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

Автор книги: Джордж МакДональд

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 30 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

amusing to the poor prince. He wandered about the forest till daylight,

and then fell fast asleep. The same thing occurred for seven following

days, during which neither could he find the good fairy's cottage. After

the third quarter of the moon, however, the bad fairy thought she might

be at ease about the affair for a fortnight at least, for there was no

chance of the prince wishing to kiss the princess during that period.

So the first day of the fourth quarter he did find the cottage, and the

next day he found the glade. For nearly another week he haunted it. But

the princess never came. I have little doubt she was on the farther

edge of it some part of every night, but at this period she always wore

black, and, there being little or no light, the prince never saw her.

Nor would he have known her if he had seen her. How could he have

taken the worn decrepit creature she was now, for the glorious Princess

Daylight?

At last, one night when there was no moon at all, he ventured near the

house. There he heard voices talking, although it was past midnight; for

her women were in considerable uneasiness, because the one whose turn it

was to watch her had fallen asleep, and had not seen which way she went,

and this was a night when she would probably wander very far, describing

a circle which did not touch the open glade at all, but stretched away

from the back of the house, deep into that side of the forest–a part

of which the prince knew nothing. When he understood from what they said

that she had disappeared, and that she must have gone somewhere in the

said direction, he plunged at once into the wood to see if he could find

her. For hours he roamed with nothing to guide him but the vague notion

of a circle which on one side bordered on the house, for so much had he

picked up from the talk he had overheard.

It was getting towards the dawn, but as yet there was no streak of light

in the sky, when he came to a great birch-tree, and sat down weary at

the foot of it. While he sat–very miserable, you may be sure–full of

fear for the princess, and wondering how her attendants could take it so

quietly, he bethought himself that it would not be a bad plan to light

a fire, which, if she were anywhere near, would attract her. This he

managed with a tinder-box, which the good fairy had given him. It was

just beginning to blaze up, when he heard a moan, which seemed to come

from the other side of the tree. He sprung to his feet, but his heart

throbbed so that he had to lean for a moment against the tree before he

could move. When he got round, there lay a human form in a little dark

heap on the earth. There was light enough from his fire to show that it

was not the princess. He lifted it in his arms, hardly heavier than a

child, and carried it to the flame. The countenance was that of an old

woman, but it had a fearfully strange look. A black hood concealed her

hair, and her eyes were closed. He laid her down as comfortably as he

could, chafed her hands, put a little cordial from a bottle, also the

gift of the fairy, into her mouth; took off his coat and wrapped it

about her, and in short did the best he could. In a little while she

opened her eyes and looked at him–so pitifully! The tears rose and

flowed from her grey wrinkled cheeks, but she said never a word. She

closed her eyes again, but the tears kept on flowing, and her whole

appearance was so utterly pitiful that the prince was near crying too.

He begged her to tell him what was the matter, promising to do all

he could to help her; but still she did not speak. He thought she was

dying, and took her in his arms again to carry her to the princess's

house, where he thought the good-natured cook might be able to do

something for her. When he lifted her, the tears flowed yet faster, and

she gave such a sad moan that it went to his very heart.

“Mother, mother!” he said. “Poor mother!” and kissed her on the withered

lips.

She started; and what eyes they were that opened upon him! But he did

not see them, for it was still very dark, and he had enough to do to

make his way through the trees towards the house.

Just as he approached the door, feeling more tired than he could have

imagined possible–she was such a little thin old thing–she began to

move, and became so restless that, unable to carry her a moment longer,

he thought to lay her on the grass. But she stood upright on her feet.

Her hood had dropped, and her hair fell about her. The first gleam

of the morning was caught on her face: that face was bright as the

never-aging Dawn, and her eyes were lovely as the sky of darkest blue.

The prince recoiled in overmastering wonder. It was Daylight herself

whom he had brought from the forest! He fell at her feet, nor dared to

look up until she laid her hand upon his head. He rose then.

“You kissed me when I was an old woman: there! I kiss you when I am a

young princess,” murmured Daylight.–“Is that the sun coming?”

CHAPTER XXIX. RUBY

THE children were delighted with the story, and made many amusing

remarks upon it. Mr. Raymond promised to search his brain for another,

and when he had found one to bring it to them. Diamond having taken

leave of Nanny, and promised to go and see her again soon, went away

with him.

