And day's eyes and butter-cups, cow's lips and crow's feet

   Were glittering in the sun.

   She threw down her book, and caught up her crook,

   And after her sheep did run.

   She ran, and she ran, and ever as she ran,

   The grass grew higher and higher;

   Till over the hill the sun began

   To set in a flame of fire.

   She ran on still--up the grassy hill,

   And the grass grew higher and higher;

   When she reached its crown, the sun was down,

   And had left a trail of fire.

   The sheep and their tails were gone, all gone--

   And no more trail behind them!

   Yes, yes!  they were there--long-tailed and fair,

   But, alas!  she could not find them.

   Purple and gold, and rosy and blue,

   With their tails all white behind them,

   Her sheep they did run in the trail of the sun;

   She saw them, but could not find them.

   After the sun, like clouds they did run,

   But she knew they were her sheep:

   She sat down to cry, and look up at the sky,

   But she cried herself asleep.

   And as she slept the dew fell fast,

   And the wind blew from the sky;

   And strange things took place that shun the day's face,

   Because they are sweet and shy.

   Nibble, nibble, crop!  she heard as she woke:

   A hundred little lambs

   Did pluck and eat the grass so sweet

   That grew in the trails of their dams.

   Little Bo Peep caught up her crook,

   And wiped the tears that did blind her.

   And nibble, nibble crop! without a stop!

   The lambs came eating behind her.

   Home, home she came, both tired and lame,

   With three times as many sheep.

   In a month or more, they'll be as big as before,

   And then she'll laugh in her sleep.

   But what would you say, if one fine day,

   When they've got their bushiest tails,

   Their grown up game should be just the same,

   And she have to follow their trails?

   Never weep, Bo Peep, though you lose your sheep,

   And do not know where to find them;

   'Tis after the sun the mothers have run,

   And there are their lambs behind them.

I confess again to having touched up a little, but it loses far more

in Diamond's sweet voice singing it than it gains by a rhyme here and

there.

Some of them were out of books Mr. Raymond had given him. These he

always knew, but about the others he could seldom tell. Sometimes he

would say, “I made that one.” but generally he would say, “I don't know;

I found it somewhere;” or “I got it at the back of the north wind.”

One evening I found him sitting on the grassy slope under the house,

with his Dulcimer in his arms and his little brother rolling on the

grass beside them. He was chanting in his usual way, more like the sound

of a brook than anything else I can think of. When I went up to them he

ceased his chant.

“Do go on, Diamond. Don't mind me,” I said.

He began again at once. While he sang, Nanny and Jim sat a little way

off, one hemming a pocket-handkerchief, and the other reading a story

to her, but they never heeded Diamond. This is as near what he sang as I

can recollect, or reproduce rather.

   What would you see if I took you up

   To my little nest in the air?

   You would see the sky like a clear blue cup

   Turned upside downwards there.

   What would you do if I took you there

   To my little nest in the tree?

   My child with cries would trouble the air,

   To get what she could but see.

   What would you get in the top of the tree

   For all your crying and grief?

   Not a star would you clutch of all you see--

   You could only gather a leaf.

   But when you had lost your greedy grief,

   Content to see from afar,

   You would find in your hand a withering leaf,

   In your heart a shining star.

As Diamond went on singing, it grew very dark, and just as he ceased

there came a great flash of lightning, that blinded us all for a moment.

Dulcimer crowed with pleasure; but when the roar of thunder came after

it, the little brother gave a loud cry of terror. Nanny and Jim came

running up to us, pale with fear. Diamond's face, too, was paler than

usual, but with delight. Some of the glory seemed to have clung to it,

and remained shining.

“You're not frightened--are you, Diamond?” I said.

“No. Why should I be?” he answered with his usual question, looking up

in my face with calm shining eyes.

“He ain't got sense to be frightened,” said Nanny, going up to him and

giving him a pitying hug.

“Perhaps there's more sense in not being frightened, Nanny,” I returned.

“Do you think the lightning can do as it likes?”

“It might kill you,” said Jim.

“Oh, no, it mightn't!” said Diamond.

As he spoke there came another great flash, and a tearing crack.

“There's a tree struck!” I said; and when we looked round, after the

blinding of the flash had left our eyes, we saw a huge bough of the

beech-tree in which was Diamond's nest hanging to the ground like the

broken wing of a bird.

“There!” cried Nanny; “I told you so. If you had been up there you see

what would have happened, you little silly!”

“No, I don't,” said Diamond, and began to sing to Dulcimer. All I

could hear of the song, for the other children were going on with their

chatter, was--

                     The clock struck one,

                     And the mouse came down.

                     Dickery, dickery, dock!

Then there came a blast of wind, and the rain followed in

straight-pouring lines, as if out of a watering-pot. Diamond jumped up

with his little Dulcimer in his arms, and Nanny caught up the little

boy, and they ran for the cottage. Jim vanished with a double shuffle,

and I went into the house.

When I came out again to return home, the clouds were gone, and the

evening sky glimmered through the trees, blue, and pale-green towards

the west, I turned my steps a little aside to look at the stricken

beech. I saw the bough torn from the stem, and that was all the twilight

would allow me to see. While I stood gazing, down from the sky came a

sound of singing, but the voice was neither of lark nor of nightingale:

it was sweeter than either: it was the voice of Diamond, up in his airy

nest:--

                     The lightning and thunder,

                     They go and they come;

                     But the stars and the stillness

                     Are always at home.

And then the voice ceased.

“Good-night, Diamond,” I said.

“Good-night, sir,” answered Diamond.

As I walked away pondering, I saw the great black top of the beech

swaying about against the sky in an upper wind, and heard the murmur as

of many dim half-articulate voices filling the solitude around Diamond's

nest.

MY READERS will not wonder that, after this, I did my very best to gain

the friendship of Diamond. Nor did I find this at all difficult, the

child was so ready to trust. Upon one subject alone was he reticent--the

story of his relations with North Wind. I fancy he could not quite make

up his mind what to think of them. At all events it was some little time

before he trusted me with this, only then he told me everything. If