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

Автор книги: Джордж МакДональд

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Текущая страница: 31 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

“The little man took me all round the house, and made me look out of

every window. Oh, it was beautiful! There we were, all up in the air, in

such a nice, clean little house! `Your work will be to keep the windows

bright,' said the little man. `You won't find it very difficult,

for there ain't much dust up here. Only, the frost settles on them

sometimes, and the drops of rain leave marks on them.' `I can easily

clean them inside,' I said; `but how am I to get the frost and rain off

the outside of them?' `Oh!' he said, `it's quite easy. There are ladders

all about. You've only got to go out at the door, and climb about. There

are a great many windows you haven't seen yet, and some of them look

into places you don't know anything about. I used to clean them myself,

but I'm getting rather old, you see. Ain't I now?' `I can't tell,' I

answered. `You see I never saw you when you were younger.' `Never saw

the man in the moon?' said he. `Not very near,' I answered, `not to tell

how young or how old he looked. I have seen the bundle of sticks on his

back.' For Jim had pointed that out to me. Jim was very fond of looking

at the man in the moon. Poor Jim! I wonder he hasn't been to see me. I'm

afraid he's ill too.”

“I'll try to find out,” said Diamond, “and let you know.”

“Thank you,” said Nanny. “You and Jim ought to be friends.”

“But what did the man in the moon say, when you told him you had seen

him with the bundle of sticks on his back?”

“He laughed. But I thought he looked offended too. His little nose

turned up sharper, and he drew the corners of his mouth down from the

tips of his ears into his neck. But he didn't look cross, you know.”

“Didn't he say anything?”

“Oh, yes! He said: `That's all nonsense. What you saw was my bundle of

dusters. I was going to clean the windows. It takes a good many, you

know. Really, what they do say of their superiors down there!' `It's

only because they don't know better,' I ventured to say. `Of course,

of course,' said the little man. `Nobody ever does know better. Well,

I forgive them, and that sets it all right, I hope.' `It's very good

of you,' I said. `No!' said he, `it's not in the least good of me. I

couldn't be comfortable otherwise.' After this he said nothing for a

while, and I laid myself on the floor of his garret, and stared up and

around at the great blue beautifulness. I had forgotten him almost,

when at last he said: `Ain't you done yet?' `Done what?' I asked. `Done

saying your prayers,' says he. 'I wasn't saying my prayers,' I answered.

`Oh, yes, you were,' said he, `though you didn't know it! And now I must

show you something else.'

“He took my hand and led me down the stair again, and through a narrow

passage, and through another, and another, and another. I don't know

how there could be room for so many passages in such a little house. The

heart of it must be ever so much farther from the sides than they are

from each other. How could it have an inside that was so independent of

its outside? There's the point. It was funny–wasn't it, Diamond?”

“No,” said Diamond. He was going to say that that was very much the sort

of thing at the back of the north wind; but he checked himself and only

added, “All right. I don't see it. I don't see why the inside should

depend on the outside. It ain't so with the crabs. They creep out of

their outsides and make new ones. Mr. Raymond told me so.”

“I don't see what that has got to do with it,” said Nanny.

“Then go on with your story, please,” said Diamond. “What did you come

to, after going through all those winding passages into the heart of the

moon?”

“I didn't say they were winding passages. I said they were long and

narrow. They didn't wind. They went by corners.”

“That's worth knowing,” remarked Diamond. “For who knows how soon he may

have to go there? But the main thing is, what did you come to at last?”

“We came to a small box against the wall of a tiny room. The little man

told me to put my ear against it. I did so, and heard a noise something

like the purring of a cat, only not so loud, and much sweeter. `What is

it?' I asked. `Don't you know the sound?' returned the little man. `No,'

I answered. `Don't you know the sound of bees?' he said. I had never

heard bees, and could not know the sound of them. `Those are my lady's

bees,' he went on. I had heard that bees gather honey from the flowers.

`But where are the flowers for them?' I asked. `My lady's bees gather

their honey from the sun and the stars,' said the little man. `Do let

me see them,' I said. `No. I daren't do that,' he answered. `I have no

business with them. I don't understand them. Besides, they are so bright

that if one were to fly into your eye, it would blind you altogether.'

`Then you have seen them?' `Oh, yes! Once or twice, I think. But I don't

quite know: they are so very bright–like buttons of lightning. Now

I've showed you all I can to-night, and we'll go back to the room.' I

followed him, and he made me sit down under a lamp that hung from the

roof, and gave me some bread and honey.