Now Mr. Raymond had been turning over in his mind what he could do both

for Diamond and for Nanny. He had therefore made some acquaintance with

Diamond's father, and had been greatly pleased with him. But he had come

to the resolution, before he did anything so good as he would like to

do for them, to put them all to a certain test. So as they walked away

together, he began to talk with Diamond as follows:–

“Nanny must leave the hospital soon, Diamond.”

“I'm glad of that, sir.”

“Why? Don't you think it's a nice place?”

“Yes, very. But it's better to be well and doing something, you know,

even if it's not quite so comfortable.”

“But they can't keep Nanny so long as they would like. They can't keep

her till she's quite strong. There are always so many sick children they

want to take in and make better. And the question is, What will she do

when they send her out again?”

“That's just what I can't tell, though I've been thinking of it over and

over, sir. Her crossing was taken long ago, and I couldn't bear to see

Nanny fighting for it, especially with such a poor fellow as has taken

it. He's quite lame, sir.”

“She doesn't look much like fighting, now, does she, Diamond?”

“No, sir. She looks too like an angel. Angels don't fight–do they,

sir?”

“Not to get things for themselves, at least,” said Mr. Raymond.

“Besides,” added Diamond, “I don't quite see that she would have any

better right to the crossing than the boy who has got it. Nobody gave it

to her; she only took it. And now he has taken it.”

“If she were to sweep a crossing–soon at least–after the illness she

has had, she would be laid up again the very first wet day,” said Mr.

Raymond.

“And there's hardly any money to be got except on the wet days,”

 remarked Diamond reflectively. “Is there nothing else she could do,

sir?”

“Not without being taught, I'm afraid.”

“Well, couldn't somebody teach her something?”

“Couldn't you teach her, Diamond?”

“I don't know anything myself, sir. I could teach her to dress the

baby; but nobody would give her anything for doing things like that:

they are so easy. There wouldn't be much good in teaching her to drive

a cab, for where would she get the cab to drive? There ain't fathers and

old Diamonds everywhere. At least poor Nanny can't find any of them, I

doubt.”

“Perhaps if she were taught to be nice and clean, and only speak gentle

words.”

“Mother could teach her that,” interrupted Diamond.

“And to dress babies, and feed them, and take care of them,” Mr. Raymond

proceeded, “she might get a place as a nurse somewhere, you know. People

do give money for that.”

“Then I'll ask mother,” said Diamond.

“But you'll have to give her her food then; and your father, not being

strong, has enough to do already without that.”

“But here's me,” said Diamond: “I help him out with it. When he's tired

of driving, up I get. It don't make any difference to old Diamond. I

don't mean he likes me as well as my father–of course he can't, you

know–nobody could; but he does his duty all the same. It's got to be

done, you know, sir; and Diamond's a good horse–isn't he, sir?”

“From your description I should say certainly; but I have not the

pleasure of his acquaintance myself.”

“Don't you think he will go to heaven, sir?”

“That I don't know anything about,” said Mr. Raymond. “I confess I

should be glad to think so,” he added, smiling thoughtfully.

“I'm sure he'll get to the back of the north wind, anyhow,” said Diamond

to himself; but he had learned to be very careful of saying such things

aloud.

“Isn't it rather too much for him to go in the cab all day and every

day?” resumed Mr. Raymond.

“So father says, when he feels his ribs of a morning. But then he says

the old horse do eat well, and the moment he's had his supper, down

he goes, and never gets up till he's called; and, for the legs of him,

father says that makes no end of a differ. Some horses, sir! they won't

lie down all night long, but go to sleep on their four pins, like a

haystack, father says. I think it's very stupid of them, and so does old

Diamond. But then I suppose they don't know better, and so they can't

help it. We mustn't be too hard upon them, father says.”

“Your father must be a good man, Diamond.” Diamond looked up in Mr.

Raymond's face, wondering what he could mean.

“I said your father must be a good man, Diamond.”

“Of course,” said Diamond. “How could he drive a cab if he wasn't?”

“There are some men who drive cabs who are not very good,” objected Mr.

Raymond.

Diamond remembered the drunken cabman, and saw that his friend was

right.

“Ah, but,” he returned, “he must be, you know, with such a horse as old

Diamond.”

