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.
“I am quite well, mother,” returned Diamond, who was only puzzled.
“I think you had better go to bed,” she added.
“Very well, mother,” he answered.
He stopped for one moment to look out of the window. Above the moon the
clouds were going different ways. Somehow or other this troubled him,
but, notwithstanding, he was soon fast asleep.
He woke in the middle of the night and the darkness. A terrible noise
was rumbling overhead, like the rolling beat of great drums echoing
through a brazen vault. The roof of the loft in which he lay had no
ceiling; only the tiles were between him and the sky. For a while he
could not come quite awake, for the noise kept beating him down, so that
his heart was troubled and fluttered painfully. A second peal of thunder
burst over his head, and almost choked him with fear. Nor did he recover
until the great blast that followed, having torn some tiles off the
roof, sent a spout of wind down into his bed and over his face, which
brought him wide awake, and gave him back his courage. The same moment
he heard a mighty yet musical voice calling him.
“Come up, Diamond,” it said. “It's all ready. I'm waiting for you.”
He looked out of the bed, and saw a gigantic, powerful, but most lovely
arm--with a hand whose fingers were nothing the less ladylike that they
could have strangled a boa-constrictor, or choked a tigress off its
prey--stretched down through a big hole in the roof. Without a moment's
hesitation he reached out his tiny one, and laid it in the grand palm
before him.
CHAPTER VI. OUT IN THE STORM
THE hand felt its way up his arm, and, grasping it gently and strongly
above the elbow, lifted Diamond from the bed. The moment he was through
the hole in the roof, all the winds of heaven seemed to lay hold upon
him, and buffet him hither and thither. His hair blew one way, his
night-gown another, his legs threatened to float from under him, and
his head to grow dizzy with the swiftness of the invisible assailant.
Cowering, he clung with the other hand to the huge hand which held his
arm, and fear invaded his heart.
“Oh, North Wind!” he murmured, but the words vanished from his lips as
he had seen the soap-bubbles that burst too soon vanish from the mouth
of his pipe. The wind caught them, and they were nowhere. They couldn't
get out at all, but were torn away and strangled. And yet North Wind
heard them, and in her answer it seemed to Diamond that just because she
was so big and could not help it, and just because her ear and her mouth
must seem to him so dreadfully far away, she spoke to him more tenderly
and graciously than ever before. Her voice was like the bass of a deep
organ, without the groan in it; like the most delicate of violin tones
without the wail in it; like the most glorious of trumpet-ejaculations
without the defiance in it; like the sound of falling water without
the clatter and clash in it: it was like all of them and neither
of them--all of them without their faults, each of them without its
peculiarity: after all, it was more like his mother's voice than
anything else in the world.
“Diamond, dear,” she said, “be a man. What is fearful to you is not the
least fearful to me.”
“But it can't hurt you,” murmured Diamond, “for you're it.”
“Then if I'm it, and have you in my arms, how can it hurt you?”
“Oh yes! I see,” whispered Diamond. “But it looks so dreadful, and it
pushes me about so.”
“Yes, it does, my dear. That is what it was sent for.”
At the same moment, a peal of thunder which shook Diamond's heart
against the sides of his bosom hurtled out of the heavens: I cannot
say out of the sky, for there was no sky. Diamond had not seen the
lightning, for he had been intent on finding the face of North Wind.
Every moment the folds of her garment would sweep across his eyes and
blind him, but between, he could just persuade himself that he saw great
glories of woman's eyes looking down through rifts in the mountainous
clouds over his head.
He trembled so at the thunder, that his knees failed him, and he sunk
down at North Wind's feet, and clasped her round the column of her
ankle. She instantly stooped, lifted him from the roof--up--up into her
bosom, and held him there, saying, as if to an inconsolable child--
“Diamond, dear, this will never do.”
“Oh yes, it will,” answered Diamond. “I am all right now--quite
comfortable, I assure you, dear North Wind. If you will only let me stay
here, I shall be all right indeed.”
“But you will feel the wind here, Diamond.”
“I don't mind that a bit, so long as I feel your arms through it,”
answered Diamond, nestling closer to her grand bosom.
“Brave boy!” returned North Wind, pressing him closer.
“No,” said Diamond, “I don't see that. It's not courage at all, so long
as I feel you there.”
“But hadn't you better get into my hair? Then you would not feel the
wind; you will here.”
“Ah, but, dear North Wind, you don't know how nice it is to feel your
arms about me. It is a thousand times better to have them and the wind
together, than to have only your hair and the back of your neck and no
wind at all.”
“But it is surely more comfortable there?”
“Well, perhaps; but I begin to think there are better things than being
comfortable.”
“Yes, indeed there are. Well, I will keep you in front of me. You will
feel the wind, but not too much. I shall only want one arm to take care
of you; the other will be quite enough to sink the ship.”
“Oh, dear North Wind! how can you talk so?”
“My dear boy, I never talk; I always mean what I say.”
“Then you do mean to sink the ship with the other hand?”
“Yes.”
“It's not like you.”
“How do you know that?”
“Quite easily. Here you are taking care of a poor little boy with one
arm, and there you are sinking a ship with the other. It can't be like
you.”
“Ah! but which is me? I can't be two mes, you know.”
“No. Nobody can be two mes.”
“Well, which me is me?”
“Now I must think. There looks to be two.”
“Yes. That's the very point.--You can't be knowing the thing you don't
know, can you?”
“No.”
“Which me do you know?”
“The kindest, goodest, best me in the world,” answered Diamond, clinging
to North Wind.
“Why am I good to you?”
“I don't know.”
“Have you ever done anything for me?”
“No.”
“Then I must be good to you because I choose to be good to you.”
“Yes.”
“Why should I choose?”
“Because--because--because you like.”
“Why should I like to be good to you?”
“I don't know, except it be because it's good to be good to me.”
“That's just it; I am good to you because I like to be good.”
“Then why shouldn't you be good to other people as well as to me?”
“That's just what I don't know. Why shouldn't I?”
“I don't know either. Then why shouldn't you?”
“Because I am.”
“There it is again,” said Diamond. “I don't see that you are. It looks
quite the other thing.”
“Well, but listen to me, Diamond. You know the one me, you say, and that
is good.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know the other me as well?”
“No. I can't. I shouldn't like to.”
“There it is. You don't know the other me. You are sure of one of them?”
“Yes.”
“And you are sure there can't be two mes?”
“Yes.”
“Then the me you don't know must be the same as the me you do
know,--else there would be two mes?”
“Yes.”
“Then the other me you don't know must be as kind as the me you do
know?”
“Yes.”
“Besides, I tell you that it is so, only it doesn't look like it. That I
confess freely. Have you anything more to object?”
“No, no, dear North Wind; I am quite satisfied.”
“Then I will tell you something you might object. You might say that the
me you know is like the other me, and that I am cruel all through.”
“I know that can't be, because you are so kind.”
“But that kindness might be only a pretence for the sake of being more
cruel afterwards.”
Diamond clung to her tighter than ever, crying--
“No, no, dear North Wind; I can't believe that. I don't believe it. I
won't believe it. That would kill me. I love you, and you must love me,
else how did I come to love you? How could you know how to put on such a
beautiful face if you did not love me and the rest? No. You may sink
as many ships as you like, and I won't say another word. I can't say I
shall like to see it, you know.”