a chance.
They found themselves at last on a rising ground that sloped rather steeply on the other side. It was a waste kind of spot below, bounded by an irregular wall, with a few doors in it. Outside lay broken things in general, from garden rollers to flower-pots and wine-bottles. But the moment they reached the brow of the rising ground, a gust of wind seized them and blew them down hill as fast as they could run. Nor could Diamond stop before he went bang against one of the doors in the wall. To his dismay it burst open. When they came to themselves they peeped in. It was the back door of a garden.
“Ah, ah!” cried Diamond, after staring for a few moments, “I thought so! North Wind takes nobody in! Here I am in master’s garden! I tell you what, little girl, you just bore a hole in old Sal’s wall, and put your mouth to it, and say, “Please, North Wind, mayn’t I go out with you?” and then you’ll see what’ll come.”
“I daresay I shall. But I’m out in the wind too often already to want more of it.”
“I said with the North Wind, not in it.”
“It’s all one.”
“It’s not all one.”
“It is all one.”
“But I know best.”
“And I know better. I’ll box your ears,” said the girl.
Diamond got very angry. But he remembered that even if she did box his ears, he musn’t box hers again, for she was a girl, and all that boys must do, if girls are rude, is to go away and leave them. So he went in at the door.
“Good-bye, mister” said the girl.
This brought Diamond to his senses.
“I’m sorry I was cross,” he said. “Come in, and my mother will give you some breakfast.”
“No, thank you. I must be off to my crossing. It’s morning now.”
“I’m very sorry for you,” said Diamond.
“Well, it is a life to be tired of–what with old Sal, and so many holes in my shoes.”
“I wonder you’re so good. I should kill myself.”
“Oh, no, you wouldn’t! When I think of it, I always want to see what’s coming next, and so I always wait till next is over. Well! I suppose there’s somebody happy somewheres. But it ain’t in them carriages. Oh my! how they do look sometimes–fit to bite your head off! Good-bye!”
She ran up the hill and disappeared behind it. Then Diamond shut the door as he best could, and ran through the kitchen-garden to the stable. And wasn’t he glad to get into his own blessed bed again!
DIAMOND said nothing to his mother about his adventures. He had half a notion that North Wind was a friend of his mother, and that, if she did not know all about it, at least she did not mind his going anywhere with the lady of the wind. At the same time he doubted whether he might not appear to be telling stories if he told all, especially as he could hardly believe it himself when he thought about it in the middle of the day, although when the twilight was once half-way on to night he had no doubt about it, at least for the first few days after he had been with her. The girl that swept the crossing had certainly refused to believe him. Besides, he felt sure that North Wind would tell him if he ought to speak.
It was some time before he saw the lady of the wind again. Indeed nothing remarkable took place in Diamond’s history until the following week. This was what happened then. Diamond the horse wanted new shoes, and Diamond’s father took him out of the stable, and was just getting on his back to ride him to the forge, when he saw his little boy standing by the pump, and looking at him wistfully. Then the coachman took his foot out of the stirrup, left his hold of the mane and bridle, came across to his boy, lifted him up, and setting him on the horse’s back, told him to sit up like a man. He then led away both Diamonds together.
The boy atop felt not a little tremulous as the great muscles that lifted the legs of the horse knotted and relaxed against his legs, and he cowered towards the withers, grasping with his hands the bit of mane worn short by the collar; but when his father looked back at him, saying once more, “Sit up, Diamond,” he let the mane go and sat up, notwithstanding that the horse, thinking, I suppose, that his master had said to him, “Come up, Diamond,” stepped out faster. For both the Diamonds were just grandly obedient. And Diamond soon found that, as he was obedient to his father, so the horse was obedient to him. For he had not ridden far before he found courage to reach forward and catch hold of the bridle, and when his father, whose hand was upon it, felt the boy pull it towards him, he looked up and smiled, and, well pleased, let go his hold, and left Diamond to guide Diamond; and the boy soon found that he could do so perfectly. It was a grand thing to be able to guide a great beast like that. And another discovery he made was that, in order to guide the horse, he had in a measure to obey the horse first. If he did not yield his body to the motions of the horse’s body, he could not guide him; he must fall off.