“That does make a difference,” said Mr. Raymond. “But it is quite enough

that he is a good man without our trying to account for it. Now, if you

like, I will give you a proof that I think him a good man. I am going

away on the Continent for a while–for three months, I believe–and I

am going to let my house to a gentleman who does not want the use of

my brougham. My horse is nearly as old, I fancy, as your Diamond, but

I don't want to part with him, and I don't want him to be idle; for

nobody, as you say, ought to be idle; but neither do I want him to be

worked very hard. Now, it has come into my head that perhaps your father

would take charge of him, and work him under certain conditions.”

“My father will do what's right,” said Diamond. “I'm sure of that.”

“Well, so I think. Will you ask him when he comes home to call and have

a little chat with me–to-day, some time?”

“He must have his dinner first,” said Diamond. “No, he's got his dinner

with him to-day. It must be after he's had his tea.”

“Of course, of course. Any time will do. I shall be at home all day.”

“Very well, sir. I will tell him. You may be sure he will come. My

father thinks you a very kind gentleman, and I know he is right, for I

know your very own self, sir.”

Mr. Raymond smiled, and as they had now reached his door, they parted,

and Diamond went home. As soon as his father entered the house, Diamond

gave him Mr. Raymond's message, and recounted the conversation that had

preceded it. His father said little, but took thought-sauce to his bread

and butter, and as soon as he had finished his meal, rose, saying:

“I will go to your friend directly, Diamond. It would be a grand thing

to get a little more money. We do want it.” Diamond accompanied his

father to Mr. Raymond's door, and there left him.

He was shown at once into Mr. Raymond's study, where he gazed with

some wonder at the multitude of books on the walls, and thought what a

learned man Mr. Raymond must be.

Presently Mr. Raymond entered, and after saying much the same about

his old horse, made the following distinct proposal–one not

over-advantageous to Diamond's father, but for which he had

reasons–namely, that Joseph should have the use of Mr. Raymond's horse

while he was away, on condition that he never worked him more than six

hours a day, and fed him well, and that, besides, he should take Nanny

home as soon as she was able to leave the hospital, and provide for her

as one of his own children, neither better nor worse–so long, that is,

as he had the horse.

Diamond's father could not help thinking it a pretty close bargain. He

should have both the girl and the horse to feed, and only six hours'

work out of the horse.

“It will save your own horse,” said Mr. Raymond.

“That is true,” answered Joseph; “but all I can get by my own horse is

only enough to keep us, and if I save him and feed your horse and the

girl–don't you see, sir?”

“Well, you can go home and think about it, and let me know by the end of

the week. I am in no hurry before then.”

So Joseph went home and recounted the proposal to his wife, adding that

he did not think there was much advantage to be got out of it.

“Not much that way, husband,” said Diamond's mother; “but there would be

an advantage, and what matter who gets it!”

“I don't see it,” answered her husband. “Mr. Raymond is a gentleman of

property, and I don't discover any much good in helping him to save a

little more. He won't easily get one to make such a bargain, and I

don't mean he shall get me. It would be a loss rather than a gain–I do

think–at least if I took less work out of our own horse.”

“One hour would make a difference to old Diamond. But that's not the

main point. You must think what an advantage it would be to the poor

girl that hasn't a home to go to!”

“She is one of Diamond's friends,” thought his father.

“I could be kind to her, you know,” the mother went on, “and teach her

housework, and how to handle a baby; and, besides, she would help

me, and I should be the stronger for it, and able to do an odd bit of

charing now and then, when I got the chance.”

“I won't hear of that,” said her husband. “Have the girl by all means.

I'm ashamed I did not think of both sides of the thing at once. I wonder

if the horse is a great eater. To be sure, if I gave Diamond two hours'

additional rest, it would be all the better for the old bones of him,

and there would be four hours extra out of the other horse. That would

give Diamond something to do every day. He could drive old Diamond after

dinner, and I could take the other horse out for six hours after tea,

or in the morning, as I found best. It might pay for the keep of both of

them,–that is, if I had good luck. I should like to oblige Mr. Raymond,

though he be rather hard, for he has been very kind to our Diamond,

wife. Hasn't he now?”

“He has indeed, Joseph,” said his wife, and there the conversation

ended.

Diamond's father went the very next day to Mr. Raymond, and accepted his

proposal; so that the week after having got another stall in the same

stable, he had two horses instead of one. Oddly enough, the name of the

new horse was Ruby, for he was a very red chestnut. Diamond's name came

from a white lozenge on his forehead. Young Diamond said they were rich

now, with such a big diamond and such a big ruby.

