 This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. At the back of the North Wind, by George MacDonald. CHAPTER XVI. DIMOND MAKES A BEGINNING. The wind blew loud. But Diamond slept a deep sleep, and never heard it. My own impression is that every time when Diamond slept well, and remembered nothing about it in the morning, he had been all that night at the back of the North Wind. I am almost sure that was how he woke so refreshed, and felt so quiet and hopeful all the day. Indeed he said this much, though not to me, that always when he woke from such a sleep there was something in his mind. He could not tell what. He could not tell whether it was the last far-off sounds of the river dying away in the distance, or some of the words of the endless song his mother had read to him on the seashore. Sometimes he thought it must have been the twittering of the swallows, over the shallows, you know. But it may have been the chirping of the dingy sparrows picking up their breakfast in the yard. How can I tell? I don't know what I know. I only know what I think. And to tell the truth, I am more for the swallows than the sparrows. When he knew he was coming awake, he would sometimes try hard to keep hold of the words of what seemed a new song, one he had not heard before, a song in which the words and then the music somehow appeared to be all one. But even when he thought he had got them well fixed in his mind, ever as he came awake, as he would say, one line faded out of it, and then another, and then another, till at last there was nothing left but some lovely picture of water, or grass, or daisies, or something else very common, but with all the commonest polished off it, and a lovely soul of it which people so seldom see, and alas, yet seldomer, believe in shining out. But after that he would sing the oddest, loveliest little songs to the baby of his own making, his mother said. But Diamond said he did not make them. They were made somewhere inside him, and he knew nothing about them till they were coming out. When he woke that first morning, he got up at once, saying to himself, I have been ill long enough, and I have given a great deal of trouble. I must try and be of use now, and help my mother. When he went into her room, he found her lighting the fire, and his father just getting out of bed. They had only the one room, besides the little one, not much more than a closet, in which Diamond slept. He began at once to set things to rights, but the baby waking up, he took him, and nursed him till his mother had got the breakfast ready. She was looking gloomy, and his father was silent. And indeed, except Diamond had done all he possibly could to keep out the misery that was trying to get in at doors and windows, he too would have grown miserable, and then they would have all been miserable together. But to try to make others comfortable is the only way to get right comfortable ourselves, and that comes partly of not being able to think so much about ourselves when we are helping other people. For ourselves we'll always do pretty well if we don't pay them too much attention. Ourselves are like some little children who'll be happy enough so long as they are left to their own games. But when we begin to interfere with them, and make them presence of two nice playthings, or too many sweet things, they begin at once to fret and spoil. "'Why, Diamond, child,' said his mother at last, "'you're as good to your mother as if you were a girl, nursing the baby, and toasting the bread, and sweeping up the hearth. I declare a body would think you'd been among the fairies.' Could Diamond have had greater praise, or greater pleasure? You see, when he forgot his self, his mother took care of his self, and loved and praised his self. Our own praises poison ourselves, and puff and swell them up, till they lose all shape and beauty, and become like great toadstools. But the praises of father or mother do ourselves good, and comfort them, and make them beautiful. They never do them any harm. If they do any harm, it comes of our mixing some of our own praises with them, and that turns them nasty, and slimy, and poisonous. When his father had finished his breakfast, which he did rather in a hurry, he got up and went down into the yard to get out his horse, and put him to the cab. "'Won't you come and see the cab, Diamond?' he said. "'Yes, please, father, if mother can spare me a minute,' answered Diamond. "'Bless the child! I don't want him,' said his mother cheerfully. But as he was following his father out of the door, she called him back. "'Diamond, just hold the baby one minute. I have something to say to your father.' So Diamond sat down again, took the baby in his lap, and began poking his face into its little body, laughing and singing all the while, so that the baby crowed like a little bantam. And what he sang was something like this, such nonsense to those that couldn't understand it, but not to the baby who got all the good in the world out of it. Babies are sleeping, wake up baby, for all the swallows are the merriest fellows, and have the yellowest children, and would go sleeping and snore like a baby disturbing his mother and father and brother, and all abhorring their ears with his snoring, snoring, snoring, for himself and no other, for himself in particular. Wake up, baby, sit up perpendicular, hark to the gushing, hark to the rushing, for the sheep are the woolliest, and the lambs the unrulyest, and their tails the whitest, and their eyes the brightest, and babies the banniest, and babies the funniest, and babies the shiniest, and babies the tiniest, and babies the merriest, and babies the worriest of all the lambs that plague their dams, and mothers the whitest of all the dams that feed the lambs, that go crop-cropping without stop-stopping, and fathers the best of all the swallows that build their nest out of the shining shallows, and he has the merriest children, that's baby and diamond, and diamond and baby, and baby and diamond, and diamond and baby. Here diamonds' knees went off in a wild dance which tossed the baby about, and shook the laughter out of him in immoderate peals. His mother had been listening at the door to the last few lines of his song, and came in with the tears in her eyes. She took the baby from him, gave him a kiss, and told him to run to his father. By the time Diamond got into the yard, the horse was between the shafts, and his father was looping the traces on. Diamond went round to look at the horse. The sight of him made him feel very queer. He did not know much about different horses, and all other horses in their own were very much the same to him. But he could not make it out. This was Diamond, and it wasn't Diamond. Diamond didn't hang his head like that, yet the head that was hanging was very like the one that Diamond used to hold so high. Diamond's bones didn't show through his skin like that, but the skin they pushed out of shape so was very like Diamond's skin. And the bones might be Diamond's bones, for he'd never seen the shape of them. But when he came round in front of the old horse, and he put out his long neck, and began sniffing at him, and rubbing his upper lip and his nose on him, then Diamond saw it could be no other than old Diamond. And he did just as his father had done before, put his arms round his neck, and cried. But not much. Ain't it jolly, Father, he said? Was there ever anybody so lucky as me, dear old Diamond? As he hugged the horse again, and kissed both his big hairy cheeks, he could only manage one at a time, however, the other cheek was so far off on the other side of his big head. His father mounted the box with just the same air as Diamond thought, with which he had used to get upon the coach box, and Diamond said to himself, Father's as grand as ever anyhow. He had kept his brown livery coat, only his wife had taken the silver buttons off and put brass ones instead, because they did not think it polite to Mr. Coleman in his fallen fortunes to let his crest be seen upon the box of a cab. Old Diamond had kept just his collar, and that had the silver crest upon it still, for his master thought nobody would notice that, and so let it remain for a memorial of the better days of which it reminded him, not unpleasantly, seeing it had been by no fault, either of his or of the old horses, that they had come down in the world together. Oh, Father, do let me drive a bit, said Diamond, jumping up on the box beside him. His father changed places with him at once, putting the reins into his hands. Diamond gathered them up eagerly. Don't pull at his mouth, said his father. Just feel at it gently to let him know you're there and attending to him. That's what I call talking to him through the reins. Yes, Father, I understand, said Diamond. Then to the horse he said, Go on, Diamond! And Old Diamond's ponderous bulk began at once to move to the voice of the little boy. But before they had reached the entrance of the muse, another voice called after Young Diamond, which in his turn he had to obey, for it was that of his mother. Diamond, Diamond! It cried, and Diamond pulled the reins, and the horse stood still as a stone. Husband, said his mother, coming up, you're never going to trust him with the reins, a baby like that. He must learn some day, and he can't begin too soon. I see already he's a born coachman, said his father proudly. And I don't see well how he could escape it. For my father and my grandfather, that's his great grandfather, was all coachman, I'm