chatter. I have got to sink a ship to-night.”

“Sink a ship! What! with men in it?”

“Yes, and women too.”

“How dreadful! I wish you wouldn't talk so.”

“It is rather dreadful. But it is my work. I must do it.”

“I hope you won't ask me to go with you.”

“No, I won't ask you. But you must come for all that.”

“I won't then.”

“Won't you?” And North Wind grew a tall lady, and looked him in the

eyes, and Diamond said--

“Please take me. You cannot be cruel.”

“No; I could not be cruel if I would. I can do nothing cruel, although I

often do what looks like cruel to those who do not know what I really am

doing. The people they say I drown, I only carry away to--to--to--well,

the back of the North Wind--that is what they used to call it long ago,

only I never saw the place.”

“How can you carry them there if you never saw it?”

“I know the way.”

“But how is it you never saw it?”

“Because it is behind me.”

“But you can look round.”

“Not far enough to see my own back. No; I always look before me. In

fact, I grow quite blind and deaf when I try to see my back. I only mind

my work.”

“But how does it be your work?”

“Ah, that I can't tell you. I only know it is, because when I do it I

feel all right, and when I don't I feel all wrong. East Wind says--only

one does not exactly know how much to believe of what she says, for she

is very naughty sometimes--she says it is all managed by a baby; but

whether she is good or naughty when she says that, I don't know. I just

stick to my work. It is all one to me to let a bee out of a tulip, or to

sweep the cobwebs from the sky. You would like to go with me to-night?”

“I don't want to see a ship sunk.”

“But suppose I had to take you?”

“Why, then, of course I must go.”

“There's a good Diamond.--I think I had better be growing a bit. Only

you must go to bed first. I can't take you till you're in bed. That's

the law about the children. So I had better go and do something else

first.”

“Very well, North Wind,” said Diamond. “What are you going to do first,

if you please?”

“I think I may tell you. Jump up on the top of the wall, there.”

“I can't.”

“Ah! and I can't help you--you haven't been to bed yet, you see. Come

out to the road with me, just in front of the coach-house, and I will

show you.”

North Wind grew very small indeed, so small that she could not have

blown the dust off a dusty miller, as the Scotch children call a yellow

auricula. Diamond could not even see the blades of grass move as she

flitted along by his foot. They left the lawn, went out by the wicket

in the-coach-house gates, and then crossed the road to the low wall that

separated it from the river.

“You can get up on this wall, Diamond,” said North Wind.

“Yes; but my mother has forbidden me.”

“Then don't,” said North Wind.

“But I can see over,” said Diamond.

“Ah! to be sure. I can't.”

So saying, North Wind gave a little bound, and stood on the top of the

wall. She was just about the height a dragon-fly would be, if it stood

on end.

“You darling!” said Diamond, seeing what a lovely little toy-woman she

was.

“Don't be impertinent, Master Diamond,” said North Wind. “If there's one

thing makes me more angry than another, it is the way you humans judge

things by their size. I am quite as respectable now as I shall be six

hours after this, when I take an East Indiaman by the royals, twist her

round, and push her under. You have no right to address me in such a

fashion.”

But as she spoke, the tiny face wore the smile of a great, grand woman.

She was only having her own beautiful fun out of Diamond, and true

woman's fun never hurts.

“But look there!” she resumed. “Do you see a boat with one man in it--a

green and white boat?”

“Yes; quite well.”

“That's a poet.”

“I thought you said it was a bo-at.”

“Stupid pet! Don't you know what a poet is?”

“Why, a thing to sail on the water in.”

“Well, perhaps you're not so far wrong. Some poets do carry people over

the sea. But I have no business to talk so much. The man is a poet.”

“The boat is a boat,” said Diamond.

“Can't you spell?” asked North Wind.

“Not very well.”

“So I see. A poet is not a bo-at, as you call it. A poet is a man who is

glad of something, and tries to make other people glad of it too.”

“Ah! now I know. Like the man in the sweety-shop.”

“Not very. But I see it is no use. I wasn't sent to tell you, and so I

can't tell you. I must be off. Only first just look at the man.”

“He's not much of a rower” said Diamond--“paddling first with one fin

and then with the other.”

“Now look here!” said North Wind.

And she flashed like a dragon-fly across the water, whose surface

rippled and puckered as she passed. The next moment the man in the boat

glanced about him, and bent to his oars. The boat flew over the rippling

water. Man and boat and river were awake. The same instant almost, North

Wind perched again upon the river wall.

“How did you do that?” asked Diamond.

“I blew in his face,” answered North Wind. “I don't see how that could

do it,” said Diamond. “I daresay not. And therefore you will say you

don't believe it could.”

“No, no, dear North Wind. I know you too well not to believe you.”

“Well, I blew in his face, and that woke him up.”

“But what was the good of it?”

“Why! don't you see? Look at him--how he is pulling. I blew the mist out

of him.”

“How was that?”

“That is just what I cannot tell you.”

“But you did it.”

“Yes. I have to do ten thousand things without being able to tell how.”

“I don't like that,” said Diamond.

He was staring after the boat. Hearing no answer, he looked down to the

wall.

North Wind was gone. Away across the river went a long ripple--what

sailors call a cat's paw. The man in the boat was putting up a sail. The

moon was coming to herself on the edge of a great cloud, and the sail

began to shine white. Diamond rubbed his eyes, and wondered what it was

all about. Things seemed going on around him, and all to understand

each other, but he could make nothing of it. So he put his hands in his

pockets, and went in to have his tea. The night was very hot, for the

wind had fallen again.

“You don't seem very well to-night, Diamond,” said his mother.

“I am quite well, mother,” returned Diamond, who was only puzzled.

“I think you had better go to bed,” she added.

“Very well, mother,” he answered.

He stopped for one moment to look out of the window. Above the moon the

clouds were going different ways. Somehow or other this troubled him,

but, notwithstanding, he was soon fast asleep.

He woke in the middle of the night and the darkness. A terrible noise

was rumbling overhead, like the rolling beat of great drums echoing

through a brazen vault. The roof of the loft in which he lay had no

ceiling; only the tiles were between him and the sky. For a while he

could not come quite awake, for the noise kept beating him down, so that

his heart was troubled and fluttered painfully. A second peal of thunder

burst over his head, and almost choked him with fear. Nor did he recover

until the great blast that followed, having torn some tiles off the

roof, sent a spout of wind down into his bed and over his face, which

brought him wide awake, and gave him back his courage. The same moment

he heard a mighty yet musical voice calling him.