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

Автор книги: Джордж МакДональд

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

CHAPTER XXI. SAL'S NANNY

DIAMOND managed with many blunders to read this rhyme to his mother.

“Isn't it nice, mother?” he said.

“Yes, it's pretty,” she answered.

“I think it means something,” returned Diamond.

“I'm sure I don't know what,” she said.

“I wonder if it's the same boy–yes, it must be the same–Little Boy

Blue, you know. Let me see–how does that rhyme go?

Little Boy Blue, come blow me your horn–

Yes, of course it is–for this one went `blowing his horn and beating

his drum.' He had a drum too.

            Little Boy Blue, come blow me your horn;

            The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn,

He had to keep them out, you know. But he wasn't minding his work. It

goes–

            Where's the little boy that looks after the sheep?

            He's under the haystack, fast asleep.

There, you see, mother! And then, let me see–

            Who'll go and wake him?  No, not I;

            For if I do, he'll be sure to cry.

So I suppose nobody did wake him. He was a rather cross little boy,

I daresay, when woke up. And when he did wake of himself, and saw the

mischief the cow had done to the corn, instead of running home to his

mother, he ran away into the wood and lost himself. Don't you think

that's very likely, mother?”

“I shouldn't wonder,” she answered.

“So you see he was naughty; for even when he lost himself he did not

want to go home. Any of the creatures would have shown him the way if he

had asked it–all but the snake. He followed the snake, you know, and he

took him farther away. I suppose it was a young one of the same serpent

that tempted Adam and Eve. Father was telling us about it last Sunday,

you remember.”

“Bless the child!” said his mother to herself; and then added aloud,

finding that Diamond did not go on, “Well, what next?”

“I don't know, mother. I'm sure there's a great deal more, but what it

is I can't say. I only know that he killed the snake. I suppose that's

what he had a drumstick for. He couldn't do it with his horn.”

“But surely you're not such a silly as to take it all for true,

Diamond?”

“I think it must be. It looks true. That killing of the snake looks

true. It's what I've got to do so often.”

His mother looked uneasy. Diamond smiled full in her face, and added–

“When baby cries and won't be happy, and when father and you talk about

your troubles, I mean.”

This did little to reassure his mother; and lest my reader should have

his qualms about it too, I venture to remind him once more that Diamond

had been to the back of the north wind.

Finding she made no reply, Diamond went on–

“In a week or so, I shall be able to go to the tall gentleman and tell

him I can read. And I'll ask him if he can help me to understand the

rhyme.”

But before the week was out, he had another reason for going to Mr.

Raymond.

For three days, on each of which, at one time or other, Diamond's father

was on the same stand near the National Gallery, the girl was not at her

crossing, and Diamond got quite anxious about her, fearing she must be

ill. On the fourth day, not seeing her yet, he said to his father, who

had that moment shut the door of his cab upon a fare–

“Father, I want to go and look after the girl, She can't be well.”

“All right,” said his father. “Only take care of yourself, Diamond.”

So saying he climbed on his box and drove off.

He had great confidence in his boy, you see, and would trust him

anywhere. But if he had known the kind of place in which the girl lived,

he would perhaps have thought twice before he allowed him to go alone.

Diamond, who did know something of it, had not, however, any fear. From

talking to the girl he had a good notion of where about it was, and he

remembered the address well enough; so by asking his way some twenty

times, mostly of policemen, he came at length pretty near the place. The

last policeman he questioned looked down upon him from the summit of six

feet two inches, and replied with another question, but kindly:

“What do you want there, my small kid? It ain't where you was bred, I

guess.”

“No sir” answered Diamond. “I live in Bloomsbury.”

“That's a long way off,” said the policeman.

“Yes, it's a good distance,” answered Diamond; “but I find my way about

pretty well. Policemen are always kind to me.”

“But what on earth do you want here?”

Diamond told him plainly what he was about, and of course the man

believed him, for nobody ever disbelieved Diamond. People might think he

was mistaken, but they never thought he was telling a story.

“It's an ugly place,” said the policeman.

“Is it far off?” asked Diamond.

“No. It's next door almost. But it's not safe.”

“Nobody hurts me,” said Diamond.

“I must go with you, I suppose.”

“Oh, no! please not,” said Diamond. “They might think I was going to

meddle with them, and I ain't, you know.”

“Well, do as you please,” said the man, and gave him full directions.

Diamond set off, never suspecting that the policeman, who was a

kind-hearted man, with children of his own, was following him close, and

watching him round every corner. As he went on, all at once he thought

he remembered the place, and whether it really was so, or only that

he had laid up the policeman's instructions well in his mind, he went

straight for the cellar of old Sal.