told. So it must come natural to him, any one would think. Besides you see Old Diamond's as proud of him as we are our own selves, wife. Don't you see how he's turning round his ears with the mows of them open, for the first word he speaks to tumble in? He's too well bred to turn his head, you know. Well, but, husband, I can't do without him today. Everything's got to be done, you know. It's my first day here, and there's that baby. Bless you, wife, I never meant to take him away, only to the bottom of Endle Street. He can watch his way back. No, thank you, father, not today, said Diamond. Mother wants me. Perhaps she'll let me go another day. Very well my man, said his father, and took the reins which Diamond was holding out to him. Diamond got down, a little disappointed, of course, and went with his mother, who was too pleased to speak. She only took hold of his hand as tight as if she'd been afraid of his running away, instead of glad that he would not leave her. Now, although they did not know it, the owner of the stables, the same man who had sold the horse to his father, had been standing just inside one of the stable doors, with his hands in his pockets, and had heard and seen all that passed, and from that day John Stonecrop took a great fancy to the little boy, and this was the beginning of what came of it. The same evening, just as Diamond was feeling tired of the day's work, and wishing his father would come home, Mr. Stonecrop knocked at the door. His mother went and opened it. Good evening, ma'am, said he. Is the little master in? Yes, to be sure he is. At your service, I'm sure, Mr. Stonecrop, said his mother. No, no, ma'am. It's I'm at his service. I'm just going out with my own cab, and if he likes to come with me, he shall drive my old horse till he's tired. It's getting rather late for him, said his mother thoughtfully. You see, he's been an invalid. Diamond thought, what a funny thing. How could he have been an invalid when he did not even know what the word meant? But of course, his mother was right. Oh, well, said Mr. Stonecrop, I can just let him drive through Bloomsbury Square, and then he shall run home again. Very good, sir, and I much obliged to you, said his mother. And Diamond, dancing with delight, got his cab, put his hand in Mr. Stonecrop's, and went with him to the yard where the cab was waiting. He did not think the horse looked nearly so nice as Diamond, nor Mr. Stonecrop nearly so grand as his father, but he was nonetheless pleased. He got up on the box, and his new friend got up beside him. What's the horse's name, whispered Diamond, as he took the reins from the man? It's not a nice name, said Mr. Stonecrop. You needn't call him by it. I didn't give it him. He'll go well enough without it. Give the boy a whip, Jack. I never carries one when I drive old. He didn't finish the sentence. Jack handed Diamond a whip, with which, by holding it half down the stick, he managed just to flack the haunches of the horse, and away he went. Mind the gate, said Mr. Stonecrop. And Diamond did mind the gate, and guided the nameless horse through it in safety, pulling him this way and that, according as was necessary. Diamond learned to drive all the sooner that he had been accustomed to do what he was told, and could obey the smallest hint in a moment. Nothing helps one to get on like that. Some people don't know how to do what they are told. They have not been used to it. And they neither understand quickly nor are able to turn what they do understand into action quickly. With an obedient mind one learns the rights of things fast enough, for it is the law of the universe, and to obey is to understand. Look out, cried Mr. Stonecrop, as they were turning the corner into Bloomsbury Square. It was getting dusky now. A cab was approaching rather rapidly from the opposite direction, and Diamond pulling aside, and the other driver pulling up, they only just escaped a collision. Then they knew each other. Why, Diamond, it's a bad beginning to run into your own father, cried the driver. But father, wouldn't it have been a bad ending to run into your own son, said Diamond in return, and the two men laughed heartily. This is very kind of you, I'm sure, Stonecrop, said his father. Not a bit. He's a brave fellow, and he'll be fit to drive on his own, hook in a week or two. But I think you'd better let him drive you home now, for his mother don't like his having over much of the night air, and I promise not to take him farther than the square. Come along then, Diamond, said his father, as he brought his cab up to the other, and moved off the box to the seat beside it. Diamond jumped across, caught at the reins, said, good night, and thank you, Mr. Stonecrop, and drove away home, feeling more of a man than he'd ever get had a chance of feeling in all his life. Nor did his father find it necessary to give him a single hint as to his driving. Only I suspect the fact that it was old Diamond, an old Diamond on his way to a stable, may have had something to do with young Diamond's success. Well, child, said his mother, when he entered the room, you've not been long gone. No mother, here I am, give me the baby. The baby's asleep, said his mother, and give him to me, and I'll lay him down. But as Diamond took him, he woke up and began to laugh, for he was indeed one of the merriest children, and no wonder, for he was as plump as a plum pudding, and had never had an ache or a pain that lasted more than five minutes at a time. Diamond sat down with him and began to sing to him. Baby, baby, babbing your father's gone a cabbing, to catch a shilling, for its pence to make the baby, babbing dance for old Diamond's a duck. They say he can swim, but the duck of Diamond is baby's, that's him. And of all the swallows, the merriest fellows that bake their cake, with the water they shake, out of the river, flowing for ever, and make dust into clay on the shiniest day, to build their nest, father's the best, and mother's the whitest, and her eyes are the brightest of all the dams that watch their lambs, cropping the grass, where the waters pass, singing for ever, and of all the lambs with the shakingest tails, and the jumpingest feet, baby's the funniest, baby's the bonniest, and he never wails, and he's always sweet, and Diamond's his nurse, and Diamond's his nurse, and Diamond's his nurse. When Diamond's rhymes grew scarce, he always began dancing the baby. Some people wondered that such a child could rhyme as he did. But his rhymes were not very good, for he was only trying to remember what he had heard the river sing at the back of the North Wind. Diamond became a great favorite with all the men about the muse. Some may think it was not the best place in the world for him to be brought up in, but it must have been, for there he was. At first he heard a good many rough and bad words, but he did not like them, and so they did him little harm. He did not know in the least what they meant, but there was something in the very sound of them, and in the tone of voice in which they were said, which Diamond felt to be ugly. So they did not even stick to him, not to say get inside him. He never took any notice of them, and his face shone pure and good in the middle of them, like a prim rose in a hailstorm. At first, because his face was so quiet and sweet, with a smile always either awake or asleep in his eyes, and because he never heeded their ugly words in rough jokes, they said he wasn't all there, meaning that he was half an idiot, whereas he was a great deal more there than they had the sense to see. And before long the bad words found themselves ashamed to come out of the men's mows when Diamond was near. The one would nudge the other to remind him that the boy was within hearing, and the words choked themselves before they got any farther. When they talked to him nicely, he had always a good answer, sometimes a smart one, ready, and that helped much to make them change their minds about him. One day Jack gave him a curry comb and a brush to try his hand upon Old Diamond's coat. He used them so deftly, so gently, and yet so thoroughly as far as he could reach, that the man could not help admiring him. He must make haste and grow, he said, it won't do to have a horse's belly clean and his back dirty, you know. Give me a leg, said Diamond, and in a moment he was on the old horse's back with the comb and brush. He sat on his withers, and reaching forward as he ate his hay, he curried any brushed, first at one side of his neck, and then at the other. When that was done he asked for a dressing comb, and combed his mane thoroughly. Then he pushed himself onto his back, and hit his shoulders as far down as he could reach. Then he sat on his crook, and did his back and sides. Then he turned around like a monkey, and attacked his hind-quarters and combed his tail. This last was not so easy to manage, for he had to lift it up, and every now and then Old Diamond would whisk it out of his hands, and once he sent the comb flying out of the stable door to the great amusement of the men. But Jack fetched it again, and Diamond began once more, and did not leave off until he had done the whole business fairly well, if not in a first rate experienced fashion. All the time the old horse went on eating his hay, and, but with an occasional whisk of his tail when Diamond tickled or scratched him, took no notice of the proceeding. But that was all a pretense, for he knew very well who it was that was perched on his back, and rubbing away