CHAPTER XXX. NANNY'S DREAM

NANNY was not fit to be moved for some time yet, and Diamond went to see

her as often as he could. But being more regularly engaged now, seeing

he went out every day for a few hours with old Diamond, and had his baby

to mind, and one of the horses to attend to, he could not go so often as

he would have liked.

One evening, as he sat by her bedside, she said to him:

“I've had such a beautiful dream, Diamond! I should like to tell it

you.”

“Oh! do,” said Diamond; “I am so fond of dreams!”

“She must have been to the back of the north wind,” he said to himself.

“It was a very foolish dream, you know. But somehow it was so pleasant!

What a good thing it is that you believe the dream all the time you are

in it!”

My readers must not suppose that poor Nanny was able to say what she

meant so well as I put it down here. She had never been to school, and

had heard very little else than vulgar speech until she came to the

hospital. But I have been to school, and although that could never make

me able to dream so well as Nanny, it has made me able to tell her dream

better than she could herself. And I am the more desirous of doing this

for her that I have already done the best I could for Diamond's dream,

and it would be a shame to give the boy all the advantage.

“I will tell you all I know about it,” said Nanny. “The day before

yesterday, a lady came to see us–a very beautiful lady, and very

beautifully dressed. I heard the matron say to her that it was very

kind of her to come in blue and gold; and she answered that she knew

we didn't like dull colours. She had such a lovely shawl on, just like

redness dipped in milk, and all worked over with flowers of the same

colour. It didn't shine much, it was silk, but it kept in the shine.

When she came to my bedside, she sat down, just where you are sitting,

Diamond, and laid her hand on the counterpane. I was sitting up, with my

table before me ready for my tea. Her hand looked so pretty in its blue

glove, that I was tempted to stroke it. I thought she wouldn't be angry,

for everybody that comes to the hospital is kind. It's only in the

streets they ain't kind. But she drew her hand away, and I almost cried,

for I thought I had been rude. Instead of that, however, it was only

that she didn't like giving me her glove to stroke, for she drew it

off, and then laid her hand where it was before. I wasn't sure, but I

ventured to put out my ugly hand.”

“Your hand ain't ugly, Nanny,” said Diamond; but Nanny went on–

“And I stroked it again, and then she stroked mine,–think of that! And

there was a ring on her finger, and I looked down to see what it was

like. And she drew it off, and put it upon one of my fingers. It was a

red stone, and she told me they called it a ruby.”

“Oh, that is funny!” said Diamond. “Our new horse is called Ruby. We've

got another horse–a red one–such a beauty!”

But Nanny went on with her story.

“I looked at the ruby all the time the lady was talking to me,–it was

so beautiful! And as she talked I kept seeing deeper and deeper into the

stone. At last she rose to go away, and I began to pull the ring off

my finger; and what do you think she said?–'Wear it all night, if you

like. Only you must take care of it. I can't give it you, for some one

gave it to me; but you may keep it till to-morrow.' Wasn't it kind of

her? I could hardly take my tea, I was so delighted to hear it; and I

do think it was the ring that set me dreaming; for, after I had taken my

tea, I leaned back, half lying and half sitting, and looked at the ring

on my finger. By degrees I began to dream. The ring grew larger and

larger, until at last I found that I was not looking at a red stone, but

at a red sunset, which shone in at the end of a long street near where

Grannie lives. I was dressed in rags as I used to be, and I had great

holes in my shoes, at which the nasty mud came through to my feet. I

didn't use to mind it before, but now I thought it horrid. And there was

the great red sunset, with streaks of green and gold between, standing

looking at me. Why couldn't I live in the sunset instead of in that

dirt? Why was it so far away always? Why did it never come into our

wretched street? It faded away, as the sunsets always do, and at last

went out altogether. Then a cold wind began to blow, and flutter all my

rags about–”

“That was North Wind herself,” said Diamond.

“Eh?” said Nanny, and went on with her story.

“I turned my back to it, and wandered away. I did not know where I was

going, only it was warmer to go that way. I don't think it was a north

wind, for I found myself in the west end at last. But it doesn't matter

in a dream which wind it was.”

“I don't know that,” said Diamond. “I believe North Wind can get into

our dreams–yes, and blow in them. Sometimes she has blown me out of a

dream altogether.”

“I don't know what you mean, Diamond,” said Nanny.

“Never mind,” answered Diamond. “Two people can't always understand each

other. They'd both be at the back of the north wind directly, and what

would become of the other places without them?”

