stars to look in, would lie open before his open eyes as he lay in bed;

sometimes a yellow wall of sweet-smelling fibres closed up his view at

the distance of half a yard. Sometimes, when his mother had undressed

him in her room, and told him to trot to bed by himself, he would

creep into the heart of the hay, and lie there thinking how cold it was

outside in the wind, and how warm it was inside there in his bed, and

how he could go to it when he pleased, only he wouldn't just yet; he

would get a little colder first. And ever as he grew colder, his bed

would grow warmer, till at last he would scramble out of the hay, shoot

like an arrow into his bed, cover himself up, and snuggle down, thinking

what a happy boy he was. He had not the least idea that the wind got in

at a chink in the wall, and blew about him all night. For the back of

his bed was only of boards an inch thick, and on the other side of them

was the north wind.

Now, as I have already said, these boards were soft and crumbly. To be

sure, they were tarred on the outside, yet in many places they were more

like tinder than timber. Hence it happened that the soft part having

worn away from about it, little Diamond found one night, after he lay

down, that a knot had come out of one of them, and that the wind was

blowing in upon him in a cold and rather imperious fashion. Now he had

no fancy for leaving things wrong that might be set right; so he jumped

out of bed again, got a little strike of hay, twisted it up, folded it

in the middle, and, having thus made it into a cork, stuck it into the

hole in the wall. But the wind began to blow loud and angrily, and, as

Diamond was falling asleep, out blew his cork and hit him on the

nose, just hard enough to wake him up quite, and let him hear the wind

whistling shrill in the hole. He searched for his hay-cork, found it,

stuck it in harder, and was just dropping off once more, when, pop! with

an angry whistle behind it, the cork struck him again, this time on the

cheek. Up he rose once more, made a fresh stopple of hay, and corked the

hole severely. But he was hardly down again before--pop! it came on his

forehead. He gave it up, drew the clothes above his head, and was soon

fast asleep.

Although the next day was very stormy, Diamond forgot all about the

hole, for he was busy making a cave by the side of his mother's fire

with a broken chair, a three-legged stool, and a blanket, and then

sitting in it. His mother, however, discovered it, and pasted a bit of

brown paper over it, so that, when Diamond had snuggled down the next

night, he had no occasion to think of it.

Presently, however, he lifted his head and listened. Who could that be

talking to him? The wind was rising again, and getting very loud, and

full of rushes and whistles. He was sure some one was talking--and very

near him, too, it was. But he was not frightened, for he had not yet

learned how to be; so he sat up and hearkened. At last the voice, which,

though quite gentle, sounded a little angry, appeared to come from the

back of the bed. He crept nearer to it, and laid his ear against the

wall. Then he heard nothing but the wind, which sounded very loud

indeed. The moment, however, that he moved his head from the wall, he

heard the voice again, close to his ear. He felt about with his hand,

and came upon the piece of paper his mother had pasted over the

hole. Against this he laid his ear, and then he heard the voice quite

distinctly.

 There was, in fact, a little corner of the paper loose, and

through that, as from a mouth in the wall, the voice came.

“What do you mean, little boy--closing up my window?”

“What window?” asked Diamond.

“You stuffed hay into it three times last night. I had to blow it out

again three times.”

“You can't mean this little hole! It isn't a window; it's a hole in my

bed.”

“I did not say it was a window: I said it was my window.”

“But it can't be a window, because windows are holes to see out of.”

“Well, that's just what I made this window for.”

“But you are outside: you can't want a window.”

“You are quite mistaken. Windows are to see out of, you say. Well, I'm

in my house, and I want windows to see out of it.”

“But you've made a window into my bed.”

“Well, your mother has got three windows into my dancing room, and you

have three into my garret.”

“But I heard father say, when my mother wanted him to make a window

through the wall, that it was against the law, for it would look into

Mr. Dyves's garden.”

The voice laughed.

“The law would have some trouble to catch me!” it said.

“But if it's not right, you know,” said Diamond, “that's no matter. You

shouldn't do it.”

“I am so tall I am above that law,” said the voice.

“You must have a tall house, then,” said Diamond.

“Yes; a tall house: the clouds are inside it.”

“Dear me!” said Diamond, and thought a minute. “I think, then, you can

hardly expect me to keep a window in my bed for you. Why don't you make

a window into Mr. Dyves's bed?”

“Nobody makes a window into an ash-pit,” said the voice, rather sadly.

“I like to see nice things out of my windows.”

“But he must have a nicer bed than I have, though mine is very nice--so

nice that I couldn't wish a better.”

“It's not the bed I care about: it's what is in it.--But you just open

that window.”

“Well, mother says I shouldn't be disobliging; but it's rather hard. You

see the north wind will blow right in my face if I do.”

“I am the North Wind.”

“O-o-oh!” said Diamond, thoughtfully. “Then will you promise not to blow

on my face if I open your window?”

“I can't promise that.”

“But you'll give me the toothache. Mother's got it already.”

“But what's to become of me without a window?”

“I'm sure I don't know. All I say is, it will be worse for me than for

you.”

“No; it will not. You shall not be the worse for it--I promise you that.

You will be much the better for it. Just you believe what I say, and do

as I tell you.”

“Well, I can pull the clothes over my head,” said Diamond, and feeling

with his little sharp nails, he got hold of the open edge of the paper

and tore it off at once.

In came a long whistling spear of cold, and struck his little naked

chest. He scrambled and tumbled in under the bedclothes, and covered

himself up: there was no paper now between him and the voice, and he

felt a little--not frightened exactly--I told you he had not learned

that yet--but rather queer; for what a strange person this North Wind

must be that lived in the great house--“called Out-of-Doors, I suppose,”

 thought Diamond--and made windows into people's beds! But the voice

began again; and he could hear it quite plainly, even with his head

under the bed-clothes. It was a still more gentle voice now, although

six times as large and loud as it had been, and he thought it sounded a

little like his mother's.

“What is your name, little boy?” it asked.

“Diamond,” answered Diamond, under the bed-clothes.

“What a funny name!”

“It's a very nice name,” returned its owner.

“I don't know that,” said the voice.

“Well, I do,” retorted Diamond, a little rudely.

“Do you know to whom you are speaking!”

“No,” said Diamond.

And indeed he did not. For to know a person's name is not always to know