Текст книги "Страна Северного Ветра / At the Back of the North Wind"

Автор книги: Джордж МакДональд

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

CHAPTER IV. NORTH WIND

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.”

“Why?”

“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.”

“Where's that?”

“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.

“Where?”

“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.”

“But where?”

“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!

CHAPTER V. THE SUMMER-HOUSE

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.”

“I can't.”

“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.