And the moon be laid by.

           The flower is asleep

           But it is not dead;

           When the morning shines,

           It will lift its head.

           When winter comes,

           It will die--no, no;

           It will only hide

           From the frost and the snow.

           Sure is the summer,

           Sure is the sun;

           The night and the winter

           Are shadows that run.

The lady never lifted her eyes from her book, or her head from her hand.

As soon as Diamond had finished, North Wind lifted him and carried him

away.

“Didn't the lady hear me?” asked Diamond when they were once more

floating down the river.

“Oh, yes, she heard you,” answered North Wind.

“Was she frightened then?”

“Oh, no.”

“Why didn't she look to see who it was?”

“She didn't know you were there.”

“How could she hear me then?”

“She didn't hear you with her ears.”

“What did she hear me with?”

“With her heart.”

“Where did she think the words came from?”

“She thought they came out of the book she was reading. She will search

all through it to-morrow to find them, and won't be able to understand

it at all.”

“Oh, what fun!” said Diamond. “What will she do?”

“I can tell you what she won't do: she'll never forget the meaning of

them; and she'll never be able to remember the words of them.”

“If she sees them in Mr. Raymond's book, it will puzzle her, won't it?”

“Yes, that it will. She will never be able to understand it.”

“Until she gets to the back of the north wind,” suggested Diamond.

“Until she gets to the back of the north wind,” assented the lady.

“Oh!” cried Diamond, “I know now where we are. Oh! do let me go into the

old garden, and into mother's room, and Diamond's stall. I wonder if the

hole is at the back of my bed still. I should like to stay there all the

rest of the night. It won't take you long to get home from here, will

it, North Wind?”

“No,” she answered; “you shall stay as long as you like.”

“Oh, how jolly,” cried Diamond, as North Wind sailed over the house with

him, and set him down on the lawn at the back.

Diamond ran about the lawn for a little while in the moonlight. He found

part of it cut up into flower-beds, and the little summer-house with the

coloured glass and the great elm-tree gone. He did not like this, and

ran into the stable. There were no horses there at all. He ran upstairs.

The rooms were empty. The only thing left that he cared about was the

hole in the wall where his little bed had stood; and that was not enough

to make him wish to stop. He ran down the stair again, and out upon the

lawn. There he threw himself down and began to cry. It was all so dreary

and lost!

“I thought I liked the place so much,” said Diamond to himself, “but I

find I don't care about it. I suppose it's only the people in it that

make you like a place, and when they're gone, it's dead, and you don't

care a bit about it. North Wind told me I might stop as long as I liked,

and I've stopped longer already. North Wind!” he cried aloud, turning

his face towards the sky.

The moon was under a cloud, and all was looking dull and dismal. A

star shot from the sky, and fell in the grass beside him. The moment it

lighted, there stood North Wind.

“Oh!” cried Diamond, joyfully, “were you the shooting star?”

“Yes, my child.”

“Did you hear me call you then?”

“Yes.”

“So high up as that?”

“Yes; I heard you quite well.”

“Do take me home.”

“Have you had enough of your old home already?”

“Yes, more than enough. It isn't a home at all now.”

“I thought that would be it,” said North Wind. “Everything, dreaming and

all, has got a soul in it, or else it's worth nothing, and we don't care

a bit about it. Some of our thoughts are worth nothing, because they've

got no soul in them. The brain puts them into the mind, not the mind

into the brain.”

“But how can you know about that, North Wind? You haven't got a body.”

“If I hadn't you wouldn't know anything about me. No creature can know

another without the help of a body. But I don't care to talk about that.

It is time for you to go home.”

So saying, North Wind lifted Diamond and bore him away.

I DID not see Diamond for a week or so after this, and then he told me

what I have now told you. I should have been astonished at his being

able even to report such conversations as he said he had had with

North Wind, had I not known already that some children are profound in

metaphysics. But a fear crosses me, lest, by telling so much about

my friend, I should lead people to mistake him for one of those

consequential, priggish little monsters, who are always trying to say

clever things, and looking to see whether people appreciate them. When a

child like that dies, instead of having a silly book written about him,

he should be stuffed like one of those awful big-headed fishes you

see in museums. But Diamond never troubled his head about what people

thought of him. He never set up for knowing better than others. The

wisest things he said came out when he wanted one to help him with some

difficulty he was in. He was not even offended with Nanny and Jim for

calling him a silly. He supposed there was something in it, though he

could not quite understand what. I suspect however that the other name

they gave him, God's Baby, had some share in reconciling him to it.

Happily for me, I was as much interested in metaphysics as Diamond

himself, and therefore, while he recounted his conversations with North

Wind, I did not find myself at all in a strange sea, although certainly

I could not always feel the bottom, being indeed convinced that the

bottom was miles away.

“Could it be all dreaming, do you think, sir?” he asked anxiously.

“I daren't say, Diamond,” I answered. “But at least there is one thing

you may be sure of, that there is a still better love than that of the

wonderful being you call North Wind. Even if she be a dream, the dream

of such a beautiful creature could not come to you by chance.”

“Yes, I know,” returned Diamond; “I know.”

Then he was silent, but, I confess, appeared more thoughtful than

satisfied.

The next time I saw him, he looked paler than usual.

“Have you seen your friend again?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he answered, solemnly.

“Did she take you out with her?”

“No. She did not speak to me. I woke all at once, as I generally do when

I am going to see her, and there she was against the door into the big

room, sitting just as I saw her sit on her own doorstep, as white as

snow, and her eyes as blue as the heart of an iceberg. She looked at me,

but never moved or spoke.”

“Weren't you afraid?” I asked.

“No. Why should I have been?” he answered. “I only felt a little cold.”

“Did she stay long?”

“I don't know. I fell asleep again. I think I have been rather cold ever

since though,” he added with a smile.

I did not quite like this, but I said nothing.

Four days after, I called again at the Mound. The maid who opened

the door looked grave, but I suspected nothing. When I reached the

drawing-room, I saw Mrs. Raymond had been crying.

“Haven't you heard?” she said, seeing my questioning looks.