The blacksmith lived at some distance, deeper into London. As they crossed the angle of a square, Diamond, who was now quite comfortable on his living throne, was glancing this way and that in a gentle pride, when he saw a girl sweeping a crossing scuddingly before a lady. The lady was his father’s mistress, Mrs. Coleman, and the little girl was she for whose sake he had got off North Wind’s back. He drew Diamond’s bridle in eager anxiety to see whether her outstretched hand would gather a penny from Mrs. Coleman. But she had given one at the last crossing, and the hand returned only to grasp its broom. Diamond could not bear it. He had a penny in his pocket, a gift of the same lady the day before, and he tumbled off his horse to give it to the girl. He tumbled off, I say, for he did tumble when he reached the ground. But he got up in an instant, and ran, searching his pocket as he ran. She made him a pretty courtesy when he offered his treasure, but with a bewildered stare. She thought first: “Then he was on the back of the North Wind after all!” but, looking up at the sound of the horse’s feet on the paved crossing, she changed her idea, saying to herself, “North Wind is his father’s horse! That’s the secret of it! Why couldn’t he say so?” And she had a mind to refuse the penny. But his smile put it all right, and she not only took his penny but put it in her mouth with a “Thank you, mister. Did they wollop you then?”
“Oh no!” answered Diamond. “They never wollops me.”
“Lor!” said the little girl, and was speechless.
Meantime his father, looking up, and seeing the horse’s back bare, suffered a pang of awful dread, but the next moment catching sight of him, took him up and put him on, saying–
“Don’t get off again, Diamond. The horse might have put his foot on you.”
“No, father,” answered the boy, and rode on in majestic safety.
The summer drew near, warm and splendid. Miss Coleman was a little better in health, and sat a good deal in the garden. One day she saw Diamond peeping through the shrubbery, and called him. He talked to her so frankly that she often sent for him after that, and by degrees it came about that he had leave to run in the garden as he pleased. He never touched any of the flowers or blossoms, for he was not like some boys who cannot enjoy a thing without pulling it to pieces, and so preventing every one from enjoying it after them.
A week even makes such a long time in a child’s life, that Diamond had begun once more to feel as if North Wind were a dream of some far-off year.
One hot evening, he had been sitting with the young mistress, as they called her, in a little summer-house at the bottom of the lawn–a wonderful thing for beauty, the boy thought, for a little window in the side of it was made of coloured glass. It grew dusky, and the lady began to feel chill, and went in, leaving the boy in the summer-house. He sat there gazing out at a bed of tulips, which, although they had closed for the night, could not go quite asleep for the wind that kept waving them about. All at once he saw a great bumble-bee fly out of one of the tulips.
“There! that is something done,” said a voice–a gentle, merry, childish voice, but so tiny. “At last it was. I thought he would have had to stay there all night, poor fellow! I did.”
Diamond could not tell whether the voice was near or far away, it was so small and yet so clear. He had never seen a fairy, but he had heard of such, and he began to look all about for one. And there was the tiniest creature sliding down the stem of the tulip!
“Are you the fairy that herds the bees?” he asked, going out of the summer-house, and down on his knees on the green shore of the tulip-bed.
“I’m not a fairy,” answered the little creature.
“How do you know that?”
“It would become you better to ask how you are to know it.”
“You’ve just told me.”
“Yes. But what’s the use of knowing a thing only because you’re told it?”
“Well, how am I to know you are not a fairy? You do look very like one.”
“In the first place, fairies are much bigger than you see me.”
“Oh!” said Diamond reflectively; “I thought they were very little.”
“But they might be tremendously bigger than I am, and yet not very big. Why, I could be six times the size I am, and not be very huge. Besides, a fairy can’t grow big and little at will, though the nursery-tales do say so: they don’t know better. You stupid Diamond! have you never seen me before?”
And, as she spoke, a moan of wind bent the tulips almost to the ground, and the creature laid her hand on Diamond’s shoulder. In a moment he knew that it was North Wind.
“I am very stupid,” he said; “but I never saw you so small before, not even when you were nursing the primrose.”
“Must you see me every size that can be measured before you know me, Diamond?”