“The lady had never moved. She sat with her forehead leaning on her

hand, gazing out of the little window, hung like the rest with white

cloudy curtains. From where I was sitting I looked out of it too, but I

could see nothing. Her face was very beautiful, and very white, and very

still, and her hand was as white as the forehead that leaned on it. I

did not see her whole face–only the side of it, for she never moved to

turn it full upon me, or even to look at me.

“How long I sat after I had eaten my bread and honey, I don't know. The

little man was busy about the room, pulling a string here, and a string

there, but chiefly the string at the back of the door. I was thinking

with some uneasiness that he would soon be wanting me to go out and

clean the windows, and I didn't fancy the job. At last he came up to me

with a great armful of dusters. `It's time you set about the windows,'

he said; `for there's rain coming, and if they're quite clean before,

then the rain can't spoil them.' I got up at once. `You needn't be

afraid,' he said. `You won't tumble off. Only you must be careful.

Always hold on with one hand while you rub with the other.' As he spoke,

he opened the door. I started back in a terrible fright, for there was

nothing but blue air to be seen under me, like a great water without a

bottom at all. But what must be must, and to live up here was so much

nicer than down in the mud with holes in my shoes, that I never thought

of not doing as I was told. The little man showed me how and where to

lay hold while I put my foot round the edge of the door on to the first

round of a ladder. `Once you're up,' he said, `you'll see how you have

to go well enough.' I did as he told me, and crept out very carefully.

Then the little man handed me the bundle of dusters, saying, `I always

carry them on my reaping hook, but I don't think you could manage it

properly. You shall have it if you like.' I wouldn't take it, however,

for it looked dangerous.

“I did the best I could with the dusters, and crawled up to the top

of the moon. But what a grand sight it was! The stars were all over my

head, so bright and so near that I could almost have laid hold of them.

The round ball to which I clung went bobbing and floating away through

the dark blue above and below and on every side. It was so beautiful

that all fear left me, and I set to work diligently. I cleaned window

after window. At length I came to a very little one, in at which I

peeped. There was the room with the box of bees in it! I laid my ear to

the window, and heard the musical hum quite distinctly. A great longing

to see them came upon me, and I opened the window and crept in.

The little box had a door like a closet. I opened it–the tiniest

crack–when out came the light with such a sting that I closed it again

in terror–not, however, before three bees had shot out into the room,

where they darted about like flashes of lightning. Terribly frightened,

I tried to get out of the window again, but I could not: there was no

way to the outside of the moon but through the door; and that was in

the room where the lady sat. No sooner had I reached the room, than the

three bees, which had followed me, flew at once to the lady, and settled

upon her hair. Then first I saw her move. She started, put up her hand,

and caught them; then rose and, having held them into the flame of the

lamp one after the other, turned to me. Her face was not so sad now as

stern. It frightened me much. `Nanny, you have got me into trouble,' she

said. `You have been letting out my bees, which it is all I can do to

manage. You have forced me to burn them. It is a great loss, and there

will be a storm.' As she spoke, the clouds had gathered all about us. I

could see them come crowding up white about the windows. `I am sorry to

find,' said the lady, `that you are not to be trusted. You must go home

again–you won't do for us.' Then came a great clap of thunder, and the

moon rocked and swayed. All grew dark about me, and I fell on the floor

and lay half-stunned. I could hear everything but could see nothing.

`Shall I throw her out of the door, my lady?' said the little man.

`No,' she answered; `she's not quite bad enough for that. I don't think

there's much harm in her; only she'll never do for us. She would make

dreadful mischief up here. She's only fit for the mud. It's a great

pity. I am sorry for her. Just take that ring off her finger. I am sadly

afraid she has stolen it.' The little man caught hold of my hand, and I

felt him tugging at the ring. I tried to speak what was true about it,

but, after a terrible effort, only gave a groan. Other things began to

come into my head. Somebody else had a hold of me. The little man wasn't

there. I opened my eyes at last, and saw the nurse. I had cried out in

my sleep, and she had come and waked me. But, Diamond, for all it was

only a dream, I cannot help being ashamed of myself yet for opening the

lady's box of bees.”

“You wouldn't do it again–would you–if she were to take you back?”

 said Diamond.

“No. I don't think anything would ever make me do it again. But where's

the good? I shall never have the chance.”

“I don't know that,” said Diamond.

“You silly baby! It was only a dream,” said Nanny.

“I know that, Nanny, dear. But how can you tell you mayn't dream it

again?”

“That's not a bit likely.”

“I don't know that,” said Diamond.

“You're always saying that,” said Nanny. “I don't like it.”