at him with the comb and the brush. So he was quite pleased and proud, and perhaps said to himself something like this. I am a stupid old horse who can't brush his own coat, but there is my young godson on my back, cleaning me like an angel. I won't vouch for what the old horse was thinking, for it is very difficult to find out what any old horse is thinking. Oh, dear, said Diamond, when he had done, I am so tired. And he laid himself down at full length on Old Diamond's back. By this time all the men in the stable were gathered about the two diamonds, and all much amused. One of them lifted him down, and from that time he was a greater favorite than before. And if ever there was a boy who had a chance of being a prodigy at cab driving, Diamond was that boy. But the strife came to be who should have him out with him on the box. His mother, however, was a little shy of the company for him, and besides she could not always spare him. Also his father liked to have him himself when he could, so that he was more desired than enjoyed among the cab men. But one way and another he did learn to drive all sorts of horses and to drive them well, and that through the most crowded streets in London City. Of course there was the man always on the box seat beside him, but before long there was seldom the least occasion to take the reins from out of his hands. For one thing he never got frightened, and consequently it was never in too great a hurry, yet when the moment came for doing something sharp he was always ready for it. I must once more remind my readers that he had been to the back of the North Wind. One day, which was neither washing-day, nor cleaning-day, nor marketing-day, nor Saturday, nor Monday, upon which consequently Diamond could be spared from the baby, his father took him on his own cab. After a stray job or two, by the way, they drew up in the row upon the stand between Coxpur Street and Palmall. They waited a long time, but nobody seemed to want to be carried anywhere. Bind-by ladies would be going home from the Academy Exhibition, and then there would be a chance of a job. "'Though to be sure,' said Diamond's father, with what truth I cannot say, but he believed what he said, some ladies is very hard, and keeps you to the bare six pence a mile. When everyone knows that ain't enough to keep a family in a cab upon, to be sure it's the law, but may hap they may get more law than they like some day themselves.' As it was very hot, Diamond's father got down to have a glass of beer himself, and give another to the old waterman. He left Diamond on the box. A sudden noise got up, and Diamond looked round to see what was the matter. There was it crossing near the cab-stand, where a girl was sweeping. Some rough young imps had picked a quarrel with her, and were now hauling at her broom to get it away from her. But as they did not pull all together, she was holding it against them, scolding and entreating alternately. Diamond was off his box in a moment, and running to the help of the girl. He got hold of the broom at her end, and pulled along with her. But the boys proceeded to rougher measures, and one of them hit Diamond on the nose, and made it bleed. As he could not let go of the broom to mind his nose, he was soon a dreadful figure. But presently his father came back, and missing Diamond looked about. He had to look twice, however, before he could be sure that that was his boy in the middle of the tumult. He rushed in and sent the assailants flying in all directions. The girl thanked Diamond, and began sweeping as if nothing had happened, while his father led him away. With the help of old Tom, the waterman, he was soon washed into decency, and his father set him on the box again, perfectly satisfied with the account he gave of the cause of his being in a fray. I couldn't let them behave so to a poor girl. Could I, Father? He said. Probably not Diamond, said his father, quite pleased, for Diamond's father was a gentleman. A moment after up came the girl, running with her broom over her shoulder and calling, cab there, cab! Diamond's father turned instantly, for he was the foremost in the rank and followed the girl. One or two other passing cabs heard the cry, and made for the place, but the girl had taken care not to call, till she was near enough to give her friends the first chance. When they reached the curb-stone, who should it be waiting for the cab? But Mrs. and Miss Coleman. They did not look at the cabman, however. The girl opened the door for them, and gave her the address and a penny. She told the cabman, and away they drove. When they reached the house, Diamond's father got down and rang the bell. As he opened the door of the cab, he touched his hat, as he had been wont to do. The ladies both stared for a moment, and then exclaimed together, Why, Joseph! Can it be you? Yes, ma'am, yes, Miss, answered he, again touching his hat, with all the respect he could possibly put into the action. It's a lucky day, which I see you once more upon it. Who would have thought it, said Mrs. Coleman. It's changed times for both of us, Joseph, and it's not very often we can have a cab even, but you see my daughter is still very poorly, and she can't bear the motion of the omnibuses. Indeed we meant to walk a bit first before we took a cab, but just at the corner, for as hot as the sun was, a cold wind came down the street, and I saw that Miss Coleman must not face it. Not to think we should have fallen upon you, of all the cabmen in London. I didn't know you'd got a cab. Well, you see, ma'am, I had a chance of buying the old horse, and I couldn't resist him. There he is, looking at you, ma'am. Nobody knows the sense in that head of his. The two ladies went near to pat the horse, and then they noticed Diamond on the box. Why, you've got both diamonds with you, said Miss Coleman. How do you do, Diamond? Diamond lifted his cap, and answered politely. He'll be fit to drive himself before long, said his father proudly. The old horse is a teaching of him. Well, he must come and see us, now you've found us out. Where do you live? Diamond's father gave the ladies a ticket with his name and address printed on it, and then Mrs. Coleman took out her purse saying, And what's your fare, Joseph? No, thank you, ma'am, said Joseph. It was your own old horse, as took you, and me, you paid long ago. He jumped on his box before she could say another word, and with a parting salute drove off, leaving them on the pavement, with the maid holding the door for them. It was a long time now since Diamond had seen North Wind, or even thought much about her, and as his father drove along he was thinking not about her, but about the crossing-sweeper, and was wondering what made him feel as if he knew her quite well, when he could not remember anything of her. But a picture arose in his mind of a little girl running before the wind, and dragging her broom after her, and from that, by degrees, he recalled the whole adventure of the night when he got down from North Wind's back in a London street. But he could not quite satisfy himself whether the whole affair was not a dream which he had dreamed when he was a very little boy. Only he had been to the back of the North Wind since, there could be no doubt of that, for when he woke every morning he always knew that he had been there again, and as he thought and thought he recalled another thing that had happened that morning which, although it seemed a mere accident, might have something to do with what had happened since. His father had intended going on the stand at King's Cross that morning, and had turned into Gray's Inn Lane to drive there when they found the way blocked up, and upon inquiry were informed that a stack of chimneys had been blown down in the night, and had fallen across the road. They were just clearing the rubbish away. Diamond's father turned, and made for Charing Cross. That night the father and mother had a great deal to talk about. "'Poor thing,' said the mother, "'it's worse for them than it is for us. You see, they've been used to such grand things, and for them to come down to a little pokey house like that, it breaks my heart to think of it.' "'I don't know,' said Diamond thoughtfully, whether Mrs. Coleman had bells in her toes. "'What do you mean, child?' said his mother. "'She had rings in her fingers anyhow,' returned Diamond. "'Of course she had, as any lady would. What is that to do with it?' "'When we were down at Sandwich,' said Diamond, "'you said you would have to part with your mother's ring. Now we were poor.' "'Bless the child, he forgets nothing,' said his mother. "'Really, Diamond, a body would need to mind what they say to you.' "'Why?' said Diamond. "'I only think about it.' "'That's just why,' said the mother.' "'Why is that why?' persisted Diamond, for he had not yet learned that grown-up people are not often so much grown-up that they never talk like children, and spoilt ones, too. "'Mrs. Coleman is none so poor as all that yet. No, thank heaven. She's not come to that.' "'Is it a great disgrace to be poor?' asked Diamond, because of the tone in which his mother had spoken. But his mother, where their conscience stricken I do not know, hurried him away to bed, where after various attempts to understand her, resumed and resumed again in spite of invading sleep, he was conquered at last, and gave in, murmuring over and over to himself, Why is why?' but getting no answer to the question. A few nights after this Diamond woke up suddenly, believing