“But how could I think it was you taking care of a great stupid bumble-bee?”
“The more stupid he was the more need he had to be taken care of. What with sucking honey and trying to open the door, he was nearly dated; and when it opened in the morning to let the sun see the tulip’s heart, what would the sun have thought to find such a stupid thing lying there– with wings too?”
“But how do you have time to look after bees?”
“I don’t look after bees. I had this one to look after. It was hard work, though.”
“Hard work! Why, you could blow a chimney down, or–or a boy’s cap off,” said Diamond.
“Both are easier than to blow a tulip open. But I scarcely know the difference between hard and easy. I am always able for what I have to do. When I see my work, I just rush at it–and it is done. But I mustn’t chatter. I have got to sink a ship to-night.”
“Sink a ship! What! with men in it?”
“Yes, and women too.”
“How dreadful! I wish you wouldn’t talk so.”
“It is rather dreadful. But it is my work. I must do it.”
“I hope you won’t ask me to go with you.”
“No, I won’t ask you. But you must come for all that.”
“I won’t then.”
“Won’t you?” And North Wind grew a tall lady, and looked him in the eyes, and Diamond said–
“Please take me. You cannot be cruel.”
“No; I could not be cruel if I would. I can do nothing cruel, although I often do what looks like cruel to those who do not know what I really am doing. The people they say I drown, I only carry away to–to–to–well, the back of the North Wind–that is what they used to call it long ago, only I never saw the place.”
“How can you carry them there if you never saw it?”
“I know the way.”
“But how is it you never saw it?”
“Because it is behind me.”
“But you can look round.”
“Not far enough to see my own back. No; I always look before me. In fact, I grow quite blind and deaf when I try to see my back. I only mind my work.”
“But how does it be your work?”
“Ah, that I can’t tell you. I only know it is, because when I do it I feel all right, and when I don’t I feel all wrong. East Wind says– only one does not exactly know how much to believe of what she says, for she is very naughty sometimes–she says it is all managed by a baby; but whether she is good or naughty when she says that, I don’t know. I just stick to my work. It is all one to me to let a bee out of a tulip, or to sweep the cobwebs from the sky. You would like to go with me to-night?”
“I don’t want to see a ship sunk.”
“But suppose I had to take you?”
“Why, then, of course I must go.”
“There’s a good Diamond.–I think I had better be growing a bit. Only you must go to bed first. I can’t take you till you’re in bed. That’s the law about the children. So I had better go and do something else first.”
“Very well, North Wind,” said Diamond. “What are you going to do first, if you please?”
“I think I may tell you. Jump up on the top of the wall, there.”
“Ah! and I can’t help you–you haven’t been to bed yet, you see. Come out to the road with me, just in front of the coach-house, and I will show you.”
North Wind grew very small indeed, so small that she could not have blown the dust off a dusty miller, as the Scotch children call a yellow auricula. Diamond could not even see the blades of grass move as she flitted along by his foot. They left the lawn, went out by the wicket in the-coach-house gates, and then crossed the road to the low wall that separated it from the river.
“You can get up on this wall, Diamond,” said North Wind.
“Yes; but my mother has forbidden me.”
“Then don’t,” said North Wind.
“But I can see over,” said Diamond.
“Ah! to be sure. I can’t.”
So saying, North Wind gave a little bound, and stood on the top of the wall. She was just about the height a dragon-fly would be, if it stood on end.
“You darling!” said Diamond, seeing what a lovely little toy-woman she was.
“Don’t be impertinent, Master Diamond,” said North Wind. “If there’s one thing makes me more angry than another, it is the way you humans judge things by their size. I am quite as respectable now as I shall be six hours after this, when I take an East Indiaman by the royals, twist her round, and push her under. You have no right to address me in such a fashion.”
But as she spoke, the tiny face wore the smile of a great, grand woman. She was only having her own beautiful fun out of Diamond, and true woman’s fun never hurts.
“But look there!” she resumed. “Do you see a boat with one man in it– a green and white boat?”
“Yes; quite well.”
“That’s a poet.”
“I thought you said it was a bo-at.”
“Stupid pet! Don’t you know what a poet is?”
“Why, a thing to sail on the water in.”