“He's a sharp little kid, anyhow, for as simple as he looks,” said the

man to himself. “Not a wrong turn does he take! But old Sal's a rum un

for such a child to pay a morning visit to. She's worse when she's sober

than when she's half drunk. I've seen her when she'd have torn him in

pieces.”

Happily then for Diamond, old Sal had gone out to get some gin. When

he came to her door at the bottom of the area-stair and knocked, he

received no answer. He laid his ear to the door, and thought he heard

a moaning within. So he tried the door, and found it was not locked! It

was a dreary place indeed,–and very dark, for the window was below the

level of the street, and covered with mud, while over the grating which

kept people from falling into the area, stood a chest of drawers, placed

there by a dealer in second-hand furniture, which shut out almost all

the light. And the smell in the place was dreadful. Diamond stood still

for a while, for he could see next to nothing, but he heard the moaning

plainly enough now, When he got used to the darkness, he discovered his

friend lying with closed eyes and a white suffering face on a heap of

little better than rags in a corner of the den. He went up to her and

spoke; but she made him no answer. Indeed, she was not in the least

aware of his presence, and Diamond saw that he could do nothing for her

without help. So taking a lump of barley-sugar from his pocket, which he

had bought for her as he came along, and laying it beside her, he

left the place, having already made up his mind to go and see the tall

gentleman, Mr. Raymond, and ask him to do something for Sal's Nanny, as

the girl was called.

By the time he got up the area-steps, three or four women who had seen

him go down were standing together at the top waiting for him. They

wanted his clothes for their children; but they did not follow him down

lest Sal should find them there. The moment he appeared, they laid their

hands on him, and all began talking at once, for each wanted to get some

advantage over her neighbours. He told them quite quietly, for he was

not frightened, that he had come to see what was the matter with Nanny.

“What do you know about Nanny?” said one of them fiercely. “Wait till

old Sal comes home, and you'll catch it, for going prying into her house

when she's out. If you don't give me your jacket directly, I'll go and

fetch her.”

“I can't give you my jacket,” said Diamond. “It belongs to my father and

mother, you know. It's not mine to give. Is it now? You would not think

it right to give away what wasn't yours–would you now?”

“Give it away! No, that I wouldn't; I'd keep it,” she said, with a rough

laugh. “But if the jacket ain't yours, what right have you to keep it?

Here, Cherry, make haste. It'll be one go apiece.”

They all began to tug at the jacket, while Diamond stooped and kept his

arms bent to resist them. Before they had done him or the jacket any

harm, however, suddenly they all scampered away; and Diamond, looking in

the opposite direction, saw the tall policeman coming towards him.

“You had better have let me come with you, little man,” he said, looking

down in Diamond's face, which was flushed with his resistance.

“You came just in the right time, thank you,” returned Diamond. “They've

done me no harm.”

“They would have if I hadn't been at hand, though.”

“Yes; but you were at hand, you know, so they couldn't.”

Perhaps the answer was deeper in purport than either Diamond or the

policeman knew. They walked away together, Diamond telling his new

friend how ill poor Nanny was, and that he was going to let the tall

gentleman know. The policeman put him in the nearest way for Bloomsbury,

and stepping out in good earnest, Diamond reached Mr. Raymond's door

in less than an hour. When he asked if he was at home, the servant, in

return, asked what he wanted.

“I want to tell him something.”

“But I can't go and trouble him with such a message as that.”

“He told me to come to him–that is, when I could read–and I can.”

“How am I to know that?”

Diamond stared with astonishment for one moment, then answered:

“Why, I've just told you. That's how you know it.”

But this man was made of coarser grain than the policeman, and, instead

of seeing that Diamond could not tell a lie, he put his answer down as

impudence, and saying, “Do you think I'm going to take your word for

it?” shut the door in his face.

Diamond turned and sat down on the doorstep, thinking with himself that

the tall gentleman must either come in or come out, and he was therefore

in the best possible position for finding him. He had not waited long

before the door opened again; but when he looked round, it was only the

servant once more.

“Get, away” he said. “What are you doing on the doorstep?”

“Waiting for Mr. Raymond,” answered Diamond, getting up.

“He's not at home.”

“Then I'll wait till he comes,” returned Diamond, sitting down again

with a smile.

What the man would have done next I do not know, but a step sounded from

the hall, and when Diamond looked round yet again, there was the tall

gentleman.

“Who's this, John?” he asked.

“I don't know, sir. An imperent little boy as will sit on the doorstep.”

“Please sir” said Diamond, “he told me you weren't at home, and I sat

down to wait for you.”

“Eh, what!” said Mr. Raymond. “John! John! This won't do. Is it a habit

of yours to turn away my visitors? There'll be some one else to turn

away, I'm afraid, if I find any more of this kind of thing. Come in, my

little man. I suppose you've come to claim your sixpence?”