“Then I won't say it again–if I don't forget.” said Diamond. “But it

was such a beautiful dream!–wasn't it, Nanny? What a pity you opened

that door and let the bees out! You might have had such a long dream,

and such nice talks with the moon-lady. Do try to go again, Nanny. I do

so want to hear more.”

But now the nurse came and told him it was time to go; and Diamond went,

saying to himself, “I can't help thinking that North Wind had something

to do with that dream. It would be tiresome to lie there all day and all

night too–without dreaming. Perhaps if she hadn't done that, the moon

might have carried her to the back of the north wind–who knows?”

CHAPTER XXXI. THE NORTH WIND DOTH BLOW

IT WAS a great delight to Diamond when at length Nanny was well enough

to leave the hospital and go home to their house. She was not very

strong yet, but Diamond's mother was very considerate of her, and took

care that she should have nothing to do she was not quite fit for. If

Nanny had been taken straight from the street, it is very probable she

would not have been so pleasant in a decent household, or so easy to

teach; but after the refining influences of her illness and the kind

treatment she had had in the hospital, she moved about the house just

like some rather sad pleasure haunting the mind. As she got better, and

the colour came back to her cheeks, her step grew lighter and quicker,

her smile shone out more readily, and it became certain that she would

soon be a treasure of help. It was great fun to see Diamond teaching

her how to hold the baby, and wash and dress him, and often they laughed

together over her awkwardness. But she had not many such lessons before

she was able to perform those duties quite as well as Diamond himself.

Things however did not go well with Joseph from the very arrival of

Ruby. It almost seemed as if the red beast had brought ill luck with

him. The fares were fewer, and the pay less. Ruby's services did indeed

make the week's income at first a little beyond what it used to be, but

then there were two more to feed. After the first month he fell lame,

and for the whole of the next Joseph dared not attempt to work him. I

cannot say that he never grumbled, for his own health was far from what

it had been; but I can say that he tried to do his best. During all

that month, they lived on very short commons indeed, seldom tasting meat

except on Sundays, and poor old Diamond, who worked hardest of all, not

even then–so that at the end of it he was as thin as a clothes-horse,

while Ruby was as plump and sleek as a bishop's cob.

Nor was it much better after Ruby was able to work again, for it was

a season of great depression in business, and that is very soon felt

amongst the cabmen. City men look more after their shillings, and their

wives and daughters have less to spend. It was besides a wet autumn, and

bread rose greatly in price. When I add to this that Diamond's mother

was but poorly, for a new baby was coming, you will see that these were

not very jolly times for our friends in the mews.

Notwithstanding the depressing influences around him, Joseph was able to

keep a little hope alive in his heart; and when he came home at night,

would get Diamond to read to him, and would also make Nanny produce her

book that he might see how she was getting on. For Diamond had taken her

education in hand, and as she was a clever child, she was very soon able

to put letters and words together.

Thus the three months passed away, but Mr. Raymond did not return.

Joseph had been looking anxiously for him, chiefly with the desire of

getting rid of Ruby–not that he was absolutely of no use to him, but

that he was a constant weight upon his mind. Indeed, as far as provision

went, he was rather worse off with Ruby and Nanny than he had been

before, but on the other hand, Nanny was a great help in the house, and

it was a comfort to him to think that when the new baby did come, Nanny

would be with his wife.

Of God's gifts a baby is of the greatest; therefore it is no wonder that

when this one came, she was as heartily welcomed by the little household

as if she had brought plenty with her. Of course she made a great

difference in the work to be done–far more difference than her size

warranted, but Nanny was no end of help, and Diamond was as much of a

sunbeam as ever, and began to sing to the new baby the first moment he

got her in his arms. But he did not sing the same songs to her that he

had sung to his brother, for, he said, she was a new baby and must have

new songs; and besides, she was a sister-baby and not a brother-baby,

and of course would not like the same kind of songs. Where the

difference in his songs lay, however, I do not pretend to be able to

point out. One thing I am sure of, that they not only had no small share

in the education of the little girl, but helped the whole family a great

deal more than they were aware.

How they managed to get through the long dreary expensive winter, I can

hardly say. Sometimes things were better, sometimes worse. But at last

the spring came, and the winter was over and gone, and that was much.

Still, Mr. Raymond did not return, and although the mother would have

been able to manage without Nanny now, they could not look for a place

for her so long as they had Ruby; and they were not altogether sorry for

this. One week at last was worse than they had yet had. They were almost

without bread before it was over. But the sadder he saw his father and

mother looking, the more Diamond set himself to sing to the two babies.