“Well, perhaps you’re not so far wrong. Some poets do carry people over the sea. But I have no business to talk so much. The man is a poet.”
“The boat is a boat,” said Diamond.
“Can’t you spell?” asked North Wind.
“Not very well.”
“So I see. A poet is not a bo-at, as you call it. A poet is a man who is glad of something, and tries to make other people glad of it too.”
“Ah! now I know. Like the man in the sweety-shop.”
“Not very. But I see it is no use. I wasn’t sent to tell you, and so I can’t tell you. I must be off. Only first just look at the man.”
“He’s not much of a rower” said Diamond–“paddling first with one fin and then with the other.”
“Now look here!” said North Wind.
And she flashed like a dragon-fly across the water, whose surface rippled and puckered as she passed. The next moment the man in the boat glanced about him, and bent to his oars. The boat flew over the rippling water. Man and boat and river were awake. The same instant almost, North Wind perched again upon the river wall.
“How did you do that?” asked Diamond.
“I blew in his face,” answered North Wind. “I don’t see how that could do it,” said Diamond. “I daresay not. And therefore you will say you don’t believe it could.”
“No, no, dear North Wind. I know you too well not to believe you.”
“Well, I blew in his face, and that woke him up.”
“But what was the good of it?”
“Why! don’t you see? Look at him–how he is pulling. I blew the mist out of him.”
“How was that?”
“That is just what I cannot tell you.”
“But you did it.”
“Yes. I have to do ten thousand things without being able to tell how.”
“I don’t like that,” said Diamond.
He was staring after the boat. Hearing no answer, he looked down to the wall.
North Wind was gone. Away across the river went a long ripple– what sailors call a cat’s paw. The man in the boat was putting up a sail. The moon was coming to herself on the edge of a great cloud, and the sail began to shine white. Diamond rubbed his eyes, and wondered what it was all about. Things seemed going on around him, and all to understand each other, but he could make nothing of it. So he put his hands in his pockets, and went in to have his tea. The night was very hot, for the wind had fallen again.
“You don’t seem very well to-night, Diamond,” said his mother.
“I am quite well, mother,” returned Diamond, who was only puzzled.
“I think you had better go to bed,” she added.
“Very well, mother,” he answered.
He stopped for one moment to look out of the window. Above the moon the clouds were going different ways. Somehow or other this troubled him, but, notwithstanding, he was soon fast asleep.
He woke in the middle of the night and the darkness. A terrible noise was rumbling overhead, like the rolling beat of great drums echoing through a brazen vault. The roof of the loft in which he lay had no ceiling; only the tiles were between him and the sky. For a while he could not come quite awake, for the noise kept beating him down, so that his heart was troubled and fluttered painfully. A second peal of thunder burst over his head, and almost choked him with fear. Nor did he recover until the great blast that followed, having torn some tiles off the roof, sent a spout of wind down into his bed and over his face, which brought him wide awake, and gave him back his courage. The same moment he heard a mighty yet musical voice calling him.
“Come up, Diamond,” it said. “It’s all ready. I’m waiting for you.”
He looked out of the bed, and saw a gigantic, powerful, but most lovely arm–with a hand whose fingers were nothing the less ladylike that they could have strangled a boa-constrictor, or choked a tigress off its prey–stretched down through a big hole in the roof. Without a moment’s hesitation he reached out his tiny one, and laid it in the grand palm before him.
OUT IN THE STORM
THE hand felt its way up his arm, and, grasping it gently and strongly above the elbow, lifted Diamond from the bed. The moment he was through the hole in the roof, all the winds of heaven seemed to lay hold upon him, and buffet him hither and thither. His hair blew one way, his night-gown another, his legs threatened to float from under him, and his head to grow dizzy with the swiftness of the invisible assailant. Cowering, he clung with the other hand to the huge hand which held his arm, and fear invaded his heart.