“No, sir, not that.”

“What! can't you read yet?”

“Yes, I can now, a little. But I'll come for that next time. I came to

tell you about Sal's Nanny.”

“Who's Sal's Nanny?”

“The girl at the crossing you talked to the same day.”

“Oh, yes; I remember. What's the matter? Has she got run over?”

Then Diamond told him all.

Now Mr. Raymond was one of the kindest men in London. He sent at once to

have the horse put to the brougham, took Diamond with him, and drove to

the Children's Hospital. There he was well known to everybody, for he

was not only a large subscriber, but he used to go and tell the children

stories of an afternoon. One of the doctors promised to go and find

Nanny, and do what could be done–have her brought to the hospital, if

possible.

That same night they sent a litter for her, and as she could be of no

use to old Sal until she was better, she did not object to having her

removed. So she was soon lying in the fever ward–for the first time in

her life in a nice clean bed. But she knew nothing of the whole affair.

She was too ill to know anything.

CHAPTER XXII. MR. RAYMOND'S RIDDLE

MR. RAYMOND took Diamond home with him, stopping at the Mews to tell his

mother that he would send him back soon. Diamond ran in with the message

himself, and when he reappeared he had in his hand the torn and crumpled

book which North Wind had given him.

“Ah! I see,” said Mr. Raymond: “you are going to claim your sixpence

now.”

“I wasn't thinking of that so much as of another thing,” said Diamond.

“There's a rhyme in this book I can't quite understand. I want you to

tell me what it means, if you please.”

“I will if I can,” answered Mr. Raymond. “You shall read it to me when

we get home, and then I shall see.”

Still with a good many blunders, Diamond did read it after a fashion.

Mr. Raymond took the little book and read it over again.

Now Mr. Raymond was a poet himself, and so, although he had never been

at the back of the north wind, he was able to understand the poem pretty

well. But before saying anything about it, he read it over aloud, and

Diamond thought he understood it much better already.

“I'll tell you what I think it means,” he then said. “It means that

people may have their way for a while, if they like, but it will get

them into such troubles they'll wish they hadn't had it.”

“I know, I know!” said Diamond. “Like the poor cabman next door. He

drinks too much.”

“Just so,” returned Mr. Raymond. “But when people want to do right,

things about them will try to help them. Only they must kill the snake,

you know.”

“I was sure the snake had something to do with it,” cried Diamond

triumphantly.

A good deal more talk followed, and Mr. Raymond gave Diamond his

sixpence.

“What will you do with it?” he asked.

“Take it home to my mother,” he answered. “She has a teapot–such a

black one!–with a broken spout, and she keeps all her money in it. It

ain't much; but she saves it up to buy shoes for me. And there's baby

coming on famously, and he'll want shoes soon. And every sixpence is

something–ain't it, sir?”

“To be sure, my man. I hope you'll always make as good a use of your

money.”

“I hope so, sir,” said Diamond.

“And here's a book for you, full of pictures and stories and poems. I

wrote it myself, chiefly for the children of the hospital where I hope

Nanny is going. I don't mean I printed it, you know. I made it,” added

Mr. Raymond, wishing Diamond to understand that he was the author of the

book.

“I know what you mean. I make songs myself. They're awfully silly, but

they please baby, and that's all they're meant for.”

“Couldn't you let me hear one of them now?” said Mr. Raymond.

“No, sir, I couldn't. I forget them as soon as I've done with them.

Besides, I couldn't make a line without baby on my knee. We make them

together, you know. They're just as much baby's as mine. It's he that

pulls them out of me.”

“I suspect the child's a genius,” said the poet to himself, “and that's

what makes people think him silly.”

Now if any of my child readers want to know what a genius is–shall

I try to tell them, or shall I not? I will give them one very short

answer: it means one who understands things without any other body

telling him what they mean. God makes a few such now and then to teach

the rest of us.

“Do you like riddles?” asked Mr. Raymond, turning over the leaves of his

own book.

“I don't know what a riddle is,” said Diamond.

“It's something that means something else, and you've got to find out

what the something else is.”

Mr. Raymond liked the old-fashioned riddle best, and had written a

few–one of which he now read.

            I have only one foot, but thousands of toes;

            My one foot stands, but never goes.

            I have many arms, and they're mighty all;

            And hundreds of fingers, large and small.

            From the ends of my fingers my beauty grows.

            I breathe with my hair, and I drink with my toes.

            I grow bigger and bigger about the waist,

            And yet I am always very tight laced.

            None e'er saw me eat–I've no mouth to bite;

            Yet I eat all day in the full sunlight.