he heard Northwind thundering along. But it was something quite different. Southwind was moaning round the chimneys, to be sure, for she was not very happy that night. But it was not her voice that had awakened Diamond. Her voice would only have lulled him the deeper asleep. It was a loud, angry voice, now growling like that of a beast, now raving like that of a madman. And when Diamond came a little wider awake, he knew that it was the voice of the drunken cabman, the wall of whose room was at the head of his bed. It was anything but pleasant to hear, but he could not help hearing it. At length there came a cry from the woman, then a scream from the baby. Thereupon Diamond thought at time that somebody did something, and as himself was the only somebody at hand, he must go and see whether he could not do something. So he got up, and put on part of his clothes, and went down the stair, for the cabman's room did not open upon their stair, and he had to go out into the yard and in it the next door. This fortunately the cabman, being drunk, had left open. By the time he reached their stair, all was still except for voice of the crying baby, which guided him to the right door. He opened it softly, and peeped in. There leaning back in a chair, with his arms hanging down by his sides, and his legs stretched out before him, and supported on his heels, sat the drunken cabman. His wife lay in her clothes upon the bed, sobbing, and the baby was wailing in the cradle. It was very miserable altogether. Now the way most people do when they see anything very miserable is to turn away from the sight, and try to forget it. But Diamond began as usual to try to destroy the misery. The little boy was just as much one of God's messengers as if he had been an angel with a flaming sword got out to fight the devil. The devil he had to fight just then was misery, and the way he fought him was the very best. Like a wise soldier, he attacked him first in his weakest point. That was the baby. For misery can never get such a hold of a baby as of a grown person. Diamond was knowing in babies, and he knew he could do something to make the baby happy, for although he had only known one baby as yet, and although not one baby is the same as another, yet they are so very much alike in some things, and he knew that one baby so thoroughly, that he had good reason to believe he could do something for any other. I have known people who would have begun to fight the devil in a very different and a very stupid way. They would have begun by scolding the idiotic cabman, and next they would make his wife angry by saying it must be her fault as well as his, and by leaving ill-bred their well-meant shabby little books for them to read, which they were sure to hate the sight of, while all the time they would not have put a finger out to touch the wailing baby. But Diamond had him out of the cradle in a moment, set him up on his knee, and told him to look at the light. Now all the light there was came only from a lamp in the yard, and it was a very dingy and yellow light, for the glass of the lamp was dirty and the gas was bad. But the light that came from it was notwithstanding, as certainly light as if it had come from the sun itself, and the baby knew that, and smiled to it. And although it was indeed a wretched room which that lamp lighted, so dreary and dirty and empty and hopeless, there in the middle of it sat Diamond on a stool, smiling to the baby, and the baby on his knees, smiling to the lamp. The father of him sat staring at nothing, neither asleep nor awake, not quite lost in stupidity either, for through it all he was dimly angry with himself. He did not know why. It was that he had struck his wife. He had forgotten it, but was miserable about it notwithstanding. And this misery was the voice of the great love that had made him, and his wife, and the baby, and Diamond, speaking in his heart and telling him to be good. For that great love speaks in the most wretched and dirty hearts. Only the tone of its voice depends on the echoes of the place in which it sounds. On Mount Sinai it was thunder. In the cab man's heart it was misery. In the soul of St. John it was perfect blessedness. By and by he became aware that there was a voice of singing in the room. This, of course, was the voice of Diamond singing to the baby, song after song, every one is foolish as another to the cab man, for he was too tipsy to part one word from another. All the words mixed up in his ear in a gurgle without division or stop, for such was the way he spoke himself when he was in this horrid condition. But the baby was more than content with Diamond's songs, and Diamond himself was so contented with what the songs were all about, that he did not care a bit about the songs themselves, if only baby liked them. But they did the cab man good as well as the baby in Diamond, while they put him to sleep. And the sleep was busy all the time it lasted, smoothing the wrinkles out of his temper. At length Diamond grew tired of singing, and began to talk to the baby instead. And as soon as he stopped singing, the cab man began to wake up. His brain was a little clearer now, his temper a little smoother, and his heart not quite so dirty. He began to listen, and he went on listening, and heard Diamond saying to the baby something like this, for he thought the cab man was asleep. He told Daddy, Baby's Daddy takes too much beer in gin, and that makes him somebody else, and not his own self at all. Baby's Daddy would never hit Baby's Mummy if he didn't take too much beer. He's very fond of Baby's Mummy, and works from morning to night to get her breakfast and dinner and supper, only at night he forgets, and pays the money away for beer. And they put nasty stuff in beer, I've heard my Daddy say, that drives all the good out, and lets all the bad in. Daddy says, when a man takes a drink, there's a thirsty devil creeps into his inside, because he knows he will always get enough there, and the devil is always crying out for more drink, and that makes the man thirsty, and so he drinks more and more, till he kills himself with it. And then the ugly devil creeps out of him, and crawls about on his belly, looking for some other cab man to get into, that he may drink, drink, drink. That's what my Daddy says, Baby. And he says, too, the only way to make the devil come out, is to give him plenty of cold water and tea and coffee, and nothing at all that comes from the public house. For the devil can't abide that kind of stuff, and creeps out pretty soon, for fear of being drowned in it. But your Daddy will drink the nasty stuff, poor man. I wish he wouldn't, for it makes Mummy cross with him, no wonder. And then when Mammy's cross, he's crosser, and there's nobody in the house to take care of them but Baby. And you do take care of them, Baby, don't you, Baby? I know you do. Babies always take care of their fathers and mothers, don't they, Baby? That's what they come for, isn't it, Baby? And when Daddy stops drinking beer in nasty gym with turpentine in it, Father says, then Mammy will be so happy and look so pretty, and Daddy will be so good to Baby, and Baby will be as happy as a swallow, which is the merriest fellow. And Diamond will be so happy, too. And when Diamond's a man, he'll take Baby out with him on the box and teach him to drive a cab. He went on with chatter like this till Baby was asleep, by which time he was tired, and Father and Mother were both wide awake, only rather confused, the one from the beer, the other from the blow, and staring, the one from his chair, the other from her bed, at Diamond. But he was quite unaware of their notice, for he sat half asleep, with his eyes wide open, staring in his turn, though without knowing it, at the cab man, while the cab man could not withdraw his gaze from Diamond's white face and big eyes. For Diamond's face was always rather pale, and now it was pale of unusual with sleeplessness, and the light of the streetlamp upon it. At length he found himself nodding, and he knew then it was time to put the Baby down, lest he should let him fall. So he rose from the little three-legged stool and laid the Baby in the cradle, and covered him up. It was well it was a warm night, and he did not want much covering. And then he all but staggered out of the door. He was so tipsy himself with sleep. "'Wife,' said the cab man, turning towards the bed, "'I do somehow believe that we're an angel just gone. Did you see him, wife? He won't worry big, and he hadn't got none of them wings, as you know. It were one of them baby angels you see's on the gravestones, you know?' "'Nonsense, hubby,' said his wife, "'but it's just as good. I might say better, for you can catch hold of him when you like. As little diamond as everybody knows, and a duck of diamonds he is. No woman could wish for a better child than he be. I heard of him in the stable, but I never see the brad of four. Come, old girl, let bygones be bygones, and guess a kiss, and we'll go to bed.' The cab man kept his cab in another yard, although he had his room in this. He was often late in coming home, and was not one to take notice of children, especially when he was tipsy, which was oftener than not. As if he had ever seen diamond, he did not know him. But his wife knew him well enough, as did everyone else who lived all day in the yard. She was a good-natured woman. It was she who had got the fire-lighted and the tea ready for them when diamond and his mother came home from sandwich. And her husband was not an ill-natured man, either. And when in the morning he recalled not only diamonds visit, but how he himself had behaved to his wife, he was very vexed with himself, and gladdened his poor wife's heart by telling her how sorry he was. For a whole week after, he did not go near the public-house, hard as it was to avoid it, seeing a certain rich brewer had built one, like a trap to catch souls and bodies in, at almost every corner he had to pass on his way home. Indeed, he was never quite so bad after that, though it was some time before he really began to reform. End of chapter 18. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Today's reading by Kelly Clear, October 6, 2006, in Indiana, USA. Chapter 19, Diamonds Friends. One day when Old Diamond was standing with his nose in his bag, between Paul Mall and Coxspur Street, and his master was reading the newspaper on the box of his cab, which was the last of a good many in a row, little Diamond got down for a run, for his legs were getting cramped with sitting. And first of all, he strolled with his hands in his pockets up to the crossing, where the girl and her broom were to be found in all weathers. Just as he was going to speak to her, a tall gentleman stepped up on the crossing. He was pleased to find it so clean, for the streets were muddy and he had nice boots on, so he put his hand in his pocket and gave the girl a penny. But when she gave him a sweet smile in return and made him a pretty curtsy, he looked at her again and said, where do you live, my child? Ped-arch-rel, she answered. Next door to the Adam and Ive, stole the area. Whom do you live with? He asked. What wicked old granny? She replied. You shouldn't call your granny wicked, said the gentleman. What she is? Said the girl, looking up confidently in his face. If you don't believe me, you can come and take a look at her. The word sounded rude, but the girl's face looked so simple that the gentleman saw she did not mean to be rude and became still more interested in her. Still, you shouldn't say so, he insisted. Shouldn't I? Everybody calls her wicked old granny, even them zets wicked eyes there. You should hear a swear, there's not a like it in the row. Day-dye, shea, you sir, there's not a one of them can shut my granny up once she begins to get to what I'm going. You must put her in a passion first, you know. Now go do you do that, she's so old now. How she do make them laugh, to be sure. Although she called her wicked, the child spoke so as plainly to indicate pride in her granny's preeminence and swearing. The gentleman looked very grave to hear her, for he was sorry that such a nice little girl should be in such bad keeping. But he did not know what to say next and stood for a moment with his eyes on the ground. When he lifted them, he saw the face of diamond looking up at his. Play, sir, said diamond, a granny is very cool to her sometimes and struts her out in the streets at night if she happens to be light. Is this your brother? Asked the gentleman of the girl. No, sir. How does he know your grandmother, then? He does not look like one of her sort. Oh, no, sir, he's a good boy, quiet. Here she tapped her forehead with her finger in a significant manner. What do you mean by that? Asked the gentleman while diamond looked on smiling. The cabbies call him God's baby, she whispered. He's not right in the ad, you know, a toile loose. Still diamond, though he heard every word and understood it too, kept on smiling. What could it matter what people called him so long as he did nothing he ought not to do? And besides, God's baby was surely the best of names. Well, my little man, and what can you do? Asked the gentleman, turning towards him, just for the sake of saying something. Do I have a cab? Said Diamond. Good. And what else? He continued for, excepting what the girl had said, he regarded the still sweetness of Diamond's face as a sign of silliness and wished to be kind to the poor little fellow. Yes, a baby, said Diamond. Well, and what else? Clean father's boots, make him a bit of toast for his tea. You're a useful little man, said the gentleman. What else can you do? Not much did I know of, said Diamond. I can't carry a horse, except somebody puts me on his back, so don't count that. Can you read? No, but mother and father can, and they're going to teach me some dice soon. Well, here's a penny for you. Thank you, sir. And when you've learned to read, come to me, and I'll give you six pence and a book with fine pictures of it. Play, sir. Where am I to come? As Diamond, who is too much of a man of the world, not to know that he must have the gentleman's address before he could go and see him. You know such silly, thought he, as he put his hand in his pocket and brought out a card. There, he said, your father will be able to read that and tell you where to go. Yes, sir. Thank you, sir, said Diamond, and put the card in his pocket. The gentleman walked away, but turning around a few paces off, saw Diamond give his penny to the girl, and walking slower, heard him say, I've got a father and mother and little brother, and you've got nothing but a wicked old granny. You may have more penny. The girl put it beside the other in her pocket. The only trust were the article address she wore. Her grandmother always took care that she had a stout pocket. Is she as cool as ever, as Diamond? Most the same. But all he gets more copper is now that I used to, and I can get so much to eat and take Brown's enough home besides to keep her from grumbling. It's a good thing she's so blind, though. Why, as Diamond? Because if she was as sharp in the eyes as she used to be, she would know that I never ate her broken veers, and then she'd know as I must get something else wears. Doesn't she watch you then? Of course she do. Don't she just? But I make believe and drop in my lap and then itch it onto my pocket. What would she do if she found you out? She'd never give me no more. But she don't want it. Yes, do want it. What would you do of her then? Give it to Cripple Jim? Who's Cripple Jim? Boy in the row. His mother broke his leg when he were a kid, so he'd never come to much. But he's a good boy as Jim, and I love him dearly. Always keeps a penny for Jim. He's weighs as often as I can. The dare more sweep again for them bosses might now end a dirt. Diamond? Diamond. Called his father, who was afraid he might get no good by talking to the girl and Diamond obeyed and got to begin upon the box. He told his father about the gentleman and what he had promised him if he would learn to read, and showed him the gentleman's card. Well, it's not many doors from the muse, said his father, giving him back the card. Take care of it, my boy, for it might lead to something. God knows in these odd times a man wants as many friends as he's ever likely to get. Haven't you got friends enough, father? Asked Diamond. Well, I've no right to complain, but the more the better, you know. Just let me count, said Diamond. And he took his hands from his pockets and, spreading out the fingers of his left hand, began to count, beginning at the thumb. There's Mova, first, then Baby, then me. Then there's old Diamond and the cab. Now, I won't count the cab for it, never looks at you. And when Diamond's out of the shaft, it's nobody. Then there's the man that drinks next door and his wife and his baby. They're no friends of mine, said his father. Well, they're friends of mine, said Diamond. His father laughed. Much good they'll do you, he said. How do you know they won't? Returned Diamond. Well, go on, said his father. Then there's Jack and Mr. Stonecrop and, dare I mean not to mention Mr. Coleman and Mrs. Coleman and Mrs. Coleman and Mrs. Crump and then there's a clergyman that spoke to me in the garden that day the tree was blown down. What's his name? I don't know his name. Where does he live? I don't know. How can you count him then? He did talk to me and very con-like too. His father left again. What child, you're just counting everybody you know. That don't make him friends. Don't it? I thought it did. Well, they shall be my friends or shall make him. Oh, will you do that? They can't help themselves then if they would. If I choose to be their friends, you know, they can't prevent me. Then there's that girl at the crossing. The importance of a friend you do have to be sure, Diamond. Surely she's a friend anyhow, Father. If I hadn't been fair, you would never have got Mrs. Coleman and Mrs. Coleman to carry home. His father was silent, for he thought that Diamond was right and was ashamed to find himself more ungrateful than he thought. Then there's the new gentleman. Diamond went on. If he do as he say and reposed his father, then why shouldn't he? Or dare I say six pints ain't too much for him to give. But I don't quite understand, Father. Is nobody your friend, but the one who does something for you? No, I won't say that, my boy. You would have to leave out Baby then. Oh, no, why shouldn't? Baby can laugh in your face and crown your ears and make you feel so happy. Got you that nothing, Father? The father's heart was fairly touched now. He made no answer to this last appeal and Diamond ended off with saying, and there's the best of mine to come yet. And that's you, Daddy. Except it'd be mother, you know. You're my friend, Daddy, ain't you? And all my friend, ain't I? And God, first of all, said his father, and then they were both silent, for that was very solemn. End of chapter 19, at the back of the North Wind by George MacDonald. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information on LibriVox, or how to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Today's reading by Kelly Clear, October 5th, 2006, in Indiana, USA. Chapter 20, Diamond Learns to Read. The question of the tall gentleman as to whether Diamond could read or not set his father thinking it was high time he could. And as soon as old Diamond was suppered and bedded, he began the task that very night. But it was not much of a task to Diamond, for his father took, for his lesson book, those very rhymes his mother had picked up on the seashore. And as Diamond was not beginning too soon, he learned very fast indeed. Within a month, he was able to spell out most of the verses for himself. But he had never come upon the poem he thought he had heard his mother read from it that day. He had looked through and through the book several times after he knew the letters and a few words, fancing he could tell the look of it, but it always failed to find one more like it than another. So he wisely gave up the search till he could really read. Then he resolved to begin at the beginning and read them all straight through. This took him nearly a fortnight. When he had almost reached the end, he came upon the following verses, which took his fancy much, although they were certainly not very like those he was in search of. Little boy blue. Little boy blue lost his way in a wood. Sing apples and cherries, roses and honey. He said, I would not go back if I could. It's all so jolly and funny. He sang, this wood is all my own. Apples and cherries, roses and honey. So here I'll sit like a king on my throne. All so jolly and funny. A little snake crept out of the tree. Apples and cherries, roses and honey. Like down at my feet, little snake, said he, all so jolly and funny. A little bird sang in the tree overhead. Apples and cherries, roses and honey. Come and sing your song on my finger instead. All so jolly and funny. The snake coiled up and the bird flew down and sang him the song of Birdie Brown. Little boy blue found it tiresome to sit and he thought he had better walk on a bit. So up he got his way to take and he said, come along little bird and snake and waves of snake or the damp leaves passed and the snake went first and Birdie Brown last. By boy blue's head with flutter and dart flew Birdie Brown with a song in its heart. He came where the apples grew red and sweet. Tree dropped me an apple down at my feet. He came where the cherries hung plump and red. Come to my mouth sweet kisses, he said. And the boughs bow down and the apples they dappled. The grass too many for him to grapple. And the cherries cherries with never a miss fall to his mouth each a full grown kiss. He met a little brook singing a song. He said, little brook you are going wrong. You must follow me, follow me, follow I say. Do as I tell you and come this way. And the song singing sing song in forest brook left from its bed and after him took, followed him, followed and pale and won. The dead leaves rustled as the water ran and every bird high up on the bow and every creature low down below he called and the creatures obeyed the call. Took their legs and their wings and followed him all. Squirrels that carried their tails like a sack each on his own little humpy brown back. Householder snails and slugs, all tails and butterflies flutter by ships all sails and weasels and oozles and mice and larks and owls and rare mice and harky darks. All went running and creeping and flowing after the merry boy fluttering and going. The dappled fawns fawning, the fallow deer following. The swallows and flies flying and swallowing. Cock chafers, hen chafers, kooky holy birds. Cock roaches, hen roaches and cuckoos in herds. The spider forgot and followed him spinning and lost all his thread from end to beginning. The gay wasp forgot his rings and his waist. He never had made such undignified haste. The dragonflies melted to mist with their hurrying. The moorling his moleskins left his barrowing burrowing. The bees went buzzing so busy and busy and the midges in columns so upright and easy. But little boy blue was not content, calling for followers still as he went. Blowing his horn and beating his drum and crying aloud, come all of you, come. He said to the shadows, come after me. And the shadows began to flicker and flee. And they flew through the wood all flattering and fluttering over the deadliest flickering and margarine. And he said to the wind, come follow, come follow with whistle and pipe and rustle and hollow. And the wind wound round at his desire as if he had been the gold cock on the spire. And the cock itself flew down from the church and left the farmers all in the lurch. They run and they fly, they creep and they come. Everything, everything, all and some. The very trees they tugged at their roots. Only their feet were too fast in their boots. After him leaning and straining and bending, as on through their bowls he kept walking and wending. Till out of the wood he burst on a lee, shouting and calling, come after me. And then they rose up with a leafy hiss and stood as if nothing had been a mess. Little boy Blue sat down on a stone and the creatures came round him, everyone. And he said to the clouds, I want you there. And down they sank through the thin blue air. And he said to the sunset, far in the west, come here, I want you, I know best. And the sunset came and stood up on the wall and burned and glowed in purple and gold. Then little boy Blue began to ponder, what's to be done with them all, I wonder. Then little boy Blue, he said, quite low, what to do with you all? I am sure I don't know. Then the clouds clotted down till dismal it grew. The snake sneaked closed, round birdie brown flew. The brook set up like a snake on its tail and the wind came up with a, what will you wail? And all the creatures sat and stared. The mole opened his very eyes and glared. And for rats and bats and the world and his wife, little boy Blue was afraid of his life. Then birdie brown began to sing and what he sang was the very thing. You have brought us all here, little boy Blue, what do you want us all to do? Go away, go away, said little boy Blue, I'm sure I don't want you. Get away, do. No, no, no, no, yes and no, no. Sing birdie brown, it mustn't be so. We cannot for nothing come here and away. Give us some work or else we stay. Oh dear and oh dear, with sob and with sigh, said little boy Blue and began to cry. But before he got far he thought of a thing. And up he stood and spoke like a king. Why do you hustle and jostle and bother? Off with you all, take me back to my mother. The sunset stood at the gates of the west. Follow me, follow me, came from birdie brown's breast. I am going that way as fast as I can. Said the brook as it sank and turned and ran. Back to the woods fled the shadows like ghosts. If we stay we shall all be missed from our posts. Said the wind with a voice that had changed its cheer. I was just going there when you brought me here. That's where I live, said the sack-backed squirrel. And he turned his sack with a swing and a swirl. Said the cock of the spire, his father's church warden. Said the brook running faster, I run through his garden. Said the mole, 200 worms that I caught him last year, and I'm going again next autumn. Said they all, if that's where you want us to steer for, what in earth and water did you bring us here for? Never you mind, said little boy Blue. And that's what I tell you, if that you won't do, I'll get up at once and go home without you. I think I will, I begin to doubt you. He rose, and up rose the snake on its tail, and hissed three times, half a hiss, half a whale. Little boy Blue he tried to go past him, but wherever he turned, set the snake and faced him. If you don't get out of my way, he said, I tell you snake, I will break your head. The snake he neither would go nor come, so he hit him hard with a stick of his drum. The snake fell down as if he were dead, and little boy Blue set his foot on his head. And all the creatures they marched before him and marshaled him home with a high cock-a-law room. And Bertie Brown sang Twitter, Twitter, Tweet-wee. Apples and cherries roses in the honey. Little boy Blue has listened to me. Oh, so jolly and funny. End of chapter 20. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Bree Pampel, Austin, Texas. At the back of the North Wind by George MacDonald. Chapter 21, 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 will 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 did ask it. All but the snake. He followed the snake, you know. And it took him farther away. I suppose it was the 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 the 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 cannot say. I only know that he killed the snake. I suppose that's what he had the 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. Diamonds 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. Unless my reader should have his qualms about it too, I've ensured 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 another, Diamond's father was on the same stand near the National Gallery. The girl was nodded or 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 at 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 20 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 when he was about, and of course the man believed him for no one 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, asks 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 don't, said Diamond. They might think I was gonna meddle with him, 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 woman 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 our door, at the bottom of the area, staring at Nott, 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, uncovered with mud, while over the grating, which kept people from falling into the area, stood a chest of drawers, placed there by a dealer and secondhand furniture, which shed out almost all of 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's 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 unless Sal should find him 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 neighbors. 