“Oh, North Wind!” he murmured, but the words vanished from his lips as he had seen the soap-bubbles that burst too soon vanish from the mouth of his pipe. The wind caught them, and they were nowhere. They couldn’t get out at all, but were torn away and strangled. And yet North Wind heard them, and in her answer it seemed to Diamond that just because she was so big and could not help it, and just because her ear and her mouth must seem to him so dreadfully far away, she spoke to him more tenderly and graciously than ever before. Her voice was like the bass of a deep organ, without the groan in it; like the most delicate of violin tones without the wail in it; like the most glorious of trumpet-ejaculations without the defiance in it; like the sound of falling water without the clatter and clash in it: it was like all of them and neither of them–all of them without their faults, each of them without its peculiarity: after all, it was more like his mother’s voice than anything else in the world.
“Diamond, dear,” she said, “be a man. What is fearful to you is not the least fearful to me.”
“But it can’t hurt you,” murmured Diamond, “for you’re it.”
“Then if I’m it, and have you in my arms, how can it hurt you?”
“Oh yes! I see,” whispered Diamond. “But it looks so dreadful, and it pushes me about so.”
“Yes, it does, my dear. That is what it was sent for.”
At the same moment, a peal of thunder which shook Diamond’s heart against the sides of his bosom hurtled out of the heavens: I cannot say out of the sky, for there was no sky. Diamond had not seen the lightning, for he had been intent on finding the face of North Wind. Every moment the folds of her garment would sweep across his eyes and blind him, but between, he could just persuade himself that he saw great glories of woman’s eyes looking down through rifts in the mountainous clouds over his head.
He trembled so at the thunder, that his knees failed him, and he sunk down at North Wind’s feet, and clasped her round the column of her ankle. She instantly stooped, lifted him from the roof–up–up into her bosom, and held him there, saying, as if to an inconsolable child–
“Diamond, dear, this will never do.”
“Oh yes, it will,” answered Diamond. “I am all right now– quite comfortable, I assure you, dear North Wind. If you will only let me stay here, I shall be all right indeed.”
“But you will feel the wind here, Diamond.”
“I don’t mind that a bit, so long as I feel your arms through it,” answered Diamond, nestling closer to her grand bosom.
“Brave boy!” returned North Wind, pressing him closer.
“No,” said Diamond, “I don’t see that. It’s not courage at all, so long as I feel you there.”
“But hadn’t you better get into my hair? Then you would not feel the wind; you will here.”
“Ah, but, dear North Wind, you don’t know how nice it is to feel your arms about me. It is a thousand times better to have them and the wind together, than to have only your hair and the back of your neck and no wind at all.”
“But it is surely more comfortable there?”
“Well, perhaps; but I begin to think there are better things than being comfortable.”
“Yes, indeed there are. Well, I will keep you in front of me. You will feel the wind, but not too much. I shall only want one arm to take care of you; the other will be quite enough to sink the ship.”
“Oh, dear North Wind! how can you talk so?”
“My dear boy, I never talk; I always mean what I say.”
“Then you do mean to sink the ship with the other hand?”
“It’s not like you.”
“How do you know that?”
“Quite easily. Here you are taking care of a poor little boy with one arm, and there you are sinking a ship with the other. It can’t be like you.”
“Ah! but which is me? I can’t be two mes, you know.”
“No. Nobody can be two mes.”
“Well, which me is me?”
“Now I must think. There looks to be two.”
“Yes. That’s the very point.–You can’t be knowing the thing you don’t know, can you?”
“Which me do you know?”
“The kindest, goodest, best me in the world,” answered Diamond, clinging to North Wind.
“Why am I good to you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you ever done anything for me?”
“Then I must be good to you because I choose to be good to you.”
“Why should I choose?”
“Because–because–because you like.”
“Why should I like to be good to you?”
“I don’t know, except it be because it’s good to be good to me.”
“That’s just it; I am good to you because I like to be good.”
“Then why shouldn’t you be good to other people as well as to me?”
“That’s just what I don’t know. Why shouldn’t I?”
“I don’t know either. Then why shouldn’t you?”
“Because I am.”
“There it is again,” said Diamond. “I don’t see that you are. It looks quite the other thing.”
“Well, but listen to me, Diamond. You know the one me, you say, and that is good.”
“Do you know the other me as well?”
“No. I can’t. I shouldn’t like to.”
“There it is. You don’t know the other me. You are sure of one of them?”
“And you are sure there can’t be two mes?”