            In the summer with song I shave and quiver,

            But in winter I fast and groan and shiver.

“Do you know what that means, Diamond?” he asked, when he had finished.

“No, indeed, I don't,” answered Diamond.

“Then you can read it for yourself, and think over it, and see if you

can find out,” said Mr. Raymond, giving him the book. “And now you had

better go home to your mother. When you've found the riddle, you can

come again.”

If Diamond had had to find out the riddle in order to see Mr. Raymond

again, I doubt if he would ever have seen him.

“Oh then,” I think I hear some little reader say, “he could not have

been a genius, for a genius finds out things without being told.”

I answer, “Genius finds out truths, not tricks.” And if you do not

understand that, I am afraid you must be content to wait till you grow

older and know more.

CHAPTER XXIII. THE EARLY BIRD

WHEN Diamond got home he found his father at home already, sitting by

the fire and looking rather miserable, for his head ached and he felt

sick. He had been doing night work of late, and it had not agreed with

him, so he had given it up, but not in time, for he had taken some

kind of fever. The next day he was forced to keep his bed, and his wife

nursed him, and Diamond attended to the baby. If he had not been ill,

it would have been delightful to have him at home; and the first day

Diamond sang more songs than ever to the baby, and his father listened

with some pleasure. But the next he could not bear even Diamond's sweet

voice, and was very ill indeed; so Diamond took the baby into his own

room, and had no end of quiet games with him there. If he did pull

all his bedding on the floor, it did not matter, for he kept baby very

quiet, and made the bed himself again, and slept in it with baby all the

next night, and many nights after.

But long before his father got well, his mother's savings were all but

gone. She did not say a word about it in the hearing of her husband,

lest she should distress him; and one night, when she could not help

crying, she came into Diamond's room that his father might not hear

her. She thought Diamond was asleep, but he was not. When he heard her

sobbing, he was frightened, and said–

“Is father worse, mother?”

“No, Diamond,” she answered, as well as she could; “he's a good bit

better.”

“Then what are you crying for, mother?”

“Because my money is almost all gone,” she replied.

“O mammy, you make me think of a little poem baby and I learned out of

North Wind's book to-day. Don't you remember how I bothered you about

some of the words?”

“Yes, child,” said his mother heedlessly, thinking only of what she

should do after to-morrow.

Diamond began and repeated the poem, for he had a wonderful memory.

            A little bird sat on the edge of her nest;

               Her yellow-beaks slept as sound as tops;

            That day she had done her very best,

               And had filled every one of their little crops.

            She had filled her own just over-full,

               And hence she was feeling a little dull.

            “Oh, dear!” she sighed, as she sat with her head

               Sunk in her chest, and no neck at all,

            While her crop stuck out like a feather bed

               Turned inside out, and rather small;

            “What shall I do if things don't reform?

            I don't know where there's a single worm.

            “I've had twenty to-day, and the children five each,

               Besides a few flies, and some very fat spiders:

            No one will say I don't do as I preach–

               I'm one of the best of bird-providers;

            But where's the use?  We want a storm–

               I don't know where there's a single worm.”

            “There's five in my crop,” said a wee, wee bird,

               Which woke at the voice of his mother's pain;

            “I know where there's five.” And with the word

               He tucked in his head, and went off again.

            “The folly of childhood,” sighed his mother,

            “Has always been my especial bother.”

            The yellow-beaks they slept on and on–

               They never had heard of the bogy To-morrow;

            But the mother sat outside, making her moan–

               She'll soon have to beg, or steal, or borrow.

            For she never can tell the night before,

            Where she shall find one red worm more.

            The fact, as I say, was, she'd had too many;

               She couldn't sleep, and she called it virtue,

            Motherly foresight, affection, any

               Name you may call it that will not hurt you,

            So it was late ere she tucked her head in,

            And she slept so late it was almost a sin.

            But the little fellow who knew of five

               Nor troubled his head about any more,

            Woke very early, felt quite alive,

               And wanted a sixth to add to his store:

            He pushed his mother, the greedy elf,

            Then thought he had better try for himself.

            When his mother awoke and had rubbed her eyes,

               Feeling less like a bird, and more like a mole,

            She saw him–fancy with what surprise–

               Dragging a huge worm out of a hole!

            'Twas of this same hero the proverb took form:

            'Tis the early bird that catches the worm.

“There, mother!” said Diamond, as he finished; “ain't it funny?”

“I wish you were like that little bird, Diamond, and could catch worms

for yourself,” said his mother, as she rose to go and look after her

husband.

Diamond lay awake for a few minutes, thinking what he could do to catch

worms. It was very little trouble to make up his mind, however, and

still less to go to sleep after it.