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 to 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 at Diamond's face, which was flushed with his resistance. You came just in the right time. Thank you, return 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 even Diamond or the policeman knew. They walked away together, Diamond telling his new friend how ill poor nanny was, and then he was gonna 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 in 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 and 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 gonna take your word for it? Shut the door in his face. Diamond turned and sat down on the door stepped, 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 around, it was only the servant once more. Get away, he said, what are you doing on the door step? 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 around yet again, there was the tall gentleman. Who's this, John, he asked. I don't know, sir, an imprint 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. Uh, what, said Mr. Raymond? John, John, this won't do. Is it a habit of yours to turn away my visitors? There'll be someone 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 six pints. 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 talk 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 into the brahame. He took Diamond with him and drove to the children's hospital. There he was well known to everyone for he was not only a large subscriber, but he used to go and tell the children's 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 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. End of chapter 21. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Brie Pampell, Austin, Texas. At the back of the North Wind by George McDonald. Chapter 22. Mr. Raymond's Riddle. Mr. Raymond took Diamond home with him, stopping at the muse 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 crumbled book which the 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. No, 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 cab man 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 six pints. 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 our money in it. It ain't much, but she saves it up to buy shoes for me and there's a baby coming on famously and he'll want shoes soon and every six pints is something, ain't it, sir? To be sure, my man, I hope you 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 babies 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 I'm 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'm always very tight laced. None ever saw me eat. I have no mouth to bite. Yet I eat all day in the full sunlight. In the summer with song I shave and quiver but in the 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 answer 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 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 he would ever have seen him. Oh then I think I hear some little readers 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'm afraid you must be content to wait until you grow older and know more. End of chapter 22. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to find out how to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. At the back of the North Wind by George MacDonald. Chapter 23, The Early Bird recorded by Maria Colano. 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 gone. She replied, Oh, Mammy, you make me think of a little poem. Baby and I learned out of North Wind's book today. 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 tomorrow. 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 crops 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 20 today 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 special bother. The yellow beaks they slept on and on. They never had heard of the bogey tomorrow 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 or 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 air 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 anymore 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 mall she saw him fancy with what surprise dragging a huge worm out of a hole. To us of the same hero the proverb took form to is 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. End of the early bird chapter 23. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. At the back of the North Wind by George McDonald chapter 24, Another Early Bird, recorded by Maria Cellano. He got up in the morning as soon as he heard the men moving in the yard. He tucked in his little brother so that he could not tumble out of bed and then went out leaving the door open so that if he should cry his mother might hear him at once. When he got into the yard he found the stable door just opened. I'm the early bird. I think, he said to himself, I hope I shall catch the worm. He would not ask anyone to help him fearing his project might meet with disapproval and opposition. With great difficulty but with the help of a broken chair he brought down from his bedroom he managed to put the harness on Diamond. If the old horse had had the least objection to the proceeding, of course, he could not have done it. But even when it came to the bridle he opened his mouth for the bit just as if he had been taking the apple which Diamond sometimes gave him. He fastened the cheek strap very carefully just in the usual hole for fear of choking his friend or else letting the bit get amongst his teeth. It was a job to get the saddle on but with the chair he managed it. If old Diamond had had an education in physics to equal that of the camel he would have knelt down to let him put it on his back but that was more than could be expected of him. And then Diamond had to creep quite under him to get hold of the girth. The collar was almost the worst part of the business but there Diamond could help Diamond. He held his head very low until his little master had got it over and turned it round and then he lifted his head and shook it on to his shoulders. The yoke was rather difficult but when he had laid the traces over the horse's neck the weight was not too much for him. He got him right at last. By this time there were several of the men watching him but they would not interfere they were so anxious to see how he would get over the various difficulties. They followed him as far as the stable door and there stood watching him again as he put the horse between the shafts got them up one after the other into the loops fastened the traces, the bellyband, the breaching and the reins. Then he got his whip. The moment he mounted the box the men broke into a hearty cheer of delight at his success but they would not let him go without a general inspection of the harness and although they found it right for not a buckle had to be shifted they never allowed him to do it for himself again all the time his father was ill. The cheer brought his mother to the window and there she saw her little boy setting out alone with the cab in the grave morning. She tugged at the window but it was stiff and before she could open it Diamond who was in a great hurry was out of the muse and almost out of the street. She called Diamond, Diamond. But there was no answer except from Jack. Never fear for a ma'am said Jack it'd be only a devil as would hurt him and there ain't so many of them as some folk would have you believe. A boy a diamond size as can harness a oss tethered a diamond size and put him to right as a tidbit if he do upset the cab they'll fall on his feet ma'am. But he won't upset the cab will he Jack? Not he ma'am. Least ways he won't go forward to do it. I know as much as that myself what do you mean? I mean he's a little likely to do it as the oldest man in the stable. How's the governor today ma'am? A good deal better, thank you. She answered closing the window in some fear lest her husband should have been made anxious by the news of Diamond's expedition. He knew pretty well however what his boy was capable of and although not quite easy was less anxious than his mother. But as the evening drew on the anxiety of both of them increased and every sound of wheels made his father raise himself in his bed and his mother peep out of the window. Diamond had resolved to go straight to the cab stand where he was best known and never to crawl for fear of getting annoyed by idlers. Before he got across Oxford Street however he was hailed by a man who wanted to catch a train and was in too great a hurry to think about the driver. Having carried him to King's Cross in good time and got a good fare in return he set off again in great spirits and reached the stand in safety. He was the first there after all. As the men arrived they all greeted him kindly and inquired after his father. Aren't