One thing which had increased their expenses was that they had been

forced to hire another little room for Nanny. When the second baby came,

Diamond gave up his room that Nanny might be at hand to help his mother,

and went to hers, which, although a fine place to what she had been

accustomed to, was not very nice in his eyes. He did not mind the change

though, for was not his mother the more comfortable for it? And was

not Nanny more comfortable too? And indeed was not Diamond himself more

comfortable that other people were more comfortable? And if there was

more comfort every way, the change was a happy one.

CHAPTER XXXII. DIAMOND AND RUBY

IT WAS Friday night, and Diamond, like the rest of the household, had

had very little to eat that day. The mother would always pay the week's

rent before she laid out anything even on food. His father had been very

gloomy–so gloomy that he had actually been cross to his wife. It is

a strange thing how pain of seeing the suffering of those we love will

sometimes make us add to their suffering by being cross with them. This

comes of not having faith enough in God, and shows how necessary this

faith is, for when we lose it, we lose even the kindness which alone can

soothe the suffering. Diamond in consequence had gone to bed very quiet

and thoughtful–a little troubled indeed.

It had been a very stormy winter, and even now that the spring had come,

the north wind often blew. When Diamond went to his bed, which was in

a tiny room in the roof, he heard it like the sea moaning; and when he

fell asleep he still heard the moaning. All at once he said to himself,

“Am I awake, or am I asleep?” But he had no time to answer the question,

for there was North Wind calling him. His heart beat very fast, it was

such a long time since he had heard that voice. He jumped out of bed,

and looked everywhere, but could not see her. “Diamond, come here,” she

said again and again; but where the here was he could not tell. To be

sure the room was all but quite dark, and she might be close beside him.

“Dear North Wind,” said Diamond, “I want so much to go to you, but I

can't tell where.”

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

Diamond opened the door, and went out of the room, and down the stair

and into the yard. His little heart was in a flutter, for he had long

given up all thought of seeing her again. Neither now was he to see her.

When he got out, a great puff of wind came against him, and in obedience

to it he turned his back, and went as it blew. It blew him right up to

the stable-door, and went on blowing.

“She wants me to go into the stable,” said Diamond to himself, “but the

door is locked.”

He knew where the key was, in a certain hole in the wall–far too high

for him to get at. He ran to the place, however: just as he reached it

there came a wild blast, and down fell the key clanging on the stones at

his feet. He picked it up, and ran back and opened the stable-door, and

went in. And what do you think he saw?

A little light came through the dusty window from a gas-lamp, sufficient

to show him Diamond and Ruby with their two heads up, looking at each

other across the partition of their stalls. The light showed the white

mark on Diamond's forehead, but Ruby's eye shone so bright, that he

thought more light came out of it than went in. This is what he saw.

But what do you think he heard?

He heard the two horses talking to each other–in a strange language,

which yet, somehow or other, he could understand, and turn over in

his mind in English. The first words he heard were from Diamond, who

apparently had been already quarrelling with Ruby.

“Look how fat you are Ruby!” said old Diamond. “You are so plump and

your skin shines so, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“There's no harm in being fat,” said Ruby in a deprecating tone. “No,

nor in being sleek. I may as well shine as not.”

“No harm?” retorted Diamond. “Is it no harm to go eating up all poor

master's oats, and taking up so much of his time grooming you, when you

only work six hours–no, not six hours a day, and, as I hear, get along

no faster than a big dray-horse with two tons behind him?–So they tell

me.”

“Your master's not mine,” said Ruby. “I must attend to my own master's

interests, and eat all that is given me, and be sleek and fat as I can,

and go no faster than I need.”

“Now really if the rest of the horses weren't all asleep, poor

things–they work till they're tired–I do believe they would get up and

kick you out of the stable. You make me ashamed of being a horse. You

dare to say my master ain't your master! That's your gratitude for the

way he feeds you and spares you! Pray where would your carcass be if it

weren't for him?”

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

as hard as he does you.”

“And I'm proud to be so worked. I wouldn't be as fat as you–not for all

you're worth. You're a disgrace to the stable. Look at the horse next

you. He's something like a horse–all skin and bone. And his master

ain't over kind to him either. He put a stinging lash on his whip

last week. But that old horse knows he's got the wife and children

to keep–as well as his drunken master–and he works like a horse. I

daresay he grudges his master the beer he drinks, but I don't believe he

grudges anything else.”

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

“Gets!” retorted Diamond. “What he gets isn't worth grudging. It comes

to next to nothing–what with your fat and shine.

“Well, at least you ought to be thankful you're the better for it. You

get a two hours' rest a day out of it.”

“I thank my master for that–not you, you lazy fellow! You go along like

a buttock of beef upon castors–you do.”