“You do talk so oddly!” said Nanny. “I sometimes think they must have

been right about you.”

“What did they say about me?” asked Diamond.

“They called you God's baby.”

“How kind of them! But I knew that.”

“Did you know what it meant, though? It meant that you were not right in

the head.”

“I feel all right,” said Diamond, putting both hands to his head, as if

it had been a globe he could take off and set on again.

“Well, as long as you are pleased I am pleased,” said Nanny.

“Thank you, Nanny. Do go on with your story. I think I like dreams even

better than fairy tales. But they must be nice ones, like yours, you

know.”

“Well, I went on, keeping my back to the wind, until I came to a fine

street on the top of a hill. How it happened I don't know, but the front

door of one of the houses was open, and not only the front door, but the

back door as well, so that I could see right through the house–and

what do you think I saw? A garden place with green grass, and the moon

shining upon it! Think of that! There was no moon in the street, but

through the house there was the moon. I looked and there was nobody

near: I would not do any harm, and the grass was so much nicer than the

mud! But I couldn't think of going on the grass with such dirty shoes: I

kicked them off in the gutter, and ran in on my bare feet, up the steps,

and through the house, and on to the grass; and the moment I came into

the moonlight, I began to feel better.”

“That's why North Wind blew you there,” said Diamond.

“It came of Mr. Raymond's story about Princess Daylight,” returned

Nanny. “Well, I lay down upon the grass in the moonlight without

thinking how I was to get out again. Somehow the moon suited me exactly.

There was not a breath of the north wind you talk about; it was quite

gone.”

“You didn't want her any more, just then. She never goes where she's not

wanted,” said Diamond. “But she blew you into the moonlight, anyhow.”

“Well, we won't dispute about it,” said Nanny: “you've got a tile loose,

you know.”

“Suppose I have,” returned Diamond, “don't you see it may let in the

moonlight, or the sunlight for that matter?”

“Perhaps yes, perhaps no,” said Nanny.

“And you've got your dreams, too, Nanny.”

“Yes, but I know they're dreams.”

“So do I. But I know besides they are something more as well.”

“Oh! do you?” rejoined Nanny. “I don't.”

“All right,” said Diamond. “Perhaps you will some day.”

“Perhaps I won't,” said Nanny.

Diamond held his peace, and Nanny resumed her story.

“I lay a long time, and the moonlight got in at every tear in my

clothes, and made me feel so happy–”

“There, I tell you!” said Diamond.

“What do you tell me?” returned Nanny.

“North Wind–”

“It was the moonlight, I tell you,” persisted Nanny, and again Diamond

held his peace.

“All at once I felt that the moon was not shining so strong. I looked

up, and there was a cloud, all crapey and fluffy, trying to drown the

beautiful creature. But the moon was so round, just like a whole plate,

that the cloud couldn't stick to her. She shook it off, and said there

and shone out clearer and brighter than ever. But up came a thicker

cloud,–and 'You shan't,' said the moon; and 'I will,' said the

cloud,–but it couldn't: out shone the moon, quite laughing at its

impudence. I knew her ways, for I've always been used to watch her.

She's the only thing worth looking at in our street at night.”

“Don't call it your street,” said Diamond. “You're not going back to it.

You're coming to us, you know.”

“That's too good to be true,” said Nanny.

“There are very few things good enough to be true,” said Diamond; “but

I hope this is. Too good to be true it can't be. Isn't true good? and

isn't good good? And how, then, can anything be too good to be true?

That's like old Sal–to say that.”

“Don't abuse Grannie, Diamond. She's a horrid old thing, she and her gin

bottle; but she'll repent some day, and then you'll be glad not to have

said anything against her.”

“Why?” said Diamond.

“Because you'll be sorry for her.”

“I am sorry for her now.”

“Very well. That's right. She'll be sorry too. And there'll be an end of

it.”

“All right. You come to us,” said Diamond.

“Where was I?” said Nanny.

“Telling me how the moon served the clouds.”

“Yes. But it wouldn't do, all of it. Up came the clouds and the clouds,

and they came faster and faster, until the moon was covered up. You

couldn't expect her to throw off a hundred of them at once–could you?”

“Certainly not,” said Diamond.

“So it grew very dark; and a dog began to yelp in the house. I

looked and saw that the door to the garden was shut. Presently it was

opened–not to let me out, but to let the dog in–yelping and bounding.