you afraid of the old horse running away with you? Asked one. No, he wouldn't run away with me, answered Diamond. He knows I'm getting the shillings for father. Or if he did he would only run home. Well, you're a plucky one for all your girls' looks, said the man, and I wish he looked. Thank you, sir, said Diamond. I'll do what I can. I came to the old place, you see, because I knew you would let me have my turn here. In the course of the day one man did try to cut him out. But he was a stranger and the shout the rest of them raised let him see it would not do. And made him so far ashamed besides that he went away crawling. Once in a block a policeman came up to him and asked him for his number. Diamond showed him his father's badge saying with a smile, Father's ill at home and so I came out with the cab. There's no fear of me. I can drive. Besides the old horse could go alone. Just as well I dare to say you're a pet of them, but you are a rummant for a cabbie. Ain't you now, said the policeman. I don't know as I ought to let you go. I ain't done nothing, said Diamond. It's not my fault I'm no bigger. I'm big enough for my age. That's where it is, said the man. You ain't fit. How do you know that? Asked Diamond with his usual smile and turning his head like a little bird. Why, how are you to get out of this room now? When it begins to move. Just you get up on the box, said Diamond, and I'll show you. There, that van's a moving now. Jump up. The policeman did as Diamond told him and was soon satisfied that the little fellow could drive. Well, he said as he got down again, I don't know that I should be right to interfere. Good luck to you, my little man. Thank you, sir, said Diamond, and it drove away. In a few minutes a gentleman hailed him. Are you the driver of this cab? He asked. Yes, sir, said Diamond, showing his badge of which he was proud. You're the youngest cabman I ever saw. How am I to know you won't break all my bones? I would rather break all my own, said Diamond, but if you're afraid, never mind me, I shall soon get another fare. I'll risk it, said the gentleman, and opening the door himself, he jumped in. He was going a good distance and soon found that Diamond got him over the ground well. Now when Diamond had only to go straight ahead and had not to mind so much what he was about, his thoughts always turned to the riddle Mr. Raymond had set him, but this gentleman looked so clever that he fancied that he must be able to read it for him. He had given up all hope of finding it out for himself, and he could not plague his father about it when he was ill. He had thought of the answer himself, but fancied it could not be the right one, for to see how it all fitted required some knowledge of physiology. So when he reached the end of his journey, he got down very quickly and with his head just looking in at the window said as the gentleman gathered his gloves and newspaper, please, sir, can you tell me the meaning of a riddle? You must tell me the riddle first, answered the gentleman amused. Diamond repeated the riddle. Oh, that's easy enough, he returned. It's a tree. Well, it ain't got no mouth sure enough, but how then does it eat all day long? It sucks in its food through the tiniest holes in its leaves, he answered. It's breath is its food, and it can't do it except in the daylight. Thank you, sir, thank you, returned Diamond. I'm sorry I couldn't find it out myself. Mr. Raymond would have been better pleased with me. But you needn't tell him anyone told you. Diamond gave him a stare which came from the very back of the north wind where that kind of thing is unknown. That would be cheating, he said at last. Ain't you a cabbie then? Cabbies don't cheat, don't they? I am of a different opinion. I'm sure my father don't. What's your fare, young innocent? Well, I think the distance is a good deal over three miles. That's two shillings. Only father says six pence a mile is too little, though we can't ask for more. You're a deep one, but I think you're wrong. It's over four miles, not much, but it is. Then that's half a crown, said Diamond. Well, here's three shillings, will that do? Thank you kindly, sir. I'll tell my father how good you were to me. First to tell me my riddle, then to put me right about the distance, and then to give me six pence over. It'll help father to get though again. It will. I hope it may, my man. I shouldn't wonder if you're as good as you look after all. As Diamond returned, he drew up at a stand he had never been on before. It was time to give Diamond his bag of chopped beans and oats. The men got about him and began to chaff him. He took it all good humoredly until one of them, who was an ill-conditioned fellow, began to tease old Diamond by poking him roughly in the ribs and making general game of him. That he could not bear, and the tears came in his eyes. He undid the nosebag, put it in the boot, and was just going to mount and drive away when the fellow interfered and would not let him get up. Diamond endeavored to persuade him and was very civil, but he would have as fun out of him as he said. In a few minutes a group of idle boys had assembled and Diamond found himself in a very uncomfortable position. Another cab drew up at the stand and the driver got off and approached the assemblage. What's up here? He asked, and Diamond knew the voice. It was that of the drunken cab man. They see this young Eister. He pretends to drive a cab, said his enemy. Yes, I do see him and I see you too. You'd better leave him alone. He ain't no Eister. He's an angel come down on his own business. You be off, or I'll be nearer you than quite agreeable. The drunken cab man was a tall, stout man who did not look one to take liberties with. Or if he's a friend of yours, said the other, drawing back. Diamond got out the nosebag again. Old Diamond should have his feet out now. Yes, he is a friend of mine, one of the best I ever had. It's a pity he ain't a friend of yours. You'd be the better for it, but it ain't no fault of his. When Diamond went home at night, he carried with him one pound, one shilling and sixpence besides a few copper's extra, which had followed some of the fairs. His mother had got very anxious indeed, so much so that she was almost afraid when she did hear the sound of his cab to go and look lest she should be yet again disappointed and should break down before her husband. But there was the old horse and there was the cab all right. And there was Diamond in the box, his pale face-looking triumphant as a full moon in the twilight. When he drew up at the stable door, Jack came out and after a good many friendly questions and congratulations, said, you go into your mother Diamond, I'll put up the old horse, I'll take care on him. He do deserve some small attention, he do. Thank you, Jack, said Diamond, and bounded into the house and into the arms of his mother who was waiting him at the top of the stair. The poor, anxious woman led him into his own room, sat down on his bed, took him on her lap as if he had been a baby and cried. How's father, asked Diamond, almost afraid to ask. Better, my child, she answered, but uneasy about you, my dear. Didn't you tell him I was the early bird going out to catch the worm? That was what put it in your head, was it, you monkey? Said his mother, beginning to get better. That or something else, answered Diamond, so very quietly that his mother held his head back and stared in his face. Well of all the children, she said, and said no more. And here's my worm, resumed Diamond, but to see her face as he poured the shillings and six pence's and pence into her lap, she burst out crying a second time and ran with the money to her husband. And how pleased he was, it did him no end of good, but while he was counting the coins, Diamond turned to baby, who was lying awake in his cradle, sucking his precious thumb and took him up, saying, baby, baby, I haven't seen you for a whole year. And then he began to sing to him as usual, and what he sang was this, for he was too happy either to make a song of his own or to sing since. It was one of Mr. Raymond's book. The true story of the cat in the fiddle. Hey, diddle, diddle, the cat in the fiddle, he played such a merry tune that the cow went mad with the pleasure she had and jumped right over the moon. But then don't you see before that could be the moon had come down and listened. The little dog harkened so loud that he barkened, there's nothing like it there isn't. Hey, diddle, diddle, went the cat in the fiddle, hey, diddle, diddle, diddy. The dog laughed at the sport till his cough cut him short, it was hey, diddle, diddle, oh, me. And back came the cow with the merry, merry low, for she'd humbled the man in the moon. The dish got excited, the spoon was delighted, and the dish waltzed away with the spoon. But the man in the moon coming back too soon from the famous town of Norwich caught up the dish, said it's just what I wish to hold my cold plum porridge. Gave the cow a ratat, flung water on the cat and sent him away like a rocket. Said, oh moon, there you are, got into her car and went off with the spoon in his pocket. Hey, oh, diddle, diddle, the wet cat and wet fiddle, they made such a cat or walling that the cow in a fright stood up bold right, bellowing now and bawling. And the dog on his tail stretched his neck with the whale, but ho, ho, said the man in the moon, no more in the south shall I burn my mouth, for I've found a dish and a spoon. End of chapter 24, Another Early Bird.