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

“Kick! You couldn't kick if you tried. You might heave your rump up

half a foot, but for lashing out–oho! If you did, you'd be down on your

belly before you could get your legs under you again. It's my belief,

once out, they'd stick out for ever. Talk of kicking! Why don't you put

one foot before the other now and then when you're in the cab? The abuse

master gets for your sake is quite shameful. No decent horse would bring

it on him. Depend upon it, Ruby, no cabman likes to be abused any more

than his fare. But his fares, at least when you are between the shafts,

are very much to be excused. Indeed they are.”

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

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

“Oh, but I was.”

“Then I believe it was all your own fault. I'm not lame. I never was

lame in all my life. You don't take care of your legs. You never lay

them down at night. There you are with your huge carcass crushing down

your poor legs all night long. You don't even care for your own legs–so

long as you can eat, eat, and sleep, sleep. You a horse indeed!”

“But I tell you I was lame.”

“I'm not denying there was a puffy look about your off-pastern. But my

belief is, it wasn't even grease–it was fat.”

“I tell you I put my foot on one of those horrid stones they make the

roads with, and it gave my ankle such a twist.”

“Ankle indeed! Why should you ape your betters? Horses ain't got any

ankles: they're only pasterns. And so long as you don't lift your feet

better, but fall asleep between every step, you'll run a good chance

of laming all your ankles as you call them, one after another. It's not

your lively horse that comes to grief in that way. I tell you I believe

it wasn't much, and if it was, it was your own fault. There! I've done.

I'm going to sleep. I'll try to think as well of you as I can. If you

would but step out a bit and run off a little of your fat!” Here Diamond

began to double up his knees; but Ruby spoke again, and, as young

Diamond thought, in a rather different tone.

“I say, Diamond, I can't bear to have an honest old horse like you think

of me like that. I will tell you the truth: it was my own fault that I

fell lame.”

“I told you so,” returned the other, tumbling against the partition as

he rolled over on his side to give his legs every possible privilege in

their narrow circumstances.

“I meant to do it, Diamond.”

At the words, the old horse arose with a scramble like thunder, shot his

angry head and glaring eye over into Ruby's stall, and said–

“Keep out of my way, you unworthy wretch, or I'll bite you. You a horse!

Why did you do that?”

“Because I wanted to grow fat.”

“You grease-tub! Oh! my teeth and tail! I thought you were a humbug! Why

did you want to get fat? There's no truth to be got out of you but by

cross-questioning. You ain't fit to be a horse.”

“Because once I am fat, my nature is to keep fat for a long time; and I

didn't know when master might come home and want to see me.”

“You conceited, good-for-nothing brute! You're only fit for the

knacker's yard. You wanted to look handsome, did you? Hold your tongue,

or I'll break my halter and be at you–with your handsome fat!”

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

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

“No, you can't.”

“Why then?”

“Because I'm an angel.”

“What's that?”

“Of course you don't know.”

“Indeed I don't.”

“I know you don't. An ignorant, rude old human horse, like you, couldn't

know it. But there's young Diamond listening to all we're saying; and he

knows well enough there are horses in heaven for angels to ride upon,

as well as other animals, lions and eagles and bulls, in more important

situations. The horses the angels ride, must be angel-horses, else the

angels couldn't ride upon them. Well, I'm one of them.”

“You ain't.”

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

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

“Nothing of the sort. It was necessary I should grow fat, and necessary

that good Joseph, your master, should grow lean. I could have pretended

to be lame, but that no horse, least of all an angel-horse would do. So

I must be lame, and so I sprained my ankle–for the angel-horses have

ankles–they don't talk horse-slang up there–and it hurt me very much,

I assure you, Diamond, though you mayn't be good enough to be able to

believe it.”

Old Diamond made no reply. He had lain down again, and a sleepy snort,

very like a snore, revealed that, if he was not already asleep, he was

past understanding a word that Ruby was saying. When young Diamond found

this, he thought he might venture to take up the dropt shuttlecock of

the conversation.

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

But Ruby never turned his head, or took any notice of him. I suppose

he did not understand more of English than just what the coachman and

stableman were in the habit of addressing him with. Finding, however,

that his companion made no reply, he shot his head over the partition

and looking down at him said–

“You just wait till to-morrow, and you'll see whether I'm speaking the

truth or not.–I declare the old horse is fast asleep!–Diamond!–No I

won't.”

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

Diamond gave a shiver, and looking round saw that the door of the stable

was open. He began to feel as if he had been dreaming, and after a

glance about the stable to see if North Wind was anywhere visible, he

thought he had better go back to bed.