I thought if he caught sight of me, I was in for a biting first, and the

police after. So I jumped up, and ran for a little summer-house in the

corner of the garden. The dog came after me, but I shut the door in his

face. It was well it had a door–wasn't it?”

“You dreamed of the door because you wanted it,” said Diamond.

“No, I didn't; it came of itself. It was there, in the true dream.”

“There–I've caught you!” said Diamond. “I knew you believed in the

dream as much as I do.”

“Oh, well, if you will lay traps for a body!” said Nanny. “Anyhow, I was

safe inside the summer-house. And what do you think?–There was the moon

beginning to shine again–but only through one of the panes–and that

one was just the colour of the ruby. Wasn't it funny?”

“No, not a bit funny,” said Diamond.

“If you will be contrary!” said Nanny.

“No, no,” said Diamond; “I only meant that was the very pane I should

have expected her to shine through.”

“Oh, very well!” returned Nanny.

What Diamond meant, I do not pretend to say. He had curious notions

about things.

“And now,” said Nanny, “I didn't know what to do, for the dog kept

barking at the door, and I couldn't get out. But the moon was so

beautiful that I couldn't keep from looking at it through the red pane.

And as I looked it got larger and larger till it filled the whole pane

and outgrew it, so that I could see it through the other panes; and

it grew till it filled them too and the whole window, so that the

summer-house was nearly as bright as day.

“The dog stopped barking, and I heard a gentle tapping at the door, like

the wind blowing a little branch against it.”

“Just like her,” said Diamond, who thought everything strange and

beautiful must be done by North Wind.

“So I turned from the window and opened the door; and what do you think

I saw?”

“A beautiful lady,” said Diamond.

“No–the moon itself, as big as a little house, and as round as a ball,

shining like yellow silver. It stood on the grass–down on the very

grass: I could see nothing else for the brightness of it: And as I

stared and wondered, a door opened in the side of it, near the ground,

and a curious little old man, with a crooked thing over his shoulder,

looked out, and said: 'Come along, Nanny; my lady wants you. We're come

to fetch you.” I wasn't a bit frightened. I went up to the beautiful

bright thing, and the old man held down his hand, and I took hold of it,

and gave a jump, and he gave me a lift, and I was inside the moon. And

what do you think it was like? It was such a pretty little house, with

blue windows and white curtains! At one of the windows sat a beautiful

lady, with her head leaning on her hand, looking out. She seemed rather

sad, and I was sorry for her, and stood staring at her.

“`You didn't think I had such a beautiful mistress as that!' said the

queer little man. `No, indeed!' I answered: `who would have thought it?'

`Ah! who indeed? But you see you don't know everything.' The little man

closed the door, and began to pull at a rope which hung behind it with

a weight at the end. After he had pulled a while, he said–`There, that

will do; we're all right now.' Then he took me by the hand and opened a

little trap in the floor, and led me down two or three steps, and I saw

like a great hole below me. `Don't be frightened,' said the tittle

man. `It's not a hole. It's only a window. Put your face down and

look through.' I did as he told me, and there was the garden and the

summer-house, far away, lying at the bottom of the moonlight. `There!'

said the little man; `we've brought you off! Do you see the little

dog barking at us down there in the garden?' I told him I couldn't see

anything so far. `Can you see anything so small and so far off?' I said.

`Bless you, child!' said the little man; `I could pick up a needle out

of the grass if I had only a long enough arm. There's one lying by the

door of the summer-house now.' I looked at his eyes. They were very

small, but so bright that I think he saw by the light that went out of

them. Then he took me up, and up again by a little stair in a corner of

the room, and through another trapdoor, and there was one great round

window above us, and I saw the blue sky and the clouds, and such lots of

stars, all so big and shining as hard as ever they could!”

“The little girl-angels had been polishing them,” said Diamond.

“What nonsense you do talk!” said Nanny.

“But my nonsense is just as good as yours, Nanny. When you have done,

I'll tell you my dream. The stars are in it–not the moon, though. She

was away somewhere. Perhaps she was gone to fetch you then. I don't

think that, though, for my dream was longer ago than yours. She might

have been to fetch some one else, though; for we can't fancy it's only

us that get such fine things done for them. But do tell me what came

next.”

Perhaps one of my child-readers may remember whether the moon came down

to fetch him or her the same night that Diamond had his dream. I cannot

tell, of course. I know she did not come to fetch me, though I did think

I could make her follow me when I was a boy–not a very tiny one either.