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

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

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

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

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

lips.

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

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

make his way through the trees towards the house.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The prince recoiled in overmastering wonder. It was Daylight herself

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

with him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nanny must leave the hospital soon, Diamond.”

“I'm glad of that, sir.”

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

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

even if it's not quite so comfortable.”

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

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

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

when they send her out again?”

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

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

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

it. He's quite lame, sir.”

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

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

sir?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Raymond.

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

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

sir?”

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

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

“Couldn't you teach her, Diamond?”

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

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

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

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

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

doubt.”

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

words.”

“Mother could teach her that,” interrupted Diamond.

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

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

do give money for that.”

“Then I'll ask mother,” said Diamond.

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

strong, has enough to do already without that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

pleasure of his acquaintance myself.”

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

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

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

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

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

aloud.

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

day?” resumed Mr. Raymond.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Raymond's face, wondering what he could mean.

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

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

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

Raymond.

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

right.

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

Diamond.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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