seeing a startled little face look round at me. Diamond turned his

head as quietly as if he were only obeying his mother's voice, and the

calmness of his face rebuked my unkind desire and made me ashamed of it.

“I am reading the story of the Little Lady and the Goblin Prince,” said

Diamond.

“I am sorry I don't know the story,” I returned. “Who is it by?”

“Mr. Raymond made it.”

“Is he your uncle?” I asked at a guess.

“No. He's my master.”

“What do you do for him?” I asked respectfully.

“Anything he wishes me to do,” he answered. “I am busy for him now. He

gave me this story to read. He wants my opinion upon it.”

“Don't you find it rather hard to make up your mind?”

“Oh dear no! Any story always tells me itself what I'm to think about

it. Mr. Raymond doesn't want me to say whether it is a clever story or

not, but whether I like it, and why I like it. I never can tell what

they call clever from what they call silly, but I always know whether I

like a story or not.”

“And can you always tell why you like it or not?”

“No. Very often I can't at all. Sometimes I can. I always know, but I

can't always tell why. Mr. Raymond writes the stories, and then tries

them on me. Mother does the same when she makes jam. She's made such a

lot of jam since we came here! And she always makes me taste it to see

if it'll do. Mother knows by the face I make whether it will or not.”

At this moment I caught sight of two more children approaching. One was

a handsome girl, the other a pale-faced, awkward-looking boy, who limped

much on one leg. I withdrew a little, to see what would follow, for they

seemed in some consternation. After a few hurried words, they went

off together, and I pursued my way to the house, where I was as kindly

received by Mr. and Mrs. Raymond as I could have desired. From them I

learned something of Diamond, and was in consequence the more glad to

find him, when I returned, seated in the same place as before.

“What did the boy and girl want with you, Diamond?” I asked.

“They had seen a creature that frightened them.”

“And they came to tell you about it?”

“They couldn't get water out of the well for it. So they wanted me to go

with them.”

“They're both bigger than you.”

“Yes, but they were frightened at it.”

“And weren't you frightened at it?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm silly. I'm never frightened at things.”

I could not help thinking of the old meaning of the word silly.

“And what was it?” I asked.

“I think it was a kind of an angel--a very little one. It had a long

body and great wings, which it drove about it so fast that they grew a

thin cloud all round it. It flew backwards and forwards over the well,

or hung right in the middle, making a mist of its wings, as if its

business was to take care of the water.”

“And what did you do to drive it away?”

“I didn't drive it away. I knew, whatever the creature was, the well

was to get water out of. So I took the jug, dipped it in, and drew the

water.”

“And what did the creature do?”

“Flew about.”

“And it didn't hurt you?”

“No. Why should it? I wasn't doing anything wrong.”

“What did your companions say then?”

“They said--`Thank you, Diamond. What a dear silly you are!'”

“And weren't you angry with them?”

“No! Why should I? I should like if they would play with me a little;

but they always like better to go away together when their work is over.

They never heed me. I don't mind it much, though. The other creatures

are friendly. They don't run away from me. Only they're all so busy with

their own work, they don't mind me much.”

“Do you feel lonely, then?”

“Oh, no! When nobody minds me, I get into my nest, and look up. And then

the sky does mind me, and thinks about me.”

“Where is your nest?”

He rose, saying, “I will show you,” and led me to the other side of the

tree.

There hung a little rope-ladder from one of the lower boughs. The boy

climbed up the ladder and got upon the bough. Then he climbed farther

into the leafy branches, and went out of sight.

After a little while, I heard his voice coming down out of the tree.

“I am in my nest now,” said the voice.

“I can't see you,” I returned.

“I can't see you either, but I can see the first star peeping out of the

sky. I should like to get up into the sky. Don't you think I shall, some

day?”

“Yes, I do. Tell me what more you see up there.”

“I don't see anything more, except a few leaves, and the big sky over

me. It goes swinging about. The earth is all behind my back. There comes

another star! The wind is like kisses from a big lady. When I get up

here I feel as if I were in North Wind's arms.”

This was the first I heard of North Wind.

The whole ways and look of the child, so full of quiet wisdom, yet so

ready to accept the judgment of others in his own dispraise, took hold

of my heart, and I felt myself wonderfully drawn towards him. It seemed

to me, somehow, as if little Diamond possessed the secret of life, and

was himself what he was so ready to think the lowest living thing--an

angel of God with something special to say or do. A gush of reverence

came over me, and with a single goodnight, I turned and left him in his

nest.

I saw him often after this, and gained so much of his confidence that he

told me all I have told you. I cannot pretend to account for it. I leave

that for each philosophical reader to do after his own fashion. The

easiest way is that of Nanny and Jim, who said often to each other

that Diamond had a tile loose. But Mr. Raymond was much of my opinion

concerning the boy; while Mrs. Raymond confessed that she often rang her

bell just to have once more the pleasure of seeing the lovely stillness

of the boy's face, with those blue eyes which seemed rather made for

other people to look into than for himself to look out of.

It was plainer to others than to himself that he felt the desertion of

Nanny and Jim. They appeared to regard him as a mere toy, except when

they found he could minister to the scruple of using him--generally with

success. They were, however, well-behaved to a wonderful degree; while

I have little doubt that much of their good behaviour was owing to the

unconscious influence of the boy they called God's baby.

One very strange thing is that I could never find out where he got some

of his many songs. At times they would be but bubbles blown out of a

nursery rhyme, as was the following, which I heard him sing one evening

to his little Dulcimer. There were about a score of sheep feeding in a

paddock near him, their white wool dyed a pale rose in the light of the

setting sun. Those in the long shadows from the trees were dead white;

those in the sunlight were half glorified with pale rose.

         Little Bo Peep, she lost her sheep,

            And didn't know where to find them;

         They were over the height and out of sight,

            Trailing their tails behind them.

         Little Bo Peep woke out of her sleep,

            Jump'd up and set out to find them:

         “The silly things, they've got no wings,

            And they've left their trails behind them:

   “They've taken their tails, but they've left their trails,

   And so I shall follow and find them;”

    For wherever a tail had dragged a trail,

   The